#changing the bandages was a nightmare. as expected | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

munsonkitten · 4 months

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Eddie doesn’t sleep well anymore.

It’s not like he really did before, but it’s worse now. He only catches an hour or two a night before waking up again. Sometimes when exhaustion tugs too heavily at him, he slips away while laying on the couch in front of the TV. It never lasts long.

He tries to blame it on the environment. On the fact that he’s been staying at Steve Harrington’s house for two weeks, on the fact that people come in and out at all hours and leave it impossible to catch any shut eye, on the fact that the bed he’s sleeping on is too firm from disuse, the blankets too scratchy.

He’ll blame it on his pain, the nightmares.

He’ll blame it on anything, even Steve.

Everyone around him seems to be doing just fine. Steve has injuries similar to his own, yet he’s moving around like nothing’s wrong. Everyone else has seen horrible things, but they carry on like it’s another day in their lives.

Maybe it is, but Eddie expected to feel less alone here.

He expected to hear Steve waking up screaming each night from the nightmares that plague Eddie, too. He expected to see Dustin crying a lot, or looking at him differently after Eddie almost died in his arms.

(Did die, he reminds himself. He stopped breathing. Needed Steve to restart his heart. He should have died. He shouldn’t be here.)

He feels like he’s falling apart, but everyone else is here taking care of him like they aren’t hurting, too. Steve is taking care of him and changing his bandages and making him eat like Steve doesn’t have to do those things for himself.

That keeps Eddie up at night. Steve keeps Eddie up at night. For more reason than one.

He lays in his bed in the guest room on Steve Harrington’s ground floor and he stares at the ceiling because sleep isn’t coming. He’s in pain and he can’t stop thinking about Steve upstairs, and wonders if he ever falls apart when he’s on his own.

He has to, right? Steve has to be up there with sleepless nights and deep, aching wounds. He has to see Eddie’s lifeless eyes when he closes his own, has to remember the feeling of Eddie’s still heart beneath his fingertips.

It makes Eddie feel less alone down here to think Steve might be struggling, too. Even if Steve won’t show anyone, least of all Eddie.

Sleep isn’t coming tonight, and Eddie finally feels okay enough to walk on his own, so he slides out of bed as carefully as he can. He makes his way down the hallway to the kitchen and he can see that the light is on. It usually is. The Harrington kitchen is always open for whoever needs it, Eddie’s learned that over the last two weeks.

Tonight, though, it’s not Robin or Nancy or any of the kids sitting at the counter. In fact, no one is sitting in the kitchen tonight, but there’s leftover evidence of someone nearby. There’s a cup of coffee on the table, half drunk and probably cold by now, and the sliding door to the backyard is open.

It’s April and Eddie feels a chilly breeze coming in. He wraps his arms around his bandaged torso and goes toward the door, toward the blue lights of the Harrington’s heated pool. He smells cigarettes and itches for one before he even sees who’s smoking.

He really hopes it’s not one of the kids. He doesn’t think he’d be able to reprimand them for that, not as tired as he is right now.

The patio is cold beneath his bare feet when he steps out, the breeze working its way through his thin pajama bottoms. He turns his head from left to right, looking for the culprit of the 2AM coffee and the cigarette smoke wafting toward him.

There, in one of the pool chairs, Steve is lying. He has one hand covering his eyes, the other slowly bringing a cigarette up to his lips. Eddie watches him take a drag, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales again. He watches as Steve’s hand shakes as he brings the cigarette away from his mouth again.

Eddie knows he should turn and leave. This is a private moment, and Eddie feels like an intruder. He’s felt like an intruder for the past two weeks, like he shouldn’t be here.

(He shouldn’t be, he reminds himself. He should be dead. He was dead.)

He knows he should turn and leave, but he can’t. He can only stare.

Steve isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s covered in bandages just like Eddie. If Eddie wasn’t looking at him now, he would think Steve was completely healed already. He’s looked nothing but put together for the past week. Carrying boxes of donated items and helping Eddie in and out of the bath, helping Eddie from bed to couch and back again. He hasn’t shown anyone any less than one hundred percent.

Right now, Eddie is seeing something Steve wouldn’t want him to see.

He can’t leave, though. Something is stopping him from leaving, something selfish is keeping him from turning around and going back to bed.

Seeing Steve like this — vulnerable, sleepless, shaking — makes Eddie feel less alone.

All he’s wanted his entire life is to feel less alone.

He just stands there. Watching as Steve finishes off the cigarette and stubs it out in the ashtray beside him. He watches as Steve sits up to look around for his pack and lighter, watches as he considers another and then sets it down and picks up a glass from the table instead.

As he sips, he finally looks over toward the house, and Eddie feels caught. He knows Steve sees him, even if neither of them react at all. He knows Steve probably thinks he’s a creep, the way Eddie’s watching him like this. Guilt washes over him. He isn’t supposed to watch Steve like this. He isn’t supposed to notice that he’s shirtless, he isn’t supposed to think about how he looks when he smokes.

He expects Steve to tell him to leave. He expects Steve to be mad.

But Steve just picks up a bottle of liquor from the ground beside him and waves it in Eddie’s direction.

“Get a glass from the cupboard if you want,” Steve says.

Eddie just stands there for a second, not knowing if this is a real invitation or if Steve’s just trying to be nice. He’s felt like that a lot. Like being in Steve’s house isn’t what Steve really wants. Like Steve hopes Eddie will say no every time he asks if Eddie wants to watch a movie with him.

“Well?” Steve asks.

So Eddie nods and goes back into the warmth of the kitchen to find a glass. He takes one down from the cupboard and finds a sweatshirt laying over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He doesn’t know who it belongs to at this point. He’s seen everyone from Robin to Nancy to Lucas wear it in the last week. It hangs loose on him when he pulls it over his head, but it’s better than sitting outside shirtless like Steve currently is.

The ground is cold beneath his bare feet as he crosses the patio to the pool chairs. He looks at the one beside Steve and the thought of sitting there in the cold makes him shiver. It’s so far from Steve’s chair and he can’t help but wonder if it would be weird to move it closer.

If it’s weird to want to share in Steve’s warmth.

“Here,” Steve says.

He saves Eddie from making the decision by pulling his feet up and pointing to the empty space of the pool lounger. Eddie sits down on the plastic slots, sitting perpendicular to Steve. Steve shoves his toes beneath Eddie’s thigh and offers the bottle of whiskey to him.

Eddie holds his glass out as Steve pours.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve asks.

Eddie hums in response and takes a sip of his drink. He wants to ask for a smoke, but doesn’t want to mooch. He hasn’t had one in over two weeks, not since Robin threw one into Lover’s Lake and the rest of his pack turned to mush when he fell in himself.

“Me neither,” Steve says. “Haven’t in a while, really.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie says.

Steve snorts.

“No, really,” Eddie tells him. He decides fuck it, and reaches for the pack of smokes on the little glass table beside the chair. He sets his glass down on the ground by his cold feet and pulls a cigarette out. “You’re really, ah, good at this shit, I guess. Good at making it seem easy.”

Steve scoffs and leans forward, his lighter in hand. Eddie puts the cigarette in his mouth and cups his hands around it for Steve to light it. A memory flickers into his mind of dark hair and freckles, someone from another lifetime lighting his cigarette as a way of flirting with him.

With everything else she had to offer him, it had worked, and Eddie’s so exhausted his brain tricks him into thinking that Steve is flirting now, too. His sleepless mind is telling him it would work even better now, that he could make it work with Steve, better than he did with Paige.

“It’s easy to pretend when everyone else is around,” Steve says after a second. He’s still leaning forward toward Eddie, his arms wrapped around his knees. “When the kids need me, I have to be there for them, you know? They expect me to have it all figured out, and hell, I need to pretend like I do. But when I’m alone…”

He trails off.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

They sit there in silence for a while. Eddie smokes his cigarette and Steve sips at his drink. It’s cold out, but Eddie doesn’t want to go back inside. He wants to be where Steve is, wants to feel the point of contact where Steve’s toes are shoved under his leg. He doesn’t want to burst the bubble they’ve found themselves in tonight.

It fills Eddie with warmth despite the cold.

“I don’t think you should stay here anymore,” Steve blurts out after several minutes of silence.

And the bubble shatters. All the warmth between them leaks out and Eddie’s left with nothing but the late night chill. He slides away, down to the end of the pool chair, away from Steve’s touch.

“Oh,” is all he can say.

“It’s… I mean,” Steve says. He stumbles over his words, hands moving up to cover his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s cool, man. You don’t want me here, anymore, I get it,” Eddie says. He pretends it doesn’t hurt his heart to hear it. He’s looking down at his hands, knowing he’ll start crying if he sees how Steve’s looking at him right now. “Wayne almost has a new place for us, anyway. I can stay with Henderson for a few days, no worries.”

“No, it’s — it’s not that I don’t want you here,” Steve says. “I think, uh — fuck, man. I want you here too much, I think?”

Eddie leans down to put his cigarette out on the concrete. He picks up his glass while he’s down there and brings it to his lips as he sits up again. He doesn’t know what Steve’s saying, or how to respond. Or, more like, he thinks he understands what Steve’s saying, but he’s so tired he doesn’t actually want to make a guess and be wrong about it, because that’s very likely here.

He doesn’t want to think about the lighter or the way Steve’s touch lingers when he helps Eddie from his bed to the couch. It could never mean what Eddie wants it to mean, but now Eddie isn’t so sure it doesn’t.

“You gotta tell me what you mean,” Eddie says softly, looking down into his glass.

“It’s not just the monsters that keep me up at night,” Steve says. “It’s not just the nightmares or the fear that everyone I care about is going to die. It’s not — it’s not just Max in her coma, it’s not the chunks of flesh taken out of my skin, it’s — god, all that seems easy sometimes. That all makes sense, as fucked up as that is. I’ve been going through this shit for years, I can — I mean, I’ve handled it, and I still do, it’s just…”

Eddie sits there listening to Steve. He lets the silence hang between them as he waits for Steve to continue. He doesn’t want to interrupt and ruin everything here by saying something stupid, or by jumping to conclusions based on his own wants and desires.

“You keep me up at night,” Steve finally says. “It’s — fuck, Eddie, don’t get mad at me, or anything, okay? You keep me up at night because I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop — it doesn’t make sense, does it? I’ve only been with girls, but this feels like that. This feels like — like when I was crushing on Nancy, and… And now I’m realizing maybe this isn’t the first time it’s been like this. Like, maybe I’ve looked at other guys, and…”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. He turns to him, sees the open and vulnerable way Steve is looking back. “I’m not gonna get mad at you for that.”

“That’s why you can’t stay here anymore,” Steve says. “Because every time I see you naked when you need help in the bath, and every time I help you to the couch or the kitchen, I just… Never want to let go.”

“Christ,” Eddie breathes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I’ve been taking advantage of this situation, and it’s wrong.”

“What? No,” Eddie says. “No, no, it’s — Steve, you know I’m gay, right? I have, like, no problem with guys looking at me.”

“You had sex with Nicole Summers at one of my parties in high school,” Steve says. “And I heard about Cass Finnegan, and you — you had that girlfriend for a while, uh… Mark Warner’s sister, right? I remember him talking about you at practice once.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know you had all my sexual experience cataloged, Harrington,” Eddie huffs.

It’s not like any of those girls were a secret. And Eddie’s pretty sure Carol had a hand in daring Nicole to sleep with him at that party. He knew everyone just wanted to see if the freak would get with a girl, and he’s pretty sure that night didn’t help the rumors of him being a fag. It’s just… Surprising that Steve Harrington of all people would remember names and details like that.

“It’s… I mean, word gets around,” Steve offers, a bit sheepish.

“Then you probably also know I barely touched Nic or Cass and barely got hard enough for anything to happen. God knows they told everyone.”

“No, I… But Warner’s sister?”

Eddie shrugs. “She offered me a way out of town. I thought that was love.”

“Huh.”

Eddie pulls one leg up and turns on the chair so he can fully face Steve.

“It’s okay that you’ve been having less than innocent thoughts about me, Harrington,” Eddie tells him. “Especially considering I’ve been looking at you.”

Saying it feels like a weight off Eddie’s chest. He’s been living here in Steve’s house for two weeks, and he’s been crushing on Steve for even longer. He’s had enough time to come to terms with being gay, but coming to terms with liking Steve has been an ongoing battle.

Steve Harrington has always been forbidden.

Too pretty for someone like Eddie. Too rich, too sporty, too straight. No one like Steve would ever like someone like Eddie, that’s what he’s told himself.

That’s what he tells himself every time he’s caught Steve’s eyes lingering. It’s what he tells himself when Steve offers to light his cigarette, or when he shoves his cold toes beneath Eddie’s thigh.

But knowing he doesn’t need to tell himself that anymore, knowing he was wrong, and that the lighter and the looks were all something more, knowing all of that — it’s a weight off Eddie’s chest.

Knowing he won’t get punched in the face and kicked out of Steve’s house for looking back, for wanting to touch, all of it eases something inside him.

It warms him despite the cold.

It makes him feel like he’s won the battle.

It makes him feel less alone.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Eddie,” Steve whispers.

He’s leaning forward again, sliding his legs down so his knees are no longer pressed to his chest. There’s less empty space between the two of them now. The gap is becoming smaller and smaller.

As Eddie laid awake tonight, he thought Steve was upstairs in his own room, a staircase and rooms and hallways away from him. He thought Steve was so far away, up in a part of the house Eddie hasn’t yet ventured because he doesn’t think he could make it up the stairs on his own.

And he felt so goddamn alone.

But Steve was closer than that. He was just outside, sitting in a pool chair just outside Eddie’s window. He was so close, and now — now he’s just inches away.

He’s just inches away, and he’s been feeling the same things Eddie’s been feeling this whole time. He’s been pining away, so scared of what Eddie would say about it, and Eddie, he’s been scared of what Steve might say if he knew, and it turns out — it turns out Eddie hasn’t been alone at all.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers back.

One of Steve’s hands comes up to touch Eddie’s cheek. His thumb runs along the edge of the bandage on Eddie’s cheek, light as a feather. So gentle.

Eddie wants to kiss him. He thinks Steve might want that, too, but even with the admission of feelings, Eddie doesn’t think he can make the first move. He’s never made the first move. He has to be prompted, has to be told, has to have it done for him because he just never knows. He never knows if it’s safe, when he’s right here on the precipice.

And with Steve, it matters. It matters that Eddie does this right and doesn’t take what isn’t freely given. He can’t just jump to any conclusions here. Steve may like him, but that doesn’t mean he wants to pursue anything with him.

Neither one of them move, and Eddie has the sinking feeling that Steve is thinking the same exact way. That whoever moves first is sealing some sort of deal that could either make or break this thing brewing between them.

“What’re you thinking about?” Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. You, he wants to say. Always you. You keep me up at night, too. You make me feel less alone just by being here.

He doesn’t say any of that.

“I’m tired,” he says instead.

The hand on his face falls away, and then Steve’s gaze does too. He looks over toward the pool, away from Eddie. It was the wrong thing to say, Eddie knows that. He just… Can’t do this tonight. Not when his head is heavy with sleep deprivation and his heart is pounding with his inability to kiss Steve first.

“Okay, yeah. Right,” Steve says. “It’s late.”

“And cold,” Eddie says.

“And cold,” Steve agrees.

Eddie picks up his glass and finishes it, probably too fast, but hopefully it’ll help him fall asleep. He watches as Steve gathers up his things and stands on unsteady feet. Eddie has to wonder how long he’s been sitting out here drinking. He has to wonder if Steve actually notices how cold it is out here.

Maybe it’s because it doesn’t compare to the Upside Down. Maybe this feels warm to Steve, the opposite of how Eddie feels these days. Like the cold seeped into Eddie’s skin and won’t ever leave. Maybe this is a respite for Steve, a break from the frozen nightmares.

They make their way into the house, back into the warmth of the kitchen, back into the golden light in the house. Away from the blue outside. Their glasses get put in the sink, the bottle of whiskey gets left on the counter. Steve shoves his smokes and lighter back into the pockets of his pajama pants, and Eddie almost asks if he can have another for later, but he doesn’t.

He thinks about asking if they can watch a movie, just so they can be near each other for a little while longer.

Falling asleep on the couch with Steve a few feet away always feels safer. Like he can give in and doze for a little while.

Standing in the hallway just outside the kitchen, they pause and look at each other. They need to go in opposite directions, Steve back upstairs and Eddie down the hallway to his bedroom. Neither one of them move, and Eddie knows the moment isn’t over yet. Steve’s still looking at him like he was outside, like he wants to cup Eddie’s cheek again and pull him in this time.

He doesn’t want to leave Steve yet. He’s so tired, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep once he lays down, not if he lets this night end like this, without either of them making a move and sealing that deal.

“Can we —” Eddie starts.

Just as Steve says, “Do you —”

They both fall silent.

“Go ahead,” Eddie says.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Steve asks. “Just — I mean, to sleep, you know? It might be easier.”

“Just to sleep?” Eddie asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I swear I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Eddie laughs, something soft and quiet between them. He really likes Steve, and he’s not so scared of thinking about it anymore.

“Okay,” Eddie agrees.

“Yeah?”

Eddie nods, and Steve smiles, and Eddie thinks he might be falling in love, and that scares him, but not enough to try stopping it.

They take the stairs slowly. Eddie hasn’t done any stairs since getting out of the hospital, and he just started to move around the ground floor a bit more freely. He thinks he’s going to need a cane eventually, but for now he leans against Steve and lets himself be helped. Steve’s arm is warm around his waist, his body firm and strong against Eddie’s side.

By the time they make it to the top, Eddie needs to rest against the wall for a second so he can catch his breath. He feels a little lightheaded, has to close his eyes and breathe through it. Steve’s hand comes up to touch his neck, thumb pressing to his pulse.

Steve has to feel how fast Eddie’s heart is beating. Eddie wonders if he’s trying to cover up the memories of stillness. If he’s trying to replace them with proof that Eddie’s still here.

“Just breathe,” Steve whispers. “You’re okay. Take your time.”

Eddie nods. Takes another deep breath. “I’m good.”

Steve’s bedroom isn’t too far from the top of the stairs, which is a relief. Eddie’s never been in there before, but it feels familiar,like he has. Sports trophies line the top of Steve’s dresser, posters of half-naked women and Steve’s favorite bands line the plaid walls, and the nail bat rests against his nightstand.

If Eddie weren’t so tired, he would take some time to look around at all the little pieces of Steve’s life, to see what kinds of things he can glean from the trinkets and posters and photos he has on display. But right now, all he can do is tug the sweatshirt over his head and fall into Steve’s bed.

He lands a bit uncomfortably, wincing as his wounds take the impact, but Steve’s there with gentle hands and a concerned look on his face, and Eddie forgets the pain for a second. Steve leans over him where he stands, one hand on Eddie’s chest, the other coming up to cup his cheek.

“Steve,” Eddie whispers. Pleads. It’s a plea, the way he says it. He needs Steve to make this decision, to either lean in and kiss him, or not.

He can’t take it anymore.

And then Steve climbs into bed with him, pushing himself up on one elbow as he lays beside Eddie, and his other hand comes back up to Eddie’s face, and he’s—

He’s leaning in, and Eddie’s lips part and his eyes fall shut, and he waits for the contact. He lays there on his back in Steve Harrington’s bed and waits for the press of lips to his own.

A noise falls from his lips when it finally happens, something between a moan and a whimper. It surprises him when he hears it, but he can’t even be embarrassed because he’s so tired and because this is what he’s wanted for so long.

The kiss is gentle, almost hesitant. Like they’re both too scared to push each other too hard. Like they’re both too tired to turn this into anything more. The kiss is soft, but it’s full of everything Eddie’s never been allowed to have.

Steve’s lips press against his and he’s never felt like this before. He’s never wanted to keep someone like this. None of the girls he fucked, none of the nameless guys in bars he kissed and let fuck him, none of it even compares.

He likes Steve, and he knows Steve likes him back. This isn’t a prelude to rough, dirty sex in a bar bathroom. This isn’t a dare at a party to see if the freak will put out. This isn’t him thinking he’s in love because someone offered him a ticket out of town.

This is different.

This kiss is from someone who gives him a reason to stay. It’s from someone who wants to know him and hold him and make sure he gets enough sleep.

Steve Harrington is someone Eddie could love easily and freely. He thinks he might already be there, after just two weeks of Steve’s generous heart showing him what it means to have people care.

When Steve pulls away, he doesn’t go far. He keeps his hand on Eddie’s face, a soft thumb moving along the edge of the bandage on his cheek. His breath comes out in soft puffs against Eddie’s skin, close enough that Eddie feels it.

“I know I said we’d just sleep, but I had to do that,” Steve whispers, tilting his forehead to rest against Eddie’s.

They’re so close that Eddie can feel the heat between their bodies, the warmth in the space between them. He wants Steve even closer, to feel him against his skin, to hold him under the safety of the blankets.

“It’s okay,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Steve whispers. “Soon as you’re better, I want to take you out.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?”

“I suppose I am.”

Eddie hums in thought, then presses another kiss to Steve’s lips. “I accept your offer.”

Steve smiles, and Eddie can’t stop his own from forming.

They kiss a little more, but eventually sleep tugs at Eddie in a way that can’t be ignored. He’s so exhausted, there’s nothing left to hold onto, no thoughts racing through his head to keep him up.

As he starts to drift, he feels Steve roll him over, and the last thing he remembers is Steve pressing against his back and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Eddie sleeps better than he has in a few weeks. He still wakes before the sun, but he doesn’t have to lay there wondering if Steve’s struggling to sleep, too. He doesn’t have to lay there feeling cold and alone. Not when Steve whispers something unintelligible into Eddie’s neck and pulls him closer.

Not when Steve’s here to keep him warm — to keep him safe.

It’s easy to fall back asleep.

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #steddie fic #my fics #stranger things

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m3talmunson · 1 year

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Any reasonable person would think, with the sheer length of Eddie's hair, that he would have the slightest idea of how to care for it.

If you thought that, you'd be wrong. He was flying by the seat of his pants, with a bonus of simple luck. It was astonishing that his hair didn't get matted throughout day to day life, let alone the end of the world.

Yes, Eddie obviously went to a hospital after it all. Nobody could have survived that level substantial of injuries without it. But no matter the NDA's, or the "freedom from prosecution," as Dr. Owens puts it, it didn't come with a clean-wiped slate in the public eye.

So Eddie chose to lay low. He got the treatments that were deemed necessary by the doctors, and then he got the hell out of there.

At least, from all of this, Eddie learned only to run when he needed to.

Part of him was scared he and Wayne wouldn't be able to swing the bill. That part of him was satiated when Owens's team swung the bill and replaced the... mangled Munson trailer. These government reparations didn't anywhere near touch the damage that was done, but Wayne and Eddie would take what they could get. Like they always had. Of course, the universe saw fit that Eddie take a little more.

Eddie was told -putting it politely- to stay the fuck out of that trailer park. Just because his name was cleared legally doesn't mean he should be anywhere he would normally go about his business. Not for the next couple weeks, at least.

And Steve Harrington, ever so giving, offered up his home as sanctuary.

And of course, Eddie was immediately trying to find a way out of it. When that didn't work, he started asking how soon he needed to leave. He didn't want to feel like a burden, especially not to Steve.

"Stay as long as you need, Eds. Forever, for a little while, on and off, literally anything as long as I don't have to carry you out of hell again. That's the one condition."

Sure, living with Steve had it's perks. He had some semblance of privacy, walls with ANY soundproofing, and company. What more could a boy ask for, you would think.

Not living down the hall from his crush while looking like a walking nightmare, Eddie thought, was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask for. He did not get that.

Despite living in the same house as him, he avoided Steve like the plague. Steve had made it clear his 'what's mine is yours' attitude was open to Eddie, but Eddie preferred his room. His boxes from the old trailer were there, his guitar, his sanity (or what remains). The moment he limped his way out of that door, he was in the realm of Steve. And he did not feel up to the task of being presentable in front of his literal crush.

Still, Steve came into his room every so often. Eddie went to the hospital, but he wasn't magically better. Steve changed his bandages, helped him when he needed it, brought him homemade soup? Because, somehow, Eddie is in an alternate dimension where Steve Harrington is making him his grandma's chicken noodle soup recipe for him. And it is PHENOMENAL.

Eddie could have never expected any of the past month's events. He was still grappling with the fact that life would just... return to normal somehow after the end of the world.

He had enough on his plate. However, the universe thought fit to throw some more on.

During one of his Steve-check-ups™, Steve just absentmindedly mentioned something Eddie was dreading.

"How have you been dealing with all that hair? I mean it's been in a new bun every day this week but you can barely lift your arms?"

"Well, actually Steve," Eddie started, "I haven't. This is the same bun you put in on Wednesday." He tilted his head down, he didn't really want to look Steve in the eye when he said that.

"Well shit Eddie, what can I do to help?"

And wasn't it oh so nice when Steve looked up at him with those big eyes, knocking on the door of his soul. How could Eddie turn his gaze from that?

"What can be done? I can't wash it until these fuckers-" He pointed at the sides of his abdomen, to the bandages that Steve had just finished replacing, "have healed enough for me to lift my arms, which should be almost any time now. Then, we can take these bandages off, I can get out of your hair, and I can clean my own."

It was pretty obvious that neither of the men liked that agreement, but Eddie saw it as the only option. Wait a week, lift his arms, get the hell out of dodge. Easy enough.

"I could wash your hair. You know I know how to." Steve replied, a genuine offer, not a throwaway or handout that was just a kind gesture.

"No, Stevie, you don't need to worry about m-"

"Checkmate, I already do. You lock yourself in here except for food, I don't even feel like you're enjoying yourself! What's the point in breaking out of hell, fighting tooth and nail, just to sit in your room? C'mon Eddie, let me do one thing to make your life easier." Steve was interrogating him, but for his own good? And only two weeks ago he thought Steve was just some highschool douche that he just had a little crush on once upon a long time ago. Here he is, caring for him like they've known eachother for years.

"You do enough for me." Eddie hid the blush building on his face by looking to the ground across from Steve. Steve just moved his head there.

"I want to do more. I'm offering to do more."

"You're not going to let me say no, are you?"

"It's your hair, your body! But no, not really."

"Let's go," Eddie said, swinging his legs carefully over the edge of his bed.

And that's how Eddie ended up in a T-shirt and boxers, head laying back in the kitchen sink. He hadn't really gotten to the standing-for-long-periods-of-time point of recovery, so Steve pulled up a stool and a towel for Eddie's shoulders, and got ready to work above his head.

"I'll tell you when to put your head back, don't want to freeze you with the water."

Steve turned the faucet to the hottest setting, then throttled back a little. He carefully took Eddie's hair out and brushed through the ends. It had been in a bun for ages, so at least it didn't get knotted.

"I don't really know much about how curly hair works, but-"

"Oh me either," Eddie interrupted. "Barely even knew I had it. Don't worry about me big boy, no special treatment needed."

"Oh you're getting special treatment, whether you like it or not," Steve said. "Tilt your head back."

And so Eddie did. And he would be flat out lying if he said that he didn't love how gentle Steve's hands felt running across his scalp. He would be lying if he said he didn't like being pampered, just a little. He would be a liar if he told you that this wasn't somehow sensual, or that he wished it had more meaning.

Something about the way Steve was massaging his scalp made him think there could be.

"I'm gonna block your forehead from the water, just warning you." Steve used a cup to get the water to the base of Eddie's scalp, he was thorough with the details and everything.

It made Eddie feel loved. That's new.

Eddie nearly blacked out until it was done. He just soaked it all in, feeling cared for. He had felt cared for before, but never loved, not by someone who wasn't obligated to.

"Why do you do all of this for me?" Eddie truly wanted to know.

"Why shouldn't I?" He replied, as if it was nothing.

"Nobody does." Eddie wanted to say more, but now wasn't the time to throw a pity party and cry in front of Steve Harrington.

"All the more reason to."

"Harrington," Eddie tried to sit up as he talked, "you don't-"

Steve pushed him back down by the chest, conditioner and water soaking into his shirt.

"Don't strain yourself, seriously. Let me rinse this out, then you're free to go back to whatever you were doing." He left one hand on Eddie's chest, not keeping him down, but just resting there. Like he forgot about it, but it felt intentional.

Eddie dragged his hand up to Steve's on his chest.

"Thank you. Really," was all he could muster up without those tears rushing back.

"Of course, Eddie. Wouldn't rather be anywhere else." He continued to work around the ends of Eddie's hair, slowly turning the water off and doing some final slow scrunching motions with the towel not around Eddie's shoulders. "You're all done. Let me help you up."

Taking Eddie's hand in one of his and lifting from Eddie's back, he got Eddie sitting up right. The hand on his back let go, but not the hand in Eddie's.

"Well? Anything you usually do that I can help with?" Steve asked.

"You've done enough," Steve got ready to cut him off, but Eddie beat him to the punch, "I can't do any more without bending over, which is off the table. Seriously, Stevie, you've done more than enough. You've been insane amounts giving and patient with me. You've given me enough."

"I wish I could give more."

"I know."

"I could give more." Steve offered, ready to give all he had in the world.

"Steve," Eddie said, some type of begging look in his eyes, "I don't want to read too much into this but you've offered me more than I could reasonably take. You've given me sanctuary, food, care, what more is there?"

"Love."

Steve laid it all out on the table. All he had left to give was hope that Eddie would take it.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asked.

"Please."

And when Eddie took it, it was magical. Just for a moment, all the pain, and bad memories, and nightmares, they just stopped. Suddenly, for a second of time, their was no ring of pain around Steve's neck, no searing, or scorching, or stabbing in Eddie's sides.

Maybe Eddie won't live in Steve's house forever, but he might live in this moment forever.

~~~~~

Thank you to @warlordess for giving the prompt in the comments of my last post! SO sorry it took so unbelievably long, but my show finally closed! Everyone, feel free to leave any prompts in my asks from now on! All of my previous posts as well as this one will be on AO3 soon, then I'm going to make a pinned post with my account! Thank you all so much for the patience you graced me with, hopefully it won't happen again!

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve stranger things #eddie stranger things #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #stranger things #st4 spoilers #st4 fanfic

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10piecechickennuggy · 5 months

Text

Of pain and healing - Trafalgar Law x Fem!reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan created work.

“Traffy.” Luffy’s expression was the most serious she’d ever seen. “Take good care of y/n.”

What?

After everything. After sailing together for six months. After being flung halfway across the world and reuniting at the war of the best. After having his own brother die in his arms, Luffy was leaving her with another captain for two years?

Their friends were scattered around the world, doing who knows what. They’d sent out the message to reconvene in two years at Sabaody, but she was here. She’d expected to stay with him. To train with him. To support him in any way she could. He was her captain. Her friend. Her nakama.

“Luffy!” Y/n gripped the railing and prepared to jump overboard, intending to swim to him. A pair of strong, tattooed arms wrapped around her midsection and effectively stopped her from doing so.

“She’ll be safe with me, Strayhat-ya!” Law called over the girl’s thrashing.

Her arm stretched outward, vainly grasping for her captain. “No! Luffy, I won’t leave you!” Water had begun to form in her eyes, blurring her vision. “You’re going to be king of the pirates! How can you do that without any crew?!”

Luffy laughed. He was bandaged and bloodied, intending to spend his time on a deserted island, and he was laughing? Was her panic that funny?

“When we meet again, I’ll be stronger than ever!” The boy exclaimed proudly, his shoulders broad. “I expect the same from you!”

For a moment, she stopped struggling. This couldn’t be real. She was having a nightmare. There was no way her captain would abandon her. Luffy wouldn’t do that.

“Bepo! We’re going now!” Law used her moment of denial to pick the girl up, moving toward the door.

When the sirens screeched and the submarine lurched, signaling its descent into the waves, her panic resumed tenfold. She screamed incoherently. She squirmed, kicked, and clawed at the railing and then the air. Obscenities were hurled at Law. But he did not relent.

Once they’d gotten inside and the door closed, she didn’t stop fighting. Fists were hurled at the thick steel door. Nails broke as she dug at the metal. Tears fell in hot, angry streams.

Law’s grip only tightened on her waist, his forehead digging into her back. When she fell to her knees, he followed. Her tears turned into choking sobs and wails. Her heartbreak echoed with an intensity matching the alarms blaring throughout the submarine.

Why? Why was Luffy doing this to her? She didn’t understand.

Eventually the sirens ceased, announcing the craft’s successful descent, and she began to quiet. Her body shook as she held herself. Her breath quickened to near hyperventilation - the finality of her sentence sinking in.

When Law lifted her in his arms, her body fell limp. Why wasn’t she waking up? She began to feel numb, shock taking hold of her senses. The strong arms cradling her to a warm, broad chest went unnoticed. Her mind raced, the unknown of her circumstance paralyzing.

Before she could register the change, she was being sat down onto a cold examination table, the abrupt temperature startling her back to the present. Focusing her eyes, she found Law’s form turned away and shutting a door. The lock clicked in a satisfying tone.

The room was cold, sterile, reminiscent of a doctor’s office. The only hint that she wasn’t inside a hospital was the desk overflowing with papers and books set to one side. It looked like someone’s personal library had exploded over roughly half of the room.

Her senses still lagging, she jumped when Law’s hands slapped the table on either side of her. His arms were rigid, trapping her in place on the metal slab. His legs rested between hers as he leaned forward, his forehead coming into contact with her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft. Far softer than she’d heard over these last weeks.

He withdrew just enough so that their eyes could meet. His golden orbs reflected the fluorescent lights, appearing like lanterns amidst his dark circles. “I know you’re suffering. But I promise to care for you the best I can.”

Her eyes widened. Where was this coming from? The Trafalgar Law she’d seen at Marineford, the man who saved her captain’s life, was cold and unfeeling. He was an apathetic, calculating, unapologetic murderer. A captain of the Worst Generation. But as he raised a hand to smooth out the mess she’d made of her hair, she found herself leaning into his touch.

***

He wouldn’t leave her alone - not for long at least. He’d made her sleep in his room, insisting that the crew’s quarters were unfit.

He rarely slept in his own room, instead passing out at his desk after studying medical documents for countless hours. On the rare nights he did make it to the Captain’s quarters, he chose to sleep on the small couch.

Those first several nights, she barely slept. Perched on Law’s plush bed and staring out the porthole became her constant position, only resting when her body gave way to exhaustion. Spotting the occasional fish became the highlight of her days.

When a week had passed this way, Law decided it’d been long enough.

At first, she’d fought him on it. She refused to leave the room, not wanting to spend time with any of the Heart Pirates. She didn’t want to grow close to them. She already had a crew - the Straw Hats were her nakama.

But she was no match for Law’s strength or his Ope Ope powers. If she wouldn’t get up, he’d carry her. If she fought against his hold, he’d create a room and teleport them both.

He forced her to eat her meals with his crew. At first, she wouldn’t talk to them. Their welcoming greetings were met with neglect and half-hearted pleasantries. But each trip to the mess hall became less eventful.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked him one day while he dragged her to breakfast. “Why put so much energy into making me eat?”

Law clicked his tongue, his tone akin to chastising a child. “Your captain entrusted you to my care. How do you think he would react if I returned you malnourished?”

Eventually, she began to open up. Slowly - excruciatingly at times - she came to know a few key members of the Heart Pirates.

There was Bepo - a depressed polar bear mink and the ship’s navigator. His fur was the softest thing she’d ever felt.

Ikkaku was the only other female onboard. Her tomboyish personality made her a great fit for the mostly male crew.

Penguin and Shachi were a pair of near inseparable idiots. Their constant antics and terrible jokes brought some much needed entertainment to Y/n’s dark mind.

But always in her thoughts was the wish to be back home - aboard the Thousand Sunny. With the Straw Hats Pirates, sailing towards the One Piece. She’d have given anything to be with her nakama.

***

When the night terrors started, Law knew his efforts weren’t enough.

He was headed to bed after a late night of pouring over medical texts. Entering the room quietly, he’d found her form slumbering peacefully beneath the sheets of his bed.

Law had smiled at her snoring, glad she was finally getting some restful sleep. Her state had begun concerning him - sleep deprivation was a quick killer. But it seemed his attempts to get her accustomed to life alongside his crew had been working.

Satisfied with himself, he went into the attached bathroom. Removing his shirt to reveal a muscled, tattooed chest, he took in his reflection. His eyes were sunken, the permanent dark bags appearing to have worsened.

Turning on the sink, he began to splash water on his face. Then the shrieking started.

He rushed into the bedroom to see Y/n distressed. She was screaming, thrashing in her sleep as if she were being held down. The wails were panicked, desperate for relief from whatever horrors plagued her unconscious mind.

Law rushed to the bedside, placing a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. Inked letters spelling “Death” came into his vision, an unwelcome layer of irony adding to the chaos. He shook her head, willing his worries away before bringing his other hand to stroke her hair.

“Shh.” He spoke calmly, knowing that an abrupt awakening could spell danger for the girl. “You’re alright, Y/n-ya.”

When her eyes fluttered open, they were glossy with tears. She didn’t stop to ponder the distraught expression on Law’s face. She only reached forward, wrapping trembling arms around his torso and pulling him down to her level.

A fleeting moment of confusion caused the man to hesitate before he held her. She sobbed quietly into his chest as he rubbed soothing circles on her back.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She’d asked through sniffles one night after he’d calmed her.

Law sighed, his eyes closing under scrunched brows before he answered. “Because I know how it feels to have someone you love ripped away from you.”

***

For once, the submarine was docked on an island - one she’d refused numerous offers to explore. Birds flew over the horizon and waves could be heard lapping against the metal hull. Y/n hadn’t realized how much she missed the sounds of the surface.

Why had Luffy left her here? Was she that much of a hindrance to his training? She understood that he wanted to spend this time getting stronger. As they were now, none of the Strawhat Pirates were ready to face the New World. But could they not grow together?

Suddenly, shouting and gunfire broke her train of thought.

Springing to her feet, she tore through the metal hallways like a wild animal. She’d be damned if a Marine attack killed her new friends, leaving her stranded.

Wait. Friends?

Flinging the vessel’s main door open, Y/n jumped as a stray bullet barely missed her. The metal rang like a bell under impact, a small dent marring canary paint. She looked out to the island; soft sand was stained with blood. A Navy ship was docked not far away, her men engaged in battle with the Heart Pirates.

Both sides appeared to be struggling, though Y/n’s hosts were faring worse than the Marines. White and orange boiler suits blurred with the unmistakable blue and white of uniformed soldiers. At the heart of it all, Law could be seen slaughtering enemies one after another - His devil fruit and sword in perfect synchronization.

In contrast to their captain, the Heart Pirates’ lower ranking members were obviously floundering. They were outnumbered, even after the countless Marines that had already fallen. If the tides of battle didn’t turn soon -

Y/n jumped over the railing, sprinting forward the second her boots met wood. A body lay where the small dock’s planks turned to sand. She swiped the rifle laying nearby as she continued to run, choosing to ignore the stickiness which covered her hands.

Her first target was a man advancing on Bepo - a sword swinging dangerously close to the polar bear’s neck. Taking quick aim, she steadied her breath before firing. The bullet went straight through the man’s head, his body dropping instantly.

The navigator took notice of his savior, shouting a quick “thanks” before he moved to another target. This time, he chose to maul a marine who was advancing on Ikkaku. Blood sprayed as the soldier’s right arm was ripped off, a bloodcurdling scream erupting over the battlefield.

She took aim again, taking out two marines engaging Shachi and Penguin. One by one, enemy soldiers fell to expertly aimed shots. She was a weapons master, afterall.

The battle began to turn, the two sides evenly matched before the numbers tilted in the Heart Pirates’ favor.

“Everyone! Back on the ship!” Law’s order rang over the bloodied terrain as the surviving marines began their retreat.

Immediately heading their captain’s orders, the entire crew bolted for the Polar Tang. But a hand on Y/n’s shoulder prevented her from following.

“Room.”

Before she could register what was happening, she had been transported into Law’s room. Turning, she found the man standing behind her. Blood was splattered across his form, drying crimson clinging to his goatee.

“What are you - “

Her question was cut short, startled into silence by Law advancing on her. She quickly stepped away until her shoulder blades met the cool steel of the room’s door. Her eyes darted around the room, panic rising in the back of her thoughts.

What had she done wrong? Should she have stayed on the ship? Had she interfered with one of his plans?

She yelped when his fist landed beside her ear.

“Strayhat-ya isn’t getting you back.”

Law’s expression was one of pure anger. Fury morphed his usually stoic features, an inferno burning behind his gilded irises. Had she not been taken aback by his words, she would have been terrified.

“But Luffy said in two years - “

“To hell with Strawhat!” His fist banged again, this time leaving a dent in the steel door. His neglect to add the customary -ya didn’t go unnoticed. “He had you right there at Rusukaina, but instead sent you away with another man!?”

She shrank under his gaze. Law was usually so unexpressive. Even the tender moments they’d shared were not only rare but punctuated with only concern or melancholy. Never had she seen him display such intense emotion.

“He said he wants me to get stronger.” Why was she defending her captain? He’d abandoned her - tossed her aside to focus on himself. Didn’t he know how much she was hurting?

“You’re already plenty strong.” Law sneered, voicing her thoughts before they’d fully formed. “You just saved my entire crews’ asses. If he couldn’t appreciate what he already had, ” Law paused, removing his fist from the door and moving it to hold her waist. “Then I will.”

His lips crashed into hers with a passion she’d not experienced before. They were soft, moving fervently against her own as she reciprocated his movements. He smelled of musk and pine - the scent reminiscent of Christmas as it invaded her senses.

Each caress of their lips sent bolts of electricity down her spine. When his tongue probed for access, she granted it with a happy humm. Their wet muscles mingled in a dance of unspoken desire. All the sleepless nights he’d sit up with her, all the times he’d leave his work to check on her, all the effort he’d put into ensuring her health and wellbeing, all the energy and care he’d continue to exert for her - it all came to a head as one passionate kiss bled into the next.

Strong arms brought her against a firm chest, holding her tightly. When her fingers laced into his raven locks and tugged ever so gently, he growled into her mouth. In a single swift motion, he lifted her off the ground.

Her legs were still wrapped around his torso when she fell into the plush mattress. Their bodies were pressed impossibly close, the lines where her being stopped and his began had blurred. It wasn’t long before the two had become a heaving, sweaty mess of passionate flesh and sin.

***

Two years had passed quicker than either of them had expected.

“Y/n!” Luffy shouted in excitement as he ran towards her, his rubber arms stretching out to wrap around the girl.

She giggled, returning his embrace.

“Why weren’t you on Sabaody? We waited for you until the Marines attacked.” His confusion was sincere as he released her and tilted his head. But before she could respond, he continued with a wide grin. “Doesn’t matter now! Come on, we’ve got some kids to save before we leave this island!”

When he’d turned to run off, Law spoke up. His arms were crossed over his jacket-clad chest. “Wait, Strawhat-ya. Y/n has something to say.”

Luffy turned to face her, his expression now serious.

She shook her head before moving towards Law. “I won’t be going back with you. I’m a Heart Pirate now.”

Law smirked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders before he leaned down. After placing a kiss to her forehead, he glared at Luffy. “And my girlfriend.”

#one piece #x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #trafalgar law x you #trauma #abandonment #healing #romance #oneshot #one piece oneshots

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ballad-of-birdy-lamb · 5 months

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This was requested by @chloelight143!! They asked for Coriolanus Snow x Reader comfort fic

Coriolanus Snow x Gender neutral! Reader (comfort fic, romantic)

I find it funny whenever someone asks for a Coriolanus fanfic, especially fics like this. Like, why do you want to be comforted by a psycho?

Btw, the reader replaces Lucy Gray/Jessup. Anytime they are referenced they are both put together to keep this as neutral as possible

The sun had risen high into the sky, and the July heat pelted onto Coriolanus’ pale skin, his Academy uniform growing uncomfortable. The day had gone by slowly for him, the seconds ticked by at the speed of an hour. All he wanted to do was see you, was that something so harmful?

His mind had been jumbled for a while, since the delay with the arena bombings, and his mind was filled with horrific events, mainly nightmares. Nearly every night he would wake in a cold sweat from the memories. But the bombing had gotten the Capital involved in the investigation, leaving time to keep himself busy and hope for a stress-free time until the Games. Of course, that didn't always happen.

His shoes made a soft click as he walked through the zoo. There was no one there except peacekeepers, the surviving tributes, and himself. It unnerved him to no end thinking of how lonely they must have been, how hungry. The public was their main food source, it was undoubted that they needed to be fed. The idea of the tributes getting skinnier and skinnier as the nights went on from never being fed made him feel even more grateful for the disgusting broth he had to eat back home.

As Coriolanus’ mind trailed on and on about the hunger the tributes faced, he thought of you. His tribute starving in a cage, dead by the first night in that dirty arena. That was no place for you to die. It was embarrassing, even for him to think about. But your possible death was the last thing he needed on his mind.

Once the peacekeepers got the ‘go ahead’ from Dr. Gaul, he stepped into the monkey house, he was almost immediately hit with disgust. Though the feeling mixed with pity, he couldn't deny he felt nothing but disgust for the tributes. They sat with their backs turned to him, their bodies hunched and covered in bandages. They sat in small piles of thin hay, their bodies crumpled against the uncomfortable grass. Coriolanus grew worried if this was what happened to the other tributes, what happened to you? His mind raced with theories of the injuries you had sustained. Once he got to your cage, he tried calming himself. It wasn't professional for him to worry so much over.

Coriolanus looked away from them and eyed your enclosure, reaching his hand to hold the bars, which almost boiled under his fingertips. He scanned the chamber until he found you, lying in your pile of hay, much of it pulling up grass from around the enclosure. Your stiff body was partially covered in your/your district partner's coat. Coriolanus’ eyes lit up at the sight of you, of course, he couldn't tell if you were hurt badly or not but he was grateful you were here.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!” Coriolanus called to you in a soft tone. Your body stirred and sat upright. At the sight of him, your face lit up. You were quick to leave your makeshift bed and scamper to the bars. As you got closer, he fully took in your possible injuries. Your left eye has gotten cut from falling debris but everything else about you was fine.

“I wasn't expecting you to visit,” you smile and reach to hold the bars. Coriolanus nodded, he couldn't help grinning but it faltered from hesitation. He hoped you didn't notice his change as he kneeled.

“I just wanted to see you,” he answered slowly, his eyes trained on you. “I didn't bring any food, I’m sorry.”

You tried keeping your reaction minute but he could tell you were disappointed. You nod unhurriedly. “That's fine.”

Your dissatisfaction made Coriolanus pause, wondering how you really felt about this. You were starving, after all. He wouldn't blame you for crying about it, he might have judged you but he would understand. The idea of the unending starvation you and the others were going through brought along the idea of what they could eat. Maybe it was grass they pulled from the ground. If the peacekeepers weren't here twenty-four-seven, maybe they would have eaten each other. It wasn't something they were incapable of. People grew disgusting when hungry.

Coriolanus pushed the idea out of his mind. “I’m guessing time in here is a lot quieter,” he smiled again. You nod.

“Yeah, it gets kinda lonely. A lot of the other tributes don't talk to each other, especially the tributes without their district partner,” you mutter. You didn't look him in the eye as you spoke. He couldn't imagine the idea of watching the death of someone he cared for. He couldn't imagine it with Tigris, he couldn't imagine it with you.

Coriolanus gazed at you as you muttered the words. It wasn't far-fetched for tributes to gain a form of care for another, but they never bloomed into relationships that were familial or romantic. He hadn't seen all the Games but he knew the tributes rarely cared about relationships in the arena. He couldn't blame them, he wouldn't care if he was in their position. Thankfully, he never would be. Thankfully, he wasn't district.

“I’d imagine they’re mourning their district partner. It would be difficult talking to others and getting scared others would die too,” Coriolanus replied. He couldn't help but move his hand down on top of yours holding the bars. “I couldn't imagine what would happen to your family if you passed.” He desperately wanted to be vocal about how much it would have affected him too but he held his tongue.

You leaned your head against the bars, slowly nodding your head. “They would have been pretty sad,” you mutter. Your fingers intertwined with his, causing your hands to be pulled from the bars. “I’m grateful I have you, you're much kinder than other mentors.”

Warmth washed over Coriolanus’ face, not only from your hand but from your words. You were grateful for him. He knew for sure his face was red. He couldn't help but gaze down at your hand, your fingers cold against his. “I had a dream about you last night,” you say suddenly. The idea almost caught him off guard. Coriolanus rarely remembered his dreams, he couldn't imagine dreaming of another person and it not being odd.

“Oh?” He raised his brow and smiled. You possibly dreaming of him made him smile a little too wide. Coriolanus wondered if you noticed. “I hope it was a good dream.”

“It wasn't,” you state. Your expression was blank as you gazed at him. Coriolanus’ expression fell quickly but he was still willing to know what it was.

“What made it so bad?” Coriolanus moved his fingers along your cold ones, waiting for an answer.

You paused, taking in a breath before speaking again. “I don't remember much but I had imagined you had passed in the bombing, the same going for Lucy Gray/Jessup.” You pause again. “I know it sounds stupid but I would be so lonely without you visiting. I do love Lucy Gray’s/Jessup’s company but I like yours too.”

Coriolanus couldn't help but give a slightly confused look. Did you cherish his company that much? He did like you and your entirety but he thought you viewed him as only a mentor. He apparently was wrong.

“I’m still here and alive. You don't have to worry about it,” he smiled reassuringly. You gaze at him with a saddened look but nod. Your somber look made him more confused. He was here, holding your hand, going out of his way to visit you. He was here with you.

“I know, I’m very grateful for that. I'm glad you're alive.” You reach for his other hand, wanting to feel his skin against yours. Your expression grew sadder as you peer up at him. At some point, he thought you were on the verge of tears.

Coriolanus observed you closely, hoping to understand your quickly changing emotions.

“I’m gonna miss you, Coriolanus,” you took a shakey breath and tightened your grasp on his hand. “I’ll try my best to win, I promise you that.”

Coriolanus nodded at your words, his hand tightening around yours. “You’ll win,” he remarked, as though it was factual.

He would make sure you win. Nothing seemed to keep him going past that. Your victory wouldn't benefit you in the slightest in District Twelve or the Capital but it would help him, that was what mattered.

“You seem sure about that idea,” you mutter. Gazing at him, his face was soft, taking in your saddened features. “You know I’ll win?”

“Yes, I do,” Coriolanus stated, nodding his head. “I’ll keep you safe and you’ll come out a victor.” He said those words like they were factual but they weren't. He couldn't guarantee your victory but he hoped you thought he could.

“Promise?” You hesitantly asked. You must have hesitated out of embarrassment, at least he would have if he asked something like that.

“I promise. I promise to take care of you and ensure you’ll go home at the end of all this,” Coriolanus nodded and took your hand fully into his.

Tears formed in your eyes as he spoke, at least someone in the Capital cared for you. You squeeze his hand a bit firmly yet don't try to hide your tearful eyes. “I hope I won't just be a tribute to you. I don't want to be gone with the wind as quickly as I had come.”

Coriolanus tilted his head at your words. He knew what you meant but the way you said it was odd to him. “I won't. I do care about you, I truly do,” Coriolanus tried leaning closer, hoping the proximity would comfort you to an extent.

“I care about you too,” you murmur and lean your head against the bars. “You’ll root for me.” The way you said those words was like stating a fact. Coriolanus would, it was just how confident you were.

He gazed at you silently for several seconds, watching your tears roll down your face. Lifting his hand, his thumb wiped the tears from your face. “I’ll do everything in my power to take care of you and to keep you safe. There's nothing in this world I won't do to keep you alive.”

You sniffled and gazed at him. Coriolanus couldn't help but admire you. You were radiant, even when you cried. “I’ll get you home to your family, friends, or whoever is waiting for you in District Twelve. No matter what.” He said again, almost a mantra of promises he didn't know if he could keep.

The soft yet comforting calm was ended by the sudden feeling of your lips on his. The impulsive affection drew him in, causing him to press as much into the kiss as he could. Coriolanus’ hand trailed from your cheek to the back of your head, desperately wanting to keep you with him.

As you kissed Coriolanus, he almost tried bringing you closer but the bars stopped him. It annoyed him for a millisecond but it was washed away by the pleasantries of your lips on his.

At the sound of nearing footsteps, you pull away again. Coriolanus was silently disappointed by the feeling of your lips away from his, wanting more from you. But he couldn't tell if he wanted just a kiss. The sound of footsteps getting closer caused him to turn to the sound and was met with the sight of a peacekeeper.

“You aren't allowed to get all touchy with the tributes,” commented the officer, grabbing Coriolanus’ shoulder harshly. He was pulled from you, your hand slipping from his. You reached for him, watching as he was pulled away.

Coriolanus finally started to walk normally as he left the monkey house. He tried fixing himself, hoping not many others had seen his intimate moment with you. But he couldn't deny it was a lovely feeling. Walking down the dark road, his mind was full of ways he would greet you next…

… Maybe a kiss was the easiest ‘hello’ now.

Thank you so much for waiting! I am so sorry I haven't finished this earlier but I’ve been caught up in school and have been very busy. I hope you enjoy it.

#ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #thg prequel #coriolanus snow #tbosas x reader #tbosas x gender neutral reader #coriolanus tbosas #coriolanus snow x gender neutral reader #coriolanus snow x reader #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #tbosas fanfic #thg x reader #thg fanfiction

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 8 months

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❀ whumpee x caretaker tropes where whumpee and caretaker are enemies ༊*· ┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ ˘͈

tw: force feeding, mention of vomit

✘ caretaker has whumpee locked in a room (or chained down to a bed) so that whumpee can’t escape, except that — instead of whumpee’s completely being a prisoner — caretaker’s having to hold whumpee captive is genuinely for whumpee’s own safety, too.

✘ whumpee constantly expects caretaker to hurt them.

✘ whumpee may be injured, but they’re not submissive. they always hiss and snarl at caretaker like a caged animal; clearly scared and terrified, yes, but they refuse to surrender.

✘ whumpee tries to attack caretaker, but with them being hurt, caretaker can easily overpower them by placing a firm hand on the back of whumpee’s neck and holding them down to the bed, keeping them still. (keep in mind that caretaker is not hurting whumpee, they’re in fact keeping whumpee from hurting them and themself in the process.)

✘ feeding time is a nightmare when whumpee constantly tries to literally bite caretaker’s hand.

✘ whumpee thrashes around when caretaker holds their jaw open with one hand, feeding them with the other, forcing the food down their throat.

✘ neither whumpee nor caretaker is having a good time.

✘ whumpee always challenges caretaker to kill them and just get it over with. but even though whumpee tries to hide it, caretaker can still see genuine fear in whumpee’s eyes.

✘ caretaker isn’t going to “comfort” whumpee (they’re enemies, duhhh), but caretaker does tell whumpee that they’re not going to hurt them. that whumpee doesn’t believe caretaker is… none of caretaker’s problem.

✘ whumpee gets sick and throws up on their bed / on the floor (the choice is yours), they are less embarrassed than they are surprised by how gentle caretaker is being, as caretaker helps clean them up.

✘ or how mindful caretaker is when they’re changing whumpee’s bandages.

✘ caretaker gives whumpee a bath and when whumpee reflexively tries to cover their wounds and their scars even if they know caretaker has already seen them all (because they don’t want caretaker to see what they consider a sign of weakness), caretaker says, “you don’t have to feel like you have to hide your injuries from me. I’m not them. I’m not going to take advantage of your wounded stage. I’m not going to hurt you.” — “what do you want then?” whumpee asks. — “I just want to take care of you and make sure you’re okay,” caretaker replies, firmly but softly with no hint of mockery in their voice.

✘ caretaker hears whumpee cry at night. though whumpee stops and pretends to be asleep when they hear the door open.

✘ caretaker knows whumpee is awake, but caretaker chooses not to say anything.

✘ or, one night, whumpee is awake but pretends to be asleep. this time, however, caretaker doesn’t know whumpee is actually awake when they walk over to whumpee’s bed to adjust the blanket properly around whumpee’s shoulders. whumpee keeps still and continues pretending to be asleep. they only open their eyes when they’re certain caretaker has already left the room, but they don’t push the blanket away, for some reason.

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

Text

The Scars Between Us

Relationship: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: angst, hurt, mentions of nightmares, slow to comfort, soft scared Din

Summary: Din is terrified when he almost loses you on a mission, one where you protected him, the scar you bear reminding him of his failure. He can hardly look at you, let alone touch you or think about doing so. What happens when you confront him on the matter?

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: Duh nuh, I have returned with a slice of Din angst. This man desperately needs to be held and loved despite his protests. I hope you all enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are most appreciated! Graphic by @firefly-graphics

Every time he closes his eyes, the same image surfaces. The blood, the raining of blaster fire, the wails of the child, screaming villagers. There you were in the thick of it with him fighting off the troopers who’d decided to infiltrate the seedy bar you convinced him to retrieve information.

Then the part that doesn’t leave, hasn’t left his dreams, borderline rising to nightmare when you turn yourself, grasping onto his arm, spinning in front of him, taking the bullet to your shoulder, it grazes you, but the sneer on youe lips, eyes hiding the upcoming agony is what plays over and over, dragging Din further down, scared and afraid of the danger he put you through. It made it even harder for him to look at you each day he wakes since that fateful day.

What would he do without you? He did that to you, couldn’t keep you safe, Maker, he failed both you and the child.

He takes a deep breath, shifting in his bed, reaching out for something, but met with only the emptiness of his bunk. Empty. The cooing he’d grown so accustomed to was nowhere to be heard. Almost in a panic he grabbed his helmet, shirt and pant hanging loosely on him then he hears your voice, talking softly from down the corridor in your quarters.

“I told you I’m fine, silly.” He hears your voice and he fights with himself as he continues watching you beneath his helmeted gaze, a silent centurion, but he still can’t tear the images from his nightmares away from the fringes of his memory, threatening to destroy him, consume him night after night, day by day. Still, he stands there, listening, not wanting to interfere, he knew the risks of having you near him in the line of fire.

Oh, but he didn’t expect to fall this far.

******

You shunned attachments, everything it involved, but now, you saw why it got in trouble, for you knew now you found the family you could always dream of not some distant future far out of your reach but in the end it was worth fighting to protect to have something of yours that you could live with to see everyday of your life.

You tug off your shirt, barely wincing in pain. You wouldn’t change what had happened, knew it was right, heck you hoped it had been helpful in the long run and there. The child babbled next to you, seeming content in your presence despite the bloodied bandage wrapped around your lower stomach and shoulder. Your body bore many scars, these are worth more than anything, you find yourself thinking, letting the thoughts wash over you.

“Don’t worry, kid, it barely even grazed me, I got out just in time, remember?” You pull the Child in your arms, his hand wandering over your skin, gripping your bicep, clinging desperately, his eyes looking up at you in concern, his other hand reaching towards the blaster wound on your shoulder. “I told you, it’s going to be fine, silly.”

“You got lucky.” Din’s modulated voice fills the room as he leans against your doorframe, head tilted slightly, watching you, Underneath the helmet though, he tries to hold back his own wince of pain as he watches Grogu babbling, trying to climb up your arm to reach your injured shoulder. He notices the way you try not to wince, let your pain show, another reminder that it’s his fault he couldn’t protect you, could’ve saved you from harm or something far worse. He doesn’t want to think of the alternative, swallowing the growing lump in his throat.

You feel his presence, but don’t acknowledge him, you wouldn;t trade what you did for the entire galaxy. Grogu’s persistent on your arm but you try not to wince again, trying your best to not fall deeper into your mind, this beautiful shattering trainwreck the insides of your body and mind have become. It hurts you to think of him, thinking of him dead in your arms, hands falling from your face tears and sobs threatening to wrench from your throat.

You knew that would be a chance again to have him every single change you got. If you were a machine it would be your only objective to see him from harm. You weren’t ready to see him die. You couldn’t do it couldn't live without him near his warmth everything of his you valued most dear. You couldn’t imagine a galaxy with him., down on your knees you prayed to whatever being who could help, heal your fractured soul, it mattered naught.

“I couldn’t let them hurt you, Din. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

“I could’ve handled it, you scared me, I was afraid I lost you.” His hands reach up, grazing your jaw, you try not to fall for this, for him, but it was all for naught, you can’t help but allow yourself to lean into him, but just as quick his hand is there, he pulls away as if he were burned.

“Din, please,” you hate how broken your voice sounds. You know this is something he can’t handle to admit, but the space between you is a growing void, searing hot, stinging you deep down more than you;d like to admit. It only grows when he sighs heavily, turning towards the door to his bunk, the door whooshing in his wake.

******

Days pass he can barely stand to be in the same room with you for five minutes. Why did he think you were afraid of him? Was this such a mistake to fall for him in this manner? Why did it all come down to this? Was it so hard for him to understand?

By now, your wounds had healed at a good rate and you hadn’t lost much more blood. Grogu clinging to your bicep didn’t hurt much anymore. You hate how the twinge your heart makes when you make eye contact with Din’s helmet visor, wanting to see his face, you can only imagine the expression on his face every time you pass by

Anger

Resentment

Fear

Shame

What you don’t know, however, is the ever present anguish and sorrow trailing after him like a haunted specter, pulling him back to where you’re running out in front of him, taking not one but three blaster shots from him, the way your body goes limp for a fraction, phasing you, but he shakes his head trying to tear himself from the nightmare. Of all the bounties and marks he collected, he’d seen enough of his fair share of bloodshed but that was different before you joined him on one mission which turned into another…and another.

Somehow, you were different. When he saw you take the hit, he felt deep down, his heart wince, you made him crave your companionship….you mattered to him. More than he could possibly fathom. More than he dares to admit to himself.

To make matters more complicated, Grogu had become attached to you by the by and he can’t exactly say no to the little guy. Din sighs, walking down the corridor past your door, noticing it open a fraction, he stands before it, debating. He knows it's futile to ask about Grogu, he can hear him babbling happily in there, no doubt entertained by one of the countless games you played to keep him entertained on long missions or while traveling through deep space.

Grogu’s gaze hovers long over the door, and you grimace, bracing yourself as you shift to maneuver off the bed. Should you do this? Why did it matter? You tried not to care too much but this? You couldn’t bear to fathom a life without either of your precious beloveds.

You knew his presence all too familiar, you don’t know why you can’t ignore the unbearable ache rising again, while you find yourself oh foolishly calling out, “Din? You can come in. Grogu wants to see you.” You’re right by the door, its still cracked open, a hint of beskar flashing through and it widens, and you’re brought back staring into his visor, your insides twisting in knots, the invisible sharp thread of longing poking out and taunting you no matter how hard you tried to deny it. It was inevitable at this point. You cared too much for him. You cared too much about the Child.

He cocks his head, and you step aside, smiling gently at Grogu playing with one of the many baubles and trinkets you had on your side table from previous adventures. He gurgles, happy as a clam, giggling when Din sits next to him on your bed.

“He’s happy.”

But are you? You bite back yout tongue, you’re not sure what to say, everything escaping you when his hands reach up, the familiar hiss of his helmet filling the empty void, the countless voids between you, and your met with a familiar, yet unfamiliar sight.

Piercing soft brown eyes, brows furrowed in a mixture of sorrow, shoulders slumping the more you study the planes and ridges of his face. The legend, Mando, the Mandalor. To you he was Din and always would remain, yet it aches the anguish in the lines along his lips, him wanting to reach out and reassure you he’s the one who is fine.

“Please tell me what’s wrong?” You take a step closer to the bed, ignoring Grogu’s gurgle of protest as Din leans down to murmur something to him quietly, a lopsided ghost of a grin whispering along his lips.

How you ache to trace his lips, rememorize him but your brain retaliates, screaming at you everything about this situation is wrong, that is until you sit next to him on the bed, your hand ghosting along the side of his face, as he watches, avoiding your gaze still, swallowing when you finally trace your finger along his skin.

“Please?” You try again, the anguish prevalent you don’t dare disguise it anymore, noticing his chest heaving. His heart races but when he meets your gaze, he tries so hard not to flinch when your hand skims along his lips, his heart skipping a beat.

“Can’t…cyar’ika…” his hands drop to your waist pulling you closer, one stroking your chin; tilting you up to meet his gaze.

Your own heart races, fearing you were the one to do something wrong. Hell your instincts kicked in at the most inopportune time and you just wanted, something inside you screamed, to protect him, you couldn’t lose him or the kid. It was you or them, you wouldn’t have changed anything about what you did.

“I wouldn’t change anything I did that day, Din. I need you to understand that, okay?”

He swallows once more, “But I was supposed to protect you…don’t want you hurt.”

You press your forehead into his more, fumbling with his hands, trying to get your point across, desperately hoping to the Maker you wouldn’t mess this up and make a fool of yourself, the feelings you tried to keep hidden long ago from resurfacing. “I knew the risks since the beginning, Din. But I care about you…”

The silence is deafening before he takes a shaky breath. “That’s why I can’t lose you…I wouldn’t know…” his breath catches, “Grogu and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out Din. I’ll be here with you both always, as long as you’ll have me.” You dare to reach up, stroke the fine lines of his face, his eyes closing shut at the touch, leaning into you a fraction. “ Don’t think I won’t do everything in my power to save your ass if it comes to harm, alright?” He nods, burying his face in your neck as you pull him closer, thanking the Maker you’ve come to an understanding.

The void within you quells, hope blossoming in your chest while you stroke his back, relishing the soft groans from him as he pay back his dues in full, intent on making up for lost time.

After all, it did take you getting shot for you both to admit the mutual affection….but you would make up for it with the times the universe bestowed upon you.

******

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian imagine #star wars imagine #pedro pascal

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iibonniee · 6 months

Text

A Quick Visit | Lee Minhyuk

Pairing: Lee Minhyuk x Reader

Genre: Smut, military!minhyuk

Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem receiving), angst, fluff

Rating: R

Word Count: 12k

Summary: After hearing little from her lover, he decides to give her a late-night surprise. His promise to make it up to her kept her up through the night until she could confront him in the morning.

Masterlist

It never dawned on Y/N that a lover could become a stranger just as quickly as a friend could become a stranger. Whenever distance was thrown into the mix, schedules often became too busy to keep up with simple things, such as a text back.

This fact hung heavily on Y/N’s heart as Minhyuk’s enlistment approached. Her world was suspended, dangerously swinging between past warmth and future uncertainty. The impending distance, the changing schedules, and the quiet unease that unfolded in her thoughts were a recipe for feared isolation.

Minhyuk, however, was well aware of the turbulence shaking her spirit. He could see the pain reflected in her eyes, hear the worry lacing her laughter, and sense the tension in her every touch. So, with a heart full of assurance and lips armed with loving words, he chose to bring her comfort.

“Listen,” he would gently coax, cradling her face in his steady hands, urging her eyes to lock with his. “We’ve weathered more than distance before,” he would assert, his gaze steady, voice firm yet soothing. “Our connection isn’t just measured in miles or minutes; it’s held together by something stronger, something untouchable - our love.”

His words, his steadfast belief in their unbreakable bond, were a bandage for her fears. The understanding in his eyes, his unwavering confidence in their relationship gave her a sense of peace that the tickling hands of worry struggled to displace.

She never felt wrong in her life.

As the cold dawn of Minhyuk’s enlistment day dawned, Y/N found herself standing alongside the other members of his group, their collective grief palpable in the heavy air. The sun shining above them gave her no warmth — one she needed so much but refused to offer such grace.

The stark reality of their possibly changing relationship weighed heavily on her, feeling more real and definite than any of his soothing words of assurance. Minhyuk’s farewell was marked by a kiss. Their lips met in a fragile dance, full of promise but underscored by the bitter pang of impending separation. A promise pronounced in whispers followed that emotional kiss.

“I will message and call whenever I can,” he promised, his voice as steady as the heartbeat Y/N felt against his chest. “You will be the first person to hear from me.”

He’d text and call when he could, semi-keeping to a promise he had sealed off with a kiss. Slowly, those texts and calls grew to almost nothing; his voice on the other end turned from highly expected music into hope. His silence roared louder than the busy chaos of the world and bustling city life, reminding her each day of the gaping distance between them. The absent hum of his voice in the echo of their shared home was a cruel reminder of his unkept promise.

His empty assurances seemed like beautiful lies that momentarily conjured an illusion of hope. Realization washed over her in waves, each more painful than the last. The familiar tang of disappointment filled her mouth, more bitter than any foreboding doubt she had ever held. Despite his comforting words and promises, it seemed she had misplaced her trust. It was a harsh lesson in reality, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the gap between Minhyuk’s words and his actions.

She tried to ignore how her heart broke when she heard of his first appearance since he enlisted. How her teary eyes that begged to burst would only lead to a shaky blur of colors on her phone screen, a nightmare unfolding in high definition. Seeing him as she did, standing in the middle of his adoring crowd, the same fans who were now privileged to his time and attention, while she, the keeper of his whispered dreams and knelt promises, was left to glean his whereabouts from impersonal news updates.

His oblivious smiles and joy were like perfectly timed daggers to her bleeding heart, each moment of rich laughter and vivid enjoyment amplifying her agony. The jarring contrast between the joyous Minhyuk in the photos and the silent Minhyuk in her messages was a brutal, unvoiced slap of betrayal.

Her hands quivered, the phone screen dancing dangerously under wet eyelashes as her promised-to-be-steadied heart clattered down an abyss, fragmenting with every bump of the descent. His absence had been a lingering wound, raw and tender. Still, his blatant disregard — veiled under joyous fancon celebrations — was an insidious poison, slowly dulling her senses until only anguish echoed in hollow places.

Each image of a laughing Minhyuk, each snippet of his well-chosen remarks were hideous amplifications of his silence towards her. The vacant space she had reserved for his communication, his comforting words had now become a desolate island of unvoiced sorrows, painfully reflecting his undelivered promises. Yet, his presence and joy elsewhere signaled that he held time — time that he chose not to share with her, time that she desperately wished to be a part of.

The added knowledge that he held free hours unspoken to her carved the wound deeper, sparking an anguish that scorched through her veins, branding her heart with the bitter aftertaste of betrayal. She had believed they shared a common longing in his silence, but he had etched a cavernous rift between them in his actions. The stark revelation shattered her hope, leaving her grappling with the shards of her trust and their shattered relationship.

That night, the moon was her helping friend. Keeping her company where her heart didn’t. Her mind was a mess of self-hatred and self-doubt mixed into one grueling nightmare that refused to let her sleep. The silence of their apartment, once filled with his laughter and murmurs of love, was now a grim orchestra of her sobs and whispered grievances. The eerie glow of the moonlight, seeping softly through the cracks of the blinds, became the sole witness of her despair, casting long, lonely shadows around the room. Another source that seemed to show her unsaid words of pity.

She contemplated calling off work, giving in to the relentless pain that coursed through her, but the thought of being alone in the apartment that echoed his absence was overwhelming. The thought of the empty silence reminded her unbearably of his quiet disregard for their shared dreams, reflecting their empty relationship.

As the dawn approached, she decided to face the world outside - not for the sake of carrying out her tasks but as a refuge from the solitude. The tiny computer screen at her desk at work was a less painful alternative to the daunting emptiness of the apartment.

Walking through the doors of her workplace, she found comfort not in the friendly greetings from her colleagues nor in the mundane tasks that filled her day but in the sheer act of survival. Each passing hour was a bitter testament to her crumbling heart bearing the weight of his betrayal, a reminder that despite the sorrowful echo in the hollow spaces of her soul, she could — and would — move on.

Her heart – the thing that had dealt the most pain – would never listen to the silly things her brain would tell her. Not even when his groupmates would message her, asking her if he stopped by to say hello and that they missed her and to never be afraid to reach out to them.

“No.” She wanted to so desperately write back. “No, he didn’t come by to see me. How does it feel knowing that he chose you guys over me? How does it feel knowing that my heart is tearing itself apart because he would rather not talk to me but would spend his free time being with you guys?”

But as much as her heart was breaking and everything inside of her was holding back, the tears that felt like one wrong push would completely throw her over the edge.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks!” That was all she messaged back before turning her phone off when she noticed her messages were still set to deliver.

Tucking the small device back into her pocket, she offered a strained smile to the coworkers passing by her desk. Every tick of the clock marked another second she was away from the eerie silence of their shared apartment. Each passing moment of the day distracted her mind just enough to keep the tears she’d been holding back from spilling over the edge.

She couldn’t help but cast furtive glances at the phone she had taken out of her pocket for momentary relief, half-dreading and half-hoping for a message from him. But with every passing hour, the anticipation dissolved into disappointment, each confirmation that he still hadn’t reached out to her stinging like a fresh cut on an old wound.

In an office filled with people, conversation, and the hum of life, her solitude never felt more profound. As the day wore on, a sense of dread seeped into her heart. It wasn't the dread of heartbreak, however, but the dread of having to return to an empty home, knowing that she'd be greeted by nothing more than the echoing silence of his absence and perhaps the bitterness along with the shadow of what used to be happiness.

As nightfall approached, she steeled herself. Bracing herself for the long night ahead, she cast one last glance at her silent phone, let out a soft sigh, and began her reluctant journey back home to the ghost of her lover.

The journey back was a blur, a haze of city lights blending with the memory of his smile. As she unlocked the door to their shared apartment, she found herself hoping against hope that he'd be there. Every creak of the wooden floor, every shadow cast by the dim hallway light, echoed a faint possibility of his presence lurking in some corner – a hush greeting, a cozy comfort.

However, the reality was rather stark. The apartment greeted her with a cold emptiness, an echoing silence that amplified the loneliness. The couch lay bereft of his rumpled form, the kitchen devoid of his lingering warmth, and the bedroom mocked her with his untouched side of the bed. She peeked into rooms filled with his absence, her expectations crumbling into an overwhelming sense of despair.

Every nook, cranny, and piece of furniture they'd picked out together now held the aftertaste of his memory. The laughter, shared dreams, and cozy movie nights hung around the apartment like ghostly shadows, a poignant contrast to the present reality. Echoes of their love story played out in painful silence as she navigated her way through the house, a creeping dread settling in her heart with every step.

She would have to face yet another night of longing, another night of silent tears, another night of yearning for a presence long gone. Another night of learning to unlove the ghost of her lover on her own. Yet, she held on, dreading the solitude but embracing it as well, because it was in this solitude that she realized her strength, found the ability to stand amidst the ruins of her heart, and still hope for a better tomorrow.

Navigating her way through the dimly lit apartment felt like exploring a forgotten, treasured moment of the past. The remnants of shared life still clung to the subtlest corners of the house – the picture frames capturing their warm smiles, the hand-picked furniture that had held their shared dreams, the cozy spots touch-marked by their settled bodies during movie nights. All were silent spectators to the drama of absence that unfolded in front of her, each object a trigger to a memory, each memory a knife twisting deeper into her heart.

Her footsteps took her to the door of an old, rarely-used room. A stab of pain hit her as she stepped inside his painting room. The scent of paint and turpentine, the hastily wiped brushes, and the blank canvas on the easel mocked her with their lifeless silence. His room, a sanctuary once filled with vibrant life and color with the mix of laughter and happy cries, was now a tangible echo of his absence. She froze, taking in all the painful details, her heart heavy with the cruel reality mirrored in the lifeless brushes and color tubes.

With a sigh, she turned away from the room, her heart aching with a longing she could no longer quench. Navigating her way through the rest of the house was a bleak journey. Hints of the love they once shared haunted her steps, whispering the past into her ears with every soft creak of the wooden floor.

Wrapped in the solitude of their shared memories, she finally climbed into bed. The room, still bearing the faint residue of his scent, enveloped her in its cold embrace. Alone in the vast expanse of the bed they once shared, she felt the full force of his absence. But amidst this profound loneliness, she found a fragment of her fading strength — a resilience defying the melancholy of the deserted space.

In the hushed serenity of the night, the soft glow of the moon cast a gentle light on her slumbering form. Still lost in her dreams, a faint trail of affectionate kisses began to awaken her from the deep realm of sleep. The delicate pecks started from the shell of her ear, feather-light as they gently traced the curve of her neck and danced down her bare back. Each slight touch, though subtle, stirred her slowly from her peaceful slumber, sparking a soft, pleasing tingle on her skin. A quiet smile graced her lips as she was softly drawn back to consciousness, the hushed whispers of the night broken only by the beat of her quickening heart — a rhythmic replacement for the silence of her once-shared apartment.

The more she was pulled from her dreams, the more aware she became. The soft kisses she had started to welcome soon had her body jerking away in panic, her heart racing as she almost allowed herself to fall victim to whoever decided to break into her home while the night was probably still young. She was more awake as the white sheets gripped her body as she scooted further from the unknown figure.

The figure was silent and hunched over. The silence that filled the room only caused her more panic as she tried to shuffle away more and more, only to be stopped the moment the figure snapped out of the shock they were in and began to blindly reach out for her.

“Relax.” The voice spoke, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. The more she struggled, the more the figure held onto her tighter. “Baby, relax.”

His voice was a warm contrast to the hostile atmosphere, carrying a soothing yet firm tone that seeped into her panic-stricken senses. It triggered a quick flash of recognition, causing her racing heart to skip a beat. She squinted, just catching the outline of a familiar frame bathed in the weak moonlight, and the tension in her body somewhat abated.

It was him. The figure she had been dreading becoming a stranger. Suddenly, the intruder was no more. It was him — her partner, her lover — whose absence had begun redefining their shared space’s silence.

His hand was warm, and his grip was gentle yet reassuring. The circles he absently traced on her forearm coaxed soothing waves across her agitated frame. The familiar whispery rasp that her ears cherished, the same voice she hadn’t heard in weeks. It was back, drizzling over the tense room.

The fog of panic slowly lifted as the realization settled — he was home. Her heart rate decelerated, the drumming against her ribs fading to a soft thump. She felt a hint of wetness tracing the curve of her cheek — tears, relief, or pent frustrations, she couldn’t tell.

A soft sigh escaped him, the quietest apology. He still held her closer, his grasp a desperate attempt to anchor themselves against the tide of emotions threatening to unchain. Even a slight parting, and they could be swept away back into those weeks of silence.

“Welcome home…” She mumbled faintly, her voice cloaked in relief. As he muttered a quiet “sorry,” they began to mend the silence of her once lonely apartment, filling it with breaths of a shared life. She began to blink, a frown spreading across her face as she had almost wanted to attack him. As she sat there in silence, she began to scowl at the unplanned entrance her lover made.

“I missed you.” He mumbled, his lips kissing the inside of her palm. With the light from the moon, she could tell that her lover was still dressed in his military uniform, no doubt just coming from his base. “I needed to see you; I need you. Please tell me you need me too and missed me as much as I missed you.”

His words were muffled as he continued to kiss her. They were laced with desperation as he moved onto the bed. She could barely see how his eyes flicked up to meet hers, desperation mixed with his beautiful brown eyes.

“Have you been behaving?” He was quick to ask, seemingly uncaring if she had answered him or not. His fingers were quick to rip the sheet away, and a deep-throated groan emitted from his throat as he enjoyed the lack of clothes she presented for him.

His hands moved wherever they could attach, squeezing and teasing her skin as they traveled down her body - from her collarbones to her breasts, down to the curve of her hips. The touch was familiar yet different, carrying an alien edge in its urgency, sending a flurry of mixed emotions through her.

Having caught her breath, she managed to choke out a shaky “yes” while fighting a fresh wave of panic. She was no longer sure if it was fear or something else entirely - a lingering sense of longing, perhaps.

He huffed, the hint of a smile barely visible in the dim moonlight. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured, sending waves of electricity down her spine. His fingers traced along the curve of her hips, the touch almost agonizingly slow. It was a reminder, a homecoming, and despite the onslaught of fear and confusion, a part of her relished it.

However, a significant part of her shivered under the unexpected strangeness of his touch. Something had changed either in him or in their once-shared intimacy. Whether it was just weeks of silence from him or how much she had missed his touch. She wasn’t sure what felt so different.

The silence that had vaguely started weaving around them was now a tangible bowl of questions and insecurities, a scenario she dreaded to unravel. Five months of almost nothing, often barely a greeting other than a simple message, and her only updates often being from social media, had her hesitating.

Her hand caught his, forcing him to halt his exploration. Even in the dim light, his eyes held her gaze, silently asking for an explanation. It was a moment of vulnerable truth they had to face now - their love, their bond kept under the magnifying glass, exposed and examined. The silent echoes of their once-shared apartment now called for answers, and she hoped they had them.

“You never told me you were coming home.” She whispered, her eyes never leaving his own as his shoulders fell in slight defeat. “You hardly message me. You never came to visit me when you were able to…”

“I wanted to surprise you,” He began, moving closer to her once more to kiss the corner of her lip, “Are you unhappy to see me, my love?” He pushed, “Have you not missed me as much as I missed you? Baby, I’m ready to explode. I need you. I’m so needy. I can’t wait. I need you. I need to be inside you. I want to taste you again. I fucking need you. Let me make up for lost time. For not visiting you when I could, please…”

Her eyes observed his movements. Her gasp was loud as he pulled her body down and forced her legs around his waist, allowing his hard-on to brush against her exposed cunt.

“Let me taste you, baby,” Minhyuk whined, waiting for her answer.

His begging eyes held a dark promise, a sinful invitation that she found impossible to resist. She gently caressed his face, a slight smirk gracing her lips.

“Alright, love,” she eventually conceded, her tone laced with suspense. Her heart pounded as a flare of anticipation passed between them.

Minhyuk’s eyes sparked with victory and desire. He bent his head downwards, his husky voice whispering promises of pleasure as he began his descent, further trailing his hands down her body, elevating their intimate dance to a symphony of tantalizing sensations. This, she realized belatedly, was the intoxicating blend of lust and love - an enticing whirlpool of desire and fulfillment - sinfully smutty yet unbelievably romantic.

He wasted no time sliding down the bed until his eyes met her needy cunt. His lips parted as he reveled at the sight, his breath hitching in anticipation.

“So beautiful…” he muttered, his husky voice like warm velvet against her skin. His thumb gently teased her clit, causing her to gasp at the sudden sensation. A wicked smile curved on his lips, hearing her sweet whimper.

“Minhyuk…” she breathed, her voice barely audible under the storm of her desire. He looked up, his gaze holding a fiery promise.

His tongue traced a languid path from her entrance up to her clit, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. A triumphant hum came from him, adding extra sensation to her already sensory build-up. He lavished his attention, alternating between a slow lick and a quick flick, building her anticipation and desire to an excruciating peak.

“Don’t rush, love…” he murmured against her heated core, intoning sinful promise. His aroused gaze met hers, his hands keeping her steady as she writhed under him, futilely trying to get more friction. He chuckled, the sound vibrating delectably against her, sending spasms of pleasure through her. He relished her taste, appreciating their intimacy and closeness, entirely giving himself to her pleasure. He loved to tremendously arouse her longing, driving her to the sweet edge of ecstasy. “Just let it happen naturally…” He whispered darkly, resuming his torturous pace. “I’ll have you cumming in my mouth soon enough. I’ll take care of you.”

“Minhyuk…” she whimpered out, every cell in her body reaching out for his touch. Her legs trembled around him as minutes stretched into an eternity, proving his promise true. Her fingers gripped tighter at the sheets, her breath ragged and hitched in anticipation.

Every sensation was amplified, magnified by the intimate patience with which he worshipped her. The sound of his name on her lips was a sweet symphony to his ears, a clear sign of her impending release. He continued his skillful play, his tongue against her heat, his breath fanning over her wetness, fueling her desire further.

Her hips rolled up, meeting his lips in a desperate plea, and her body quivered, a clear sign of her impending climax. At her first spasm, he pulled back just slightly, only to dive back in, latching his mouth over her clit and sucking gently. The wave came crashing down, her body convulsing under the influence of a mind-numbing orgasm ripping through her. He held her close, his mouth still busied with drawing out all of her pleasure till her high receded, and she lay panting and spent, the taste of her climax still fresh on his lips.

“I told you, love,” he murmured against her oversensitive skin, his voice muffled by her thigh. His words were punctuated with a final, gentle lick as she shuddered again, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Their eyes met, his holding a promise of more to come as she rode the waves of satisfaction washing over her. “I’ve got you.”

Kissing her thighs, Minhyuk left open-mouth kisses all over her stomach and neck until his lips found hers once again. The kiss was impatient and greedy. Y/N knew her lover was close to breaking, and he would no longer wait for his own release.

“I’m done waiting.” He mumbled as he began undoing his pants. “I need you so fucking badly. Can your cunt handle me, baby?”

He watched as she nodded her head eagerly.

“You sure?” He teased, determination lacing his voice. His eyes were filled with fiery intensity and primal hunger that she found intoxicating.

“Yes.” She gasped out, her voice barely audible.

With an approving grunt, he shed his clothes remaining, revealing his arousal in its full hardness. His eye glistened with lust as he ran his fingers through her slick folds, collecting her excitement before smoothing it on himself.

Positioning himself at her entrance, he locked his gaze with hers. This act wasn’t just about penetration; it meant more than that. It mirrored the depth of their desires, the yearning they carried for each other within their hearts.

Slowly, he began his descent into her, finding her wet and ready for him. A tempting purr escaped her at his initial thrust, causing him to twitch within her. “God, you’re so tight.”

With that said, he began to move deeper into her, each thrust showing his intense need. He was slow, then fast - every push and pull creating waves of pleasure rippling through their bodies. Her eyes rolled back as an uncontrollable moan escaped her lips, fingers clutching onto his back as they rhythmically moved as one.

His name was a plead, a whisper, and then a scream that sounded with the collision of their bodies - a sweet harmony to their undying chorus of love and lust.

Their room flooded with sounds of their wild abandonment, gasps, and whispers of their names. He loved every reaction she gave with his deep thrusts into her, the way she arched her body, meeting his. Each grunt and moan they shared in their intimate congress was a reminder of the passion that had bound them together.

And just as the crescendo of their communion was about to be reached, he positioned himself even deeper, looking into her eyes as he thrust hard one last time. A loud cry escaped her lips, her body tensing and convulsing as he followed shortly after, their releases mingling together in a decadent tapestry of absolute, raw, sexual bliss.

All that was left was silence, save for their ragged breaths in unison, the only evidence of passion played out just moments ago, a symphony of their love and lust. He gazed at her, sweat-soaked and satisfied.

“I love you.” He whispered, kissing her deeply. “I love you, I love you. Fuck, I missed you. I miss seeing you every single day. I fucking miss you, baby. I’m going crazy without you.”

His words were like silent chants as his fingers found her own. She observed her lover carefully. Each word of praise and compliments felt like kisses to her body. She heard him sniffle, his head falling down in defeat, but she felt his warm tears kiss her skin.

“Min…” Her words were soft as she cupped his face. The moonlight didn’t hide his red face as he cried. “I’m here.”

She watched as he fell beside her, his head finding comfort on her chest as he cried silently. He was weak and vulnerable. All she could do was hold him close and remind him that even though his time was limited with her, she’d value all time with him.

Kissing the crown of his head, she whispered soothing words, threading her fingers through his hair until his sobs subsided, an unspoken promise to weather the storm together hanging between them. This newfound reality was a cruel one, yet she held on because love, she knew, transcended the limitations of time.

That night, sleep evaded her. She watched him eventually succumb to slumber, his body heavily sunk against her as if seeking refuge from the inevitable. Suddenly, the night seemed longer, each tick of the clock echoing ominously in the dimmed room. Her eyes gazed outside the window, tracing the stars in a futile attempt to find guidance in their ancient twinkling light.

The next morning dawned, bringing with it the familiar blush of an early sunrise. In the soft, warm glow, his face was serene, oblivious to the anger and unfairness of their situation.

Sorrow washed over her as she slipped out of his hold. She cloaked herself in this brief solitude, allowing the tears to flow in quiet rebellion against the day that promised to chip away a piece of their borrowed time. The typical morning noises - birdsong, the hum of distant traffic sounded surprisingly devoid of joy.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air in the kitchen, battling her welling despair with its familiar comfort. As she prepared breakfast, she fought back the lump in her throat. The simple act spoke volumes of her unvoiced fears and hidden hopes, a poignant symbol of unsaid declarations.

However, with each passing second, anger slowly filled her body and pushed away the sadness that crept up. She blinked away the tears, hating how the new ones were replaced with angry ones. She hated how easily she fell for his apology. How he left her without much for months on end and decided he’d instead not visit her while he could.

Her inhale was shaky, and the countertop was cold beneath her hands, a silent pillar of support. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and distractions, all dangerously teetering on the precipice of weariness that slowly invaded her soul due to lack of sleep.

Before she could brace herself, she heard movement behind her. Minhyuk was awake. She turned to see his sleep-ruffled hair as he blinked away sleep’s haze.

“Why are you up so early?” He asked, a veneer of casualness looming over his curiosity. She watched as he held out his hand, an invite he’d hoped she’d take. “Come back to bed. We can worry about breakfast later.”

Her heart pounded, a drumbeat loud in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she finally voiced out the thought that had been gnawing at her since the night before. “We need to talk about how you barely keep in contact.”

Minhyuk froze, his eyes wide open in surprise. The silence that enveloped them was deafening, amplifying the harsh reality of her words. She locked eyes with Minhyuk, whose confusion slowly fell away to be replaced with a flicker of understanding and then guilt.

“Why didn’t you keep in touch?” she asked quietly, the weight of that seemingly simple question filling up the space between them. Each word echoed around in their shared silence, a stark indictment of his absence.

“But I…” he began, stumbling over his words, lost for justification. She stood firm, her resolve unwavering. This was a conversation that had been overdue, a piece of their shared reality that had to be addressed. Through her weariness, she found the strength—and anguished determination—to face him and demand answers, even if they promised to unravel the delicate ambiance of their morning. “I’m sorry.”

She watched as the walls around her lover caved in. His eyes looked away from her own, fresh tears prickling away and wishing to fall when given the right time. She knew she had backed him into a corner he didn’t want to be in. But that’s how she felt when he greeted her with nothing.

Minhyuk gulped, visibly struggling with words. “I… I didn’t want my absence to hurt you.” His attempt at explanation seemed to hang in the air, a feeble defense against her palpable anguish. “Fuck – that’s not an excuse, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“But it did hurt, Minhyuk,” she replied, trembling. “It hurt because you were not here. Because you chose to hide from me instead of talking to me. It felt like I was trying to talk to a ghost.”

His gaze fell to the floor, unable to meet the raw hurt in her eyes. The silence grew more poignant between them, the air filled with unthinkable pain and regret. His silence only spurred the sense of sadness, of betrayal that was bubbling within her.

“Why Minhyuk?” She asked again, her voice barely a whisper but carrying a weight that suddenly seemed too heavy to bear. His silence was answer enough. It echoed the months of lonely nights and fearful days, the unattended messages, the unanswered calls, the unsaid words that should have bridged their distance but instead widened it.

Minhyuk drew in a shaky breath, tears and regret moistening his eyes. He opened his mouth, finally ready to answer, willing to brave the storm of emotions threatening to drown them both. Their borrowed time was ticking away just as their challenging conversation was only getting started.

“I was scared. I… It’s not like I’m away on tour. This is different for both of us. I’m trying, but I’m scared you won’t wait for me,” Minhyuk confessed, his voice echoing vulnerability and fear.

“And that’s why you chose to distance yourself?” she asked, her tone laced with bitterness. “You made the choice for me? You decided I wouldn’t wait without even giving me a chance to decide for myself?”

He looked flustered, a shadow of his usually confident self. “I… I guess I did. I was just trying to protect you, to protect us,” he stammered.

She gave a hollow laugh. “And look how well that turned out.” Her sarcasm was a bitter pill, a harsh realization of their predicament. She breathed deeply, “We weather what comes together, Minhyuk. That’s what love is. You don’t get to decide what I can and cannot handle.”

His gaze met hers once more, tear-streaked but resolute. Silence enveloped them again, but this time, it wasn’t one of confusion or guilt but of understanding and, hopefully, resolve for better communication in their uncertain future.

“How fucking dare you?” She hissed, pointing at him as angered tears brimmed her eyes, “How dare you walk in here and think that just because you fucked me that I’d forgive you? That it would make anything okay? Minhyuk, I waited for you! Months and months! All I got from you were twice-a-week texts when I was lucky and videos of you attending the boy’s concert. How is it okay for me to see you on social media but not in person? Not until last night when you were too horny to control yourself. To actually wake me up like a normal person would.”

She watched as Minhyuk stood there, listening to her anger-filled words. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes - regret, self-reproach, and a deep-seated sadness. He appeared as if her words had physically pained him, but he made no move to defend himself. Instead, he stood there, absorbing each painful accusation, each sniffle, each tear that slipped from her eyes.

Minhyuk raised a shaky hand to his face, brushing away a stray tear from his eye. He watched her momentarily - the woman he claimed to love, yet unintentionally hurt. The silence settled around them, filling the room with tension and desolation.

“We knew from the start, Y/N, it was going to be hard juggling both my career and our relationship,” Minhyuk started, his voice raspy as he tried to steady his breathing, “But I let things spiral out of control. I admit that. Last night…,” he paused, looking away briefly, “Last night was wrong on so many levels. I was selfish, desperate to be close to you again in whatever way possible.”

Slowly, Minhyuk moved towards her, his actions filled with caution, but she did not flinch or move away. Instead, she watched him with tear-filled eyes, her anger dissipating into a silent plea for understanding.

He reached out for her again, testing the waters to see if she would move. His shoulders fell in relief as she allowed his hand to hold hers. It was a silent step in the right direction. Hopeful he was making the right moves.

“I won’t beg for your forgiveness or try to sugarcoat my mistakes. But I need you to know,” he continued, “that I never took you lightly. When I was with the boys, going to concerts, you were always on my mind. I promised you my heart, Y/N, not just my free time.”

She could see the sincerity in Minhyuk’s eyes. It did not heal the breach, but it was a start. There was a lot he needed to explain and make up for. But at least they communicated openly and honestly for the first time in many months. It was a step towards understanding, even if forgiveness was still miles away.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you. I should’ve told you I was free. I just… I fucked up. I don’t want to lose you. Let me make it up to you. Properly this time. The way you deserve it.”

His words echoed through the room, filled with desperation and regret. He stood before her, stripped of all pretenses, laying bare his emotions. In this moment, humility replaced his usually bold demeanor, and the heartfelt sincerity shone through.

Despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her, Y/N couldn’t ignore the genuine regret etched onto Minhyuk’s face. For the first time, perhaps, he truly understood the pain he had caused and the magnitude of his mistakes. Amidst the lingering anger, a feeble spark of compassion ignited in her heart.

Finally, she spoke softly and tentatively, “It’s not about making up, Minhyuk. It’s about change. It’s about understanding what went wrong and ensuring it doesn’t happen again.”

Minhyuk nodded, accepting her terms unconditionally. He pulled her into his arms, his lips kissing her forehead as he always did when he was genuinely sorry.

“I promise, Y/N.” He whispered, his lips unmoving from kissing her forehead. “Come back to bed with me. You have me until tomorrow. I’m all yours.”

With a quiet acknowledgment of her words, he wrapped his arms around her, guiding her toward the bedroom. It was evident that he was full of remorse about what had happened, and he was eager to make things right. He was warm behind her, his body curving naturally against hers.

They moved together in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The creaky floorboards beneath their feet echoed their tentative steps, and the soft cast of the morning sunlight cast a soft glow on their faces. As they stepped back into the room, the air grew heavy with unspoken words and understanding. The bed was unmade and inviting, a beacon of comfort in the otherwise empty apartment.

The sheets, still warm from their prior slumber, welcomed them in its embrace. He carefully climbed in first, patting beside himself and inviting her to join him. He watched as she hesitantly climbed in next to him, crawling under the covers before turning to face him. His eyes scanned her face, taking in its every contour, every remnant of their shared grief and unspoken understanding.

He closed the distance between them, pulling her into his arms. His hold was comforting yet painfully familiar, reigniting the spark that once existed between them. His fingers traced patterns on her skin, a mindless action that used to put her right to sleep. His lips pressed against her forehead in a gentle kiss, an act of apology, of promise.

“I promise, Y/N,” he whispered against her skin, his voice barely audible. The words, laden with sincerity, echoed in the room’s silence. His promise hung heavy in the air, intertwining with the quiet hum of the night. “I - I know my promises may not mean too much to you... but this time is different.”

His hold tightened around her as they lay in the quiet room, his fingers tracing familiar patterns on her skin as she turned her back to him, allowing him to pull her as close as possible, spooning her. Despite his best efforts, sleep refused to claim her. Minhyuk sensed her restlessness, her untold thoughts echoing in the silence that stretched between them.

Deciding to break the silence, he whispered, “Y/N, how have you been?”

“Minhyuk, I’ve been terrible.” Her hesitant breath hitched at his question, and she responded with brutal honesty. The words were strained, and a bitter laugh devoid of humor escaped her lips. She took a calming breath before continuing, “I cry every day, you know. And my coworkers... oh god, the pity in their eyes, Minhyuk. It’s unbearable.” Her voice shivered, her pain bleeding through her words. “Every day I waited for you... hoping for something, anything. But I was met with nothing.”

As she spoke, he felt his heart clench. Each word was like a strike against his chest. His arms instinctively closed tighter around her, an attempt to pull her closer, if possible, to shield her from any more pain. But even as he did so, he realized it was him causing the pain. His promises of change rang hollow in his ears compared to her raw and truthful suffering.

Despite his comforting hold, shared warmth, and the quiet hum of the morning light, sleep continued to elude them. In its stead, guilt, regret, and a longing for repentance again settled over Minhyuk.

Her honest confession shocked Minhyuk, its raw intensity piercing through the fragile silence. Each word she spoke was laden with a bitter agony that stung him to the core. Her reality, shaped by his indiscretions, rocked him to reality. The words ‘terrible,’ ‘crying,’ and ‘pity’ echoed in his mind, searing his heart with a guilt that was becoming increasingly unbearable.

He clung to her desperately, his embrace tightening as if to shield her from the pain he himself had inflicted. Yet each word she uttered, the honesty behind her pain, shattered his illusion of being her protector. Every confession she whispered made him understand that he was not the guardian but the monster from whom she needed protection.

The anguish in his heart welled up, and his eyes welled up with unshed tears, spreading a wet warmth on his cheeks. His breath hitched as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, hoping she wouldn’t hear his silent sobs. The realization, the hard-hitting reality of the pain he had inflicted on her, was a torment he had never predicted.

As sleep remained far from the pair, a wrenching guilt seeped into him, pooling around his heart. He held her close, his apology hanging heavily in the shared silence. His quiet tears continued to soak their shared pillow, a tangible testament to his regret and an act of repentance for his transgressions. Every ticking second, his guilt grew, blossoming into a suffocating remorse that stagnated the air around them.

His guilt reached an unbearable intensity, smothering him under its weight. With shuddering breaths and teardrop-laden eyes, he mustered up the courage to break the silence. Fragile and burdened with regret, his voice was hardly above a whisper, “Y/N... I’m... I’m so sorry.”

The words felt inadequate, a pitiful attempt to convey the ocean of remorse that swam within him. Each syllable chipped away at his composure, leaving him vulnerable and exposed to her. His tears continued to fall, leaving warm trails on his cheeks. The same tears that held no care if they wet her shoulders. His body shook with silent sobs, tremors of guilt that reverberated between them.

“I was... I was wrong,” he admitted, the words a mere breath against her hair. “I hurt you... you didn’t deserve any of this.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, his apology tainting the once comforting silence.

He broke further with each word he uttered, a solemn testament to his regret. The guilt within him crackled and ate away at his composure, each ticking second grating at his resolve. Facing the magnitude of his transgressions, he found himself on the precipice of despair, teetering on the edge of a chasm that threatened to swallow him whole.

In his state of desolation, Minhyuk clung to her, desperate for a semblance of stability as he navigated the tumultuous storm of his remorse. The anguished vulnerability that gripped him served as a stark reminder of the path of pain and distress he had inflicted upon her. Absorbed in his spiral of regret, sleep remained a distant echo, replaced by the unending cycle of apologies that streamed from his broken heart. His anguish echoed in the silence, a stark contrast to the harmonious hum of the morning enveloping them.

Taking a shaky breath, he looked up at the ceiling with tear-stained eyes, his voice stuttering in his remorse. “After the fancon... I regretted not coming to see you,” he admitted the words carrying an immense weight of guilt. He could still remember the joy in the fans’ eyes, a stark contrast to the pain he had caused her. “I fucking hated myself.”

His laughter with the fans and the camaraderie he shared with them was a gut-wrenching reminder of the time he could have, should have, spent with her. Was the joy he felt worth the pain he had caused her? The answer was painfully evident.

“I consumed myself in self-hatred for weeks.” His voice was barely a whisper, fervent yet pained. Each word seemed to scrape at his throat as if the vocal embodiment of his regret was just as painful as the emotional turmoil within him. “And I... I got even more scared to message you because I knew... I knew you saw everything. I was scared you’d hate me. That you would realize I was never good for you, that you deserve someone who can give you their time.”

His confession was met with silence, further amplifying the heavy echo of his guilt. His body shook, trembling under the weight of his regret. It was almost as if confessing his remorse carved open wounds within him, the anguish seeping out and staining the silence between them.

Every passing second was a painful reminder of his what he had done, his guilt growing like a malignant tumor within him. His regret had become an unending cycle, suffocating him with remorse to the point where sleep remained a distant desire. His hushed apologies and silent sobs stayed suspended in the air in stark contrast to the harmonic hum of the night, filling the room with an unbearable heaviness.

Lost in his storm of regret, Minhyuk clung to her, yearning for the stability and warmth she always provided him, a stark reminder of what he had so carelessly discarded.

“Say something...please,” he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper in the dense stillness. Despite his trembling form and tear-streaked face, he mustered the courage to break the silence again. The void of her response scared him, the silence morphing into a beast threatening to consume his sanity. He was terrified of losing her, losing the only solace he had known amidst the chaos he had created. “Please Y/N...”

In a desperate attempt to see her reaction, to gauge her feelings, he gently turned her to face him. The sight that met him was as tormenting as the silence. Her features, usually radiant and warm, were dull and tear-streaked, mirroring his own despair. Her silent tears were a stark, painful echo of his actions, of the harm he had caused.

The reality of their shared suffering intensified his guilt, making it an almost tangible presence in the room. His apology felt inadequate, a feeble attempt against the pain he saw mirrored in her eyes. His wrongdoings and choices led them to this point of shared agony. Every tick of the clock reminded him of his actions and the remorse that was now their companion.

The air was heavy, almost tangible, with the weight of his guilt, the despair radiating from him in waves. Sleep remained a distant dream, replaced by the relentless grip of regret tightening around him. The muffled echo of his sobs and the harsh contrast of their anguish against the peaceful morning only highlighted the gravity of the turmoil within them. Clinging to her, he sought solace amidst this storm, the warmth of her presence amidst the cold dread of his regret. The realization of the depth of pain he had inflicted loomed ominously, a cruel taunt of the love he had so recklessly mishandled.

She made an attempt to speak, yet her voice wavered, choked by tears and the overwhelming wave of hurt he had inflicted upon her. The sound, or rather the lack of it, crushed him further. He held her tighter as though the strength of his embrace could blot out the cruel reality of their situation.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he gasped between sobs. Apologies poured from him, a cascade of remorse, grief, and desperation. Each word was a palpable fragment of his guilt, echoing in the oppressive silence of their shared space. His voice was a broken whisper, the raw edge of emotions making it almost inaudible.

“I’ll... I’ll do better,” he promised, clinging to her like a lifeline as if she was the only thing anchoring him in his sea of regret. “I’ll try to... to wrap up early, be home with you... You need - deserve better. More than I’ve given you.”

The admission ripped through him, a brutal acknowledgment of how profoundly he had failed her. The hands that held her trembled, reverberating the aftershocks of his guilt through her. She was crying silently, a damning testament to his actions.

His guilt was a suffocating entity in the room, a hovering ghost casting long shadows over what was once their respite. His hushed promises and tear-laden apologies hung in the air, each a testimony of his pain and regret. His desperation echoed in the cruel morning silence, bouncing off the walls and seeping into every corner of their shared space. It was an inescapable reminder of his recklessness, a stark contrast to the serenity the morning glow, under different circumstances, would usually bring. His hell was one of his own making, a torment born from his choices, his regret a constant companion.

“Maybe... maybe I don’t deserve you, Y/N. Fuck, I definitely don’t deserve you,” he confessed, burying his face in her hair. “But I need you... I can’t do this without you. I’m too selfish to let you go,” he admitted his voice a thread of barely contained anguish. His hands, trembling and unsure, gently cupped her face, his thumb lightly tracing the trail of tears that stained her cheeks. Her anguish, a damning testament of his actions, was clear and evident in the tear tracks. “Is that so wrong? Why am I so fucking selfish with you when I push you away? I’m a monster.”

As if to assuage his guilt and offer a wordless apology, he pressed tender kisses on her forehead, temples, and cheeks, each one a silent vow. His lips lingered a moment longer on each tear-stained spot as if hoping to kiss away the hurt he himself had caused.

The room was filled with his whispered promises, his broken apologies, each word raw and heavy with regret. The atmosphere clung onto each syllable, echoing his desperation throughout their shared space. He clung to her, his lifeline in the turbulent sea of guilt and regret. Her warmth was a harsh reminder of what he stood to lose, of the love he had so foolishly mishandled.

Despite the despair that gripped him, despite the guilt that threatened to consume him, Minhyuk held onto hope. A hope that was encapsulated in her, a hope that she would find it in her heart to forgive him, to give him another chance. Yet, her silence and tears tore at him more painfully than her words ever could. His hell was a torment of his own making, a grave he had dug out for himself with his recklessness and disregard.

Finally, she spoke. Her voice trembled, mirroring her emotions. Wracked with sobs and choked with tears, she uttered, “Minhyuk...”

The sound of his name, laced with so much pain, hurt more than any words of reprimand could. It was a brutal echo of his actions, a painful reflection of the harm he had caused. Yet despite the sting, he clung onto the vestiges of her voice, desperate for any semblance of a response, validation that she was still willing to communicate with him, to give him a chance to repent.

“Do you remember that day at the amusement park, Minhyuk?” she whispered, a hint of nostalgia creeping into her voice. Her voice trembled, telling the tale of a time when they were both younger and less burdened. “You were trying to impress me by winning me that stuffed toy, but you fell into the dunk tank instead. Everyone was laughing... and you... You were soaking wet, shivering, but still grinning like a fool.”

She let out a shaky laugh, a warm yet tormented sound that briefly dispelled the oppressive atmosphere. He found himself chuckling along, the memory of that embarrassing incident being a bittersweet reminder of happier times. Her soft laughter was like a ray of sunlight piercing through storm clouds, illuminating the dark corners of his guilt.

Slowly, the gloom of the room retracts a little. As if the clouds decided they had spent enough time blocking the sun’s shine. Her laughter echoed lightly against the walls, bouncing back to them like a tender caress, a small salve on their shared wounds. Minhyuk closed his eyes, holding onto the sound of her laughter, onto the memory of that day, onto the little bit of hope it offered, and let a careful sigh of relief escape his lips.

“I remember, Y/N... I was drenched, and everyone was laughing. But you...” He pressed closer to her, his laughter dying as he whispered, his voice dropping lower, a thread of emotion weaving through his tone, “You were there, standing up for me, your laughter the brightest thing I had ever heard. I fell for you even more that day.”

The mood had been lightened a bit, but the truth of their situation still loomed heavy around them. Yet, in that moment, they found a shared comfort in a cherished memory, a respite from the storm that still had to be faced. They clung to each other, the story of their past serving as a small beacon of light amidst the darkness of their present.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice barely above a breath, a fragile testament to his pain. Drawing her as close as he could, he locked eyes with her. Tears formed watery rims around his eyes, the ghosts of the laughter from their shared memory fading into the wind. “I’m sorry I was a ghost. Everything you worried about and begged for to not happen… it happened, and it was my own fault. It was all me.”

His thumb caressed her cheek gently, wiping away the fresh flood of tears that threatened to spill from her beautiful eyes. The moment’s intimacy, the raw emotion, turned every touch, every whisper into a poignant echo in the hollow silence.

“Kiss me, Minhyuk,” she said. Just as his face neared hers, ready to lose himself in her again, she held up a hand. The words that softly passed her lips gave him pause. Despite the curtain of tears, her eyes had a determined glint, her voice carrying a wavering note of resilience.

Respect for her wishes and his own yearning propelled him to gently press his lips against hers. It was a kiss filled with regret, desperate promises of reformation, and the faint hope of forgiveness. Their shared pain resonated in this exchange, this moment of desperate connection. His guilt, her forgiveness, and their collective hope for a better tomorrow were all locked in this lingering kiss, a poignant denouement to the regret-filled morning.

She gently pulled away from the kiss, her gaze steady yet filled with unshed tears. “Can we... Can we re-do last night?”

The question hung in the air between them, fragile as glass yet as heavy as lead.

His heart swelled in his chest. Was this a chance for redemption? For atonement? He searched her eyes, desperately seeking affirmation, and found his answer in the vulnerable depths of her gaze.

“We don’t have to...” he started, his voice almost a plea, a need to reassure her that there was no obligation, pressure, or expectation. But she silenced him with another kiss, her hands cradling his face.

“I want to... with you,” she said softly, her gaze steadfast on him and her heart bared open. “I want to make love to you, Minhyuk.”

With a shaky breath, Minhyuk nodded, his voice a soft whisper in the silent room. “If that is what you wish, Y/N, I am here,” he assured her, his eyes shining with gratitude and a newfound determination.

He leaned in to gently kiss her neck, trailing his lips down with reverence. His kisses were feather-light, yet they marked her skin with a delicate heat. His fingers traced non-specific patterns on her skin, feeling the familiar warmth beneath his touch. He held her with one arm, using his free hand to explore her physique, treading on the known yet novel territory.

Minhyuk moved cautiously, letting his hands roam over her body, every move a silent question seeking her approval. At each motion, she would hum a soft affirmation, encouraging him to continue. He took his time, savoring every response and every gasp of pleasure that escaped her lips. All he wanted was to make her feel cherished and treasured. Like he should have before.

Her pulse quickened beneath his touch, their breaths hitching in sync. The sound of his name on her lips sounded like a prayer. This time, it was different. It wasn’t about seeking solace or escaping but about reaffirming and reminding each other of the love they once passionately shared.

This intimate moment was a far cry from their previous encounter. There was an eminent sense of respect and a deep understanding of each other’s needs and boundaries. It was about seeking healing, seeking comfort in their shared desire, and assent to rewrite the unwelcome memories of the previous night.

“I love you,” he whispered against her skin, his voice fading into a husky rumble. He dipped his head low, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. She smiled, her eyes filled with unspoken emotions. “You’re so beautiful. A daydream.”

Minhyuk’s breath hitched as his fingers slowly slid down, journeying across her body. His touch was feather-light yet deliberate, tracing the curves of her form with the reverence of a lover enshrined in history, familiar yet intoxicatingly novel.

He carefully slid a hand lower, his fingertips gently grazing through the soft fabric of her undergarment. Her quick breath intake was all the approval he needed to push. Further, his fingers now tracing delicate patterns against her, raising goosebumps of pleasure in their wake.

His other hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone in gentle arcs, his gaze locked onto her expression, a silent plea for continued affirmation in her eyes. Her lips parted, releasing a soft moan at his touch, her eyes half-lidded with ecstasy yet still holding that deep trust for him.

His actions were slow and punctuated, each a statement, a question, a request for consent. Time seemed to still to the rhythm of their beating hearts as they journeyed closer to that peak of intimacy, poised on the brink of pleasure and transcendence.

As his digits began to delicately explore her, their shared breaths grew more erratic, the soulful intimacy of the moment amplifying the sensory pleasure. A soft gasp echoed in the room, her hands clutching at his shoulders, a hushed plea of his name creating an orchestra of sounds in the otherwise silent room, adding to the melody of their shared union.

His fingers continued their delicate exploration, rhythms matching the steady rise and fall of her chest, creating a symphony of whispered pleas and strangled gasps. Her hands curled tighter into his shoulders, her breath hitching in sync with his every careful movement.

The room filled with their shared exhales of pleasure; the whispered utterances of each other’s names were a testament to their surrendered control. His attentions only intensified, the deliberate movements of his fingers heightening her pleasure, each apt touch making her arch into his touch.

His focus was intense, his gaze never leaving her face, quietly seeking her consent while noting each expressive tell of her rising pleasure on her face. His name fell from her lips, a whispered plea, her eyes lidded heavy with desire and trust.

She clutched him closer, her fingers digging into his bare skin in response to his skilled attention, each movement bringing her closer to that precipice of breathtaking ecstasy. He could feel her body begin to tighten around his fingers, her breathing ragged.

With a final arch of her back and a hushed gasp of his name, he felt her shatter against his touch, their shared breaths the only sound in the still, moonlit room. The intimacy of their rendezvous echoed in the otherwise quiet space, bearing testament to their tender, healing union.

They lay there together in the immediate aftermath, her body still trembling from the recent onslaught of pleasure. Her breath gradually slowed to match his, their chests rising and falling in sync. For a moment, they simply basked in each other’s presence, the depth of their shared connection enveloping them like a comforting blanket.

Minhyuk pressed gentle kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and nose —respectful, worshipful. His fingertips traced lazy patterns on her skin, each touch further solidifying their undeniable bond. In response to his movements, she entwined her fingers with his and sighed contentedly, her breath fanning over his neck.

“Minhyuk, I... I want more,” she murmured, her gaze locking onto his, filled to the brim with trust and unguarded passion. He hummed in acknowledgment, eyebrows raised in silent question. “Please...”

Visibly taken aback by her words, Minhyuk searched her eyes for any trace of doubt, but all he found was sincere desire and earnest anticipation. As a form of consent, he nodded and pressed his lips to hers in a heated kiss before allowing his touch to travel further, intent on satisfying her newfound curiosity.

His fingers slowly began to undo the remaining clothing barriers between them, his gaze never leaving hers, asking for silent affirmation with every button undone; every inch of fabric slipped off her body. The metabolism of his heartbeat mirrored in the anticipation twinkling in her eyes. She reciprocated his efforts, tugging at his boxers, their clothes pooling at their feet.

“Can I...?” she asked, her tone laced with uncertainty as her gaze met his, a mixture of desire and determination etched into her features. He nodded, aware of her unspoken desire, and satuating himself comfortably against the headboard.

She moved to straddle him, her knees dug into the mattress on either side of his hips. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for him; his breath hitched in his chest at the contact. He watched her from beneath half-lidded eyes, noting the flush that spread across her cheeks, the slight shudder that ran through her spine as she began to sink down onto him.

Greater sensation overwhelmed him as she adjusted to him, her pace deliberately slow. His hands moved to rest on her hips, aiding her in finding a rhythm that brought pleasure to them both. Her head fell back, lips parted in a silent moan as her body moved against his, the sound of their mingled breaths filling the room.

Her movement was a dance, beautifully rhythmic and sinfully enticing. Each roll of her hips into his served as a testament to their shared desire, every shared moan a proof of their unspoken passion. She leaned forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss, their bodies meeting each other’s in a rhythm only they understood.

As she set the rhythm, he moved with her, hands traveling the expanse of her bare body, relishing the softness of her skin. His fingers traced the curves and valleys with a sense of awe, fingers dipping into places that earned him soft sighs and gasps of pleasure from her lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” he managed to say, his low rasp vibrating against her skin, amplifying their ongoing intimacy. His gaze traveled the length of her, taking in her blossoming form, flushing under his touch, half-obscured in the diffused moonlight streaming in through the window. “You are everything to me. My world, my breath, my heartbeat.”

Acknowledgment of his heartfelt compliment was a slight hitch in the movement of her hips and an appreciative nudge against his hands, pressing him to explore further. Her body was a work of art, each movement sinfully enticing, making him hard to resist.

The sight of her, eyes glittering with pleasure, body moving fluidly against his in the most tantalizing way, was nothing short of empowering. He reached up and cupped her face, drawing her down for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues dancing with the same rhythm their bodies had set. He conveyed his affection, admiration, and reverence through their lips meeting.

She moaned against his mouth, her body arching into his touch, seeking more, offering more. His hands guided her movements, each stroke setting her senses on fire. Desire mounted as their bodies meshed, the fervent connection sending them spiraling toward a climactic crest. His name rolled off her lips in a breathless whisper, a sweet melody to his ears, pushing him further into passionate depths.

As she continued to move, he marveled at the sight of her in the throes of pleasure. His hands explored the expanse of her body. Each touch, each caress, was a silent praise.

“You’re a vision.” he breathed out, his voice heavy with ardor. Her skin, flushed and glowing in the dimly lit room, encouraged him further. His fingers traced the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips; every part of her underneath his hands was a testament to her beauty.

Each roll of her hips against his elicited a low moan from him, each sound spurring her on. His praise, their shared desire, and their intimate connection continued to fuel their actions. She bent down, pressing her lips onto his as she continued to ride him, matching the rhythm of their shared breathing.

Their bodies moved in sync; the feel of her soft skin against his and the expression of pleasure etched on her face was nothing short of intoxicating. He relished in her reaction, watching as she arched her back, lost in the pleasure he was providing her.

When the climax arrived, it was like a wave crashing over them. She cried out his name, her body shuddering with the overwhelming sensation. He followed soon after, his body tensing as he reached the peak of his pleasure. Nothing but their shared breaths filled the room, the sound echoing like a testament to their passion. A shared intimacy that was more than just physical, a bond that was deep and unfathomably profound.

As the waves of pleasure began to decrease and the heightened sensitivity slowly faded, they found each other tangled in a comfortable embrace, their bodies still humming from the recent high. He held her close, her body nestling perfectly against him, their heartbeats synchronizing in the tranquility of the afterglow.

“Are you okay?” he murmured into her hair, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare skin, the intimacy of the question matching the intimacy they had just shared. A simple “Mhm.” was her content response, her warm breath fanning over his chest, lulling him into a sense of serene comfort.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her along with him, tucking her against his body so that her head rested on his chest, right over his heart. His fingers explored her body in a different way now, absent of lust but filled with an overwhelming affection. His touch was tender this time – a worshipful appreciation of her presence and trust in him.

“Promise me,” he began, his voice but a soft murmur seeping into the room’s stillness. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, those usually playful eyes now filled with a seriousness that she rarely saw, “Promise me we’ll always be there for each other like we are now.”

“I promise,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right above his heart where his promise was undoubtedly echoed. The seriousness of his gaze made her heart flutter, and despite the mild surprise, she knew there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. His arm around her tightened, a silent acknowledgment of their shared promise.

From then on, it wasn’t just the cuddling or the lingering kisses they shared. It was the unsaid promises and the whispered vows amid silence. It was how he looked at her like she was his entire world. They held each other as if reassuring themselves of the other’s presence. It was the intimacy and the affection that filled the room – something that was long overdue and now would never be lacking again.

“I’m going to miss you, Min.” She uttered. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if she was afraid her words might shatter the tranquility of their intimate moment.

Minhyuk let out a soft sigh, his fingers lightly stroking her hair. He didn’t want her to worry about the future, not when they were wrapped up in each other’s arms in the present.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He murmured, his tone gentle, reassuring. “I’m here tomorrow, too. I’m all yours. We could stay in bed all day, order out if we have to.”

When she nodded against his chest, he continued. “And when I’m done with my service, I will take some time off. We can spend that time together. No distractions, no obligations. Just you and me.”

“Promise?” She asked, her voice quivering slightly, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears at his words, her heart swelling with love and affection for him.

“I promise,” he affirmed without hesitation, tightening his arms around her in a comforting hold. His plans were sincere, a future sculpted around them. His words were an unsaid promise, an understanding that their bond isn’t transitory, just paused for the better. The weight of his words hung in the air, an oath sworn and received, a pledge of a future where their love held prominence.

“And there’s something else I promise,” he said, his voice quiet yet steady as he locked his gaze with hers, a seriousness reflecting in his usually playful eyes. He took a deep breath as if gathering his courage before continuing. “When I’m done serving, and I’m back, I... I want to marry you.”

The words sunk into the room’s silence, like a stone thrown in a still lake, leaving ripples of reactions on her face. His proposal was straightforward and earnest, a confession that came from the depths of his heart. He was offering a future, not of doubts but of certainty. He was offering a life together to brave any storm that would come their way.

“I’ve thought about this for a while,” he admitted, his arms holding her closer. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want you to rush your answer.” He sighed, his thumb gently brushing a tear away that had trickled down her cheek. “I want you to be sure.”

“But yeah,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’m selfish. I want you by my side. Your presence and support… mean more to me than anything else. I want us to face the future together, no matter how tough the tides get. I want us to stand together, always.”

His confession was an admittance of his feelings, indicating the depth of their relationship. Despite his remark about being selfish, it was anything but that. His words were sincere, representing a pure soul who loved unconditionally. The promise was less of an assurance and more of a humble request stemming from intense love and admiration for her.

“What do you think?” Minhyuk asked, his voice heavy with anticipation, his eyes searching hers for an answer. He wanted to know her thoughts and feelings about this proposal and their future together.

“I think we’re going to have a beautiful future together,” she responded, her voice filled with a rare kind of certainty. A soft smile stretched across her face, her eyes twinkling with joy. She’d been waiting for him to voice these words for a long time.

“I cannot wait to find out,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Minhyuk felt a surge of joy, a relief washing over him. He pulled her closer into an embrace, one that was light with promise and happiness. They cuddled together and held each other close, letting the silence encase them as they reveled in the promise of a future together.

Their story concluded on a hopeful note; the future was uncertain, but their feelings for each other were not. The promises they made and the love they shared overshadowed everything else. The true story was just beginning, a journey of two souls intertwined, bound by a promise of a lifetime.

#kvanity #monsta x imagines #monsta x x reader #minhyuk x reader #monsta x smut #monsta x fluff #minhyuk smut #minhyuk imagines #minhyuk imagine smut #minhyuk imagine angst #minhyuk angst #monsta x angst

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atamascolily · 3 months

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Earlier, I made some broad predictions for Walpurgis no Kaiten, but now it's time for a few more granular ones. One of the great things about PMMM thus far is its use of repetition, which allows for some pretty obvious guesses about what's to come:

An unknown amount of time has passed between Rebellion and WnK; the story opens in media res at the moment before the current system is irrevocably changed. Thus we will not fully understand the world Homura has created until it's about to disappear; however, the seeds of its destruction were present from the beginning, as will eventually be made clear.

The original series opens with a cryptic and as-yet-unexplained prologue, followed by a battle scene that segues into Madoka waking up and going about her morning routine before heading to school. Rebellion follows the same pattern, with a cryptic explanatory monologue from Homura, the first Nightmare battle, and an almost shot-for-shot remake of Madoka's morning routine.

Thus, I think it's reasonable to assume that WnK will do the same; my guess is that we'll have a cryptic Homura scene that may or may not explain what has come before and which will probably hit differently in hindsight, followed by a battle sequence (my guess is Mami, Kyouko, and Sayaka getting their asses kicked when the wraiths start going haywire and/or something with the mysterious hybrid magical girl) followed by Madoka waking up and going about her morning (but animated in the new style and with a few key differences to mark that things are the Same Yet Also Different).

It's unclear to me whether Madoka is in this "dream" or not because I'm not sure what her role is/if she's a magical girl at this point. Based on the previous two installments, the answer is "yes", but we'll see.

Likewise, there will be a Thematically Relevant Conversation between Madoka and Junko in the bathroom while they're brushing their teeth. Would be hilarious if it involved mirrors or reflections (literal or metaphorical) in any way; ditto for teamwork and cooperation, since I suspect they will be major themes in this installment. Also phones and communication.

Is Kyubey initially around? Again, TBD. Could go either way, depending on his circumstances now. My guess is no, though it would be funny to see him watching in the background.

Madoka leaves the house, meets up with Sayaka and Hitomi, as per usual. (You can see in the trailer that Sayaka has bandages around her neck in this scene, which is one reason why I think she's in Madoka's "dream"/fight sequence as described above.) Some playful & thematically relevant banter ensues. The three of them then encounter parasol!Homura as seen in the trailer.

I think the big mystery for the first 20-40 minutes is "What is going on with Homura??" There will be a number of scenes with her where she looks/acts different, and something is clearly off, but it is not immediately clear what it is or even that there are two of them at first, because only one Homura visible in any given shot. This will eventually change, of course, and the reveal where they appear together will be very dramatic and artsy, but until then, I expect SHAFT to milk the confusion and the ominous dread for all it's worth

There will also be a Thematically Relevant Saotome rant once Madoka et al. get to class, of course.

Nakazawa gets one (1) line.

the OTHER established pattern is that there's always a new transfer student on the Day Everything Changes, which raises the FASCINATING question of whether parasol!Homura is just going to roll up and start attending classes now, too. If that's the case, will the "real" Homura be present for this (doubtful, given my speculations above) or is she missing/absent? It would be so funny if WnK pulled a Rebellion and had the "real" Homura in a coma for half of the movie, but somehow I don't think that's where this is going. How does parasol!Homura explain herself? Is she here in addition to Homura (i.e., as a student in her own right) or to take Homura's place entirely? What does Madoka think??

(to be clear: there's no question in my mind that the movie's plot kicks off with the arrival of the doppelganger here, the only question is how they choose to play it. In technical terms, this is the story's "inciting incident", and, in keeping with the established pattern, it's Homura--a Homura, anyway--entering Madoka's world yet again.)

Those are my guesses for the first part of the movie, based on previous structure and established patterns. It's possible the creators might switch it up, but I feel reasonably confident WnK will continue with them, at least at first, if only to lull us into a false sense of security before dropping the ground out from under us. In both the TV series and the movie, this section I've just described is approximately 10 minutes long, which still leaves plenty of time for surprises.

After that point, it gets a little murkier because I'm missing so many pieces, and there's no guarantee WnK will follow the same structure as Rebellion beyond those required by their shared two-hour movie format. That said, here are few things I expect to see at some point:

Mami, Kyouko, and Sayaka reconvene, but they are losing their powers--probably to the hybrid magical girl, who appears to be using Mami's ribbons. Sayaka is missing her healing powers, which is why she's all bandaged in the trailer. Kyouko is probably also missing powers, which is why she looks so pissed. If WnK follows the same beats as Rebellion, this will be at about the same point as the second Nightmare fight, otherwise who knows. The point is that the world is breaking down and nothing is "normal" anymore.

Meanwhile, Homura is being haunted/taunted by her double, who is actively interfering with her and her system. I would like a jaw-dropping reality-bending fight sequence between them a la "Absolute Configuration", but we'll see if I get my wish.

I expect the double to have a lengthy monologue explaining what is going on, though in classic PMMM fashion, this will raise as many questions as it answers. (This could also be Kyubey's job, but tbh I'd rather have the double do it.) But there's no question that there were unintended consequences to Homura's actions in Rebellion and someone has to explain them to the audience.

One transformation sequence for each of the main cast, though one or two might have multiple ones.

By the end of the film, the universe is rewritten again and a new system is made. If we're lucky, this will be the happy Final Ending in which Madoka and Homura are reunited forever; if we're unlucky, it will be Rebellion Cliffhanger Hell all over again, only worse.

But, having established patterns, it's also possible to break them. I don't necessarily expect this for a lot of the big picture/structural stuff, but I can see it happening in a few places, like:

Sayaka tries to spray Homura (original or double) with a fire extinguisher, but it backfires somehow--either exploding in her face, or she hits the other one by mistake. Alternately, she does it and it SEEMS like it worked, only for Homura to loom up unexpectedly out of nowhere and gloat.

Also, this is not a structural thing, per se, but based on Rebellion, I expect there will be 2-3 major twists of ratcheting intensity, at least one of which will make a large percentage of the fandom incredibly angry, but for dramatically different reasons: one camp will claim that it "came out of nowhere" and/or "ruins Homura's character", and the other will argue that it was "too predictable" and "contrived" and therefore bad. Eventually, everyone will calm down and grudgingly accept it the way they've done with Rebellion (if only because the people who hate it the most leave the fandom, or if it's truly the end of the series).

As for me, I feel very agnostic about the whole business--while I certainly have no end of guesses about what is likely and the things I would like to see (two separate but related circles), and it would be very satisfying to be right, I'm not wedded to the idea of canon as this absolute monolith that determines whether something is interesting or not. If I hate WnK (doubtful), I'll write fanfic about it; if I love WnK, I'll write fanfic about it. No matter what happens, fanfic will be written and I will shape the established narrative as needed to suit my needs--I engage in this speculation before the fact primarily because it's fun and a useful exercise for a writer.

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #pmmm analysis #walpurgis no kaiten #walpurgisnacht rising

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demonsandmischief · 1 year

Text

Changes

A Chris Evans Imagine

Chris Evans x Female Reader

Soft Angst, Fluff

1.6K Words

-Changes-

Telling Chris you're pregnant doesn't go how either of you plan.

------

You were a nervous wreck, anxiously waiting for your husband, Chris Evans, to get done with his meeting in the upstairs office. You were sitting on your couch, the softest blanket pulled up to your chin. You started to doze.

Movement in the room woke you up, and you blinked, trying to come to your surroundings. You had slid on the couch until you were laying down, using the arm rest as a pillow.

Chris was in the kitchen. He grinned when he saw you were awake. He came closer.

"Hi, baby," he whispered, smoothing the hair out of your face. "Did you have a good nap?"

You nodded, that anxious knot never uncoiling in your stomach.

"How was your meeting?" you asked.

"Good," Chris confirmed with a nod. "I fly out for that shoot on Monday. It's going to be a busy few months."

Your lip wobbled unsteadily. You could feel each distinct thump of your heartbeat as it threatened to break out of your chest.

"What is it?" he asked, cupping your cheeks. "Something is bothering you. Was it your doctor's appointment today? I know they make you anxious. What did they say about you being nauseous?"

He picked up your arm, inspecting the bandage that was still wrapped from where the doctor had drawn blood.

"I'm pregnant," you blurted.

Chris froze.

"What?"

"That's why I've been so sick," you said. "They did blood work doing my appointment. I'm probably four weeks along."

Chris had a deep frown that creased his handsome features. You wished he would say something to ease the feelings of uncertainty that coursed through you.

"Did you know before you went today?"

You felt the knot in your throat, followed by the pressure of tears behind your eyes. You had wanted him to be excited, to comfort you during the uncertainty.

"I mean, my period has been late, but there are a lot of reasons why that could happen. I just thought I had a bug."

Chris nodded slowly.

"Please say something," you whispered. The tears you had been holding back dripped onto your cheeks.

"It's a lot," he mumbled. "We were just starting to build our lives together. And my job. My job isn't suited for me to be a father."

He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm going to be leaving for this movie shoot. I leave in five days Some of the scenes will have me out of the country." Chris sighed. He didn't see how this was going to work.

You inhaled shakily, smearing the tears with the back of your hand.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

"It's work. One of my meetings got moved up. We'll finish this conversation later." He watched you for another moment, but when he realized you had nothing else to say, he left.

You sobbed. This had to be your worst nightmare coming to life. You wanted him to be excited, to shower you with affection. Instead, he had just walked away.

---

Chris didn't come to bed that night, and he wasn't back in the morning, either. You got tired of waiting around. You needed fresh air and comfort.

You were hurt that he chose to walk away without resolving anything. You didn't have any energy left after not sleeping, not to mention you felt nauseous beyond belief.

Your mom's house was just outside of the city. She was surprised to see you when she opened the door.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, smiling that familiar smile. Most of the turmoil you had been facing eased at her presence.

She reached for you, wrapping you up in a tight squeeze.

She pulled back to look you over.

"What's wrong? Do you feel okay?" she asked. She could read you like a book.

You didn't feel like getting into it yet.

You shook your head. "I haven't been sleeping real well lately. It's nothing to be worried about, it's just-"

"It's life," she finished for you. She gave you a gentle smile. "I just cleaned and made the bed upstairs. Why don't you lay down for a little while? Are you in a rush to get back? We could do dinner tonight."

"That sounds great," you agreed.

She ushered you in, and you relaxed at the smell of your mom's home. You went up to the spare bedroom.

It was quiet. For a moment, you forgot everything that had happened.

You flipped on the TV. The soft talking soothed you as you got into bed. Your heavy heart and heavy head were weighing on you, and you fell asleep almost immediately.

You were just waking up when you heard someone walking up the stairs.

Your mom knocked, poking her head in before entering fully.

"Do you want to tell me why I just had to cover for you?" she asked, sitting on the bed next to you.

"What?" you asked, pushing yourself upright.

"Chris called me. He was looking for you. What's going on?"

You felt the familiar ache in your throat as tears burned your eyes.

"Oh, honey," your mom whispered. "Please don't cry. It'll be okay, whatever it is."

"I'm pregnant," you sobbed, dropping your head.

Your mom soothingly rubbed your back. "I can't imagine how you feel right now.

You explained everything. How nervous you were to tell him. How he didn't say anything. How he left.

You continue to cry, the deep painful wound you had been suppressing finally opening.

Your mom held you as you sobbed. Your throat ached, and you struggled to get enough air into your lungs.

"If you've never talked about kids, I can see how he feels. He's just as scared as you and doesn't know how to express it. That does not justify his actions in any case, but-"

She dried your tears with her sleeve.

"Why don't you call him? Tell him you decided to spend the night with me since you don't feel good, and that you'll go home tomorrow."

You nodded.

"And then I will make us some dinner. Okay?"

"I've been so nauseous," you admitted, sucking in a shaky breath. "Everything makes my stomach turn."

"I know just the thing," your mom smiled.

You sent Chris a text, ignoring the few he had sent you while you had napped. You told him you didn't feel very well so you were going to crash with your mom for the night. You turned off your phone, setting it on the nightstand.

You ended up piled on the couch with lots of blankets, ginger ale and chicken noodle soup. Your mom even made grilled cheese, and you were hungry enough that the nausea had disappeared for a while.

Your mom chattered your ear off about everything baby, and for the first time, you felt a little excited about being pregnant.

---

You stepped into your apartment the next day. You felt better, a little more clear-headed. You could hear Chris in the kitchen, and your heart started to pick up speed.

You hung up your coat and purse, before hesitantly walking towards him.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hey," he said back. You found his expression to be unreadable.

You shifted a bit, before deciding to put away your stuff in the bedroom, giving you both the space you needed to come up with something to say.

You put all of your dirty clothes in the hamper before carrying it downstairs to the laundry room.

You were sorting, when you were startled.

"I made us some lunch," he said.

"Okay," you nodded. You started the washer, and followed him to the kitchen.

Chris had made a big meal, chicken with pasta.

"Thank you," you said when he served you a plate. You chose to sit on the stool against the large island, and he joins you.

You were hungry today, and the meal was satisfying despite the little bit of awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," he says finally.

"I was so nervous to tell you," you admitted. "But then I thought, Chris loves me unconditionally and would be excited to share this new chapter with me."

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't ever doubt my love for you."

"I get that you're unhappy, but you left me. You shut me out. I don't even know where you went, and I needed you."

You stood with your plate, placing it in the sink. You took in a shaky breath. You were so tired of crying, but the familiar feeling hit you full force.

"I'm sorry for leaving you when you needed me most. I should've been there for you, and I didn't mean to add to your fear. I just - I got scared. I am scared."

"You don't think I'm scared?" you sobbed, smearing your quickly falling tears with your hands.

He came over to you, finally. He wrapped you tightly in his arms, and you didn't protest. You gripped his t-shirt with your fists.

"I was so fucking worried when you left," he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Me too," you mumbled into his chest.

"This changes everything. I don't want to leave you for months on end, not when you're like this. I don't want to miss a single moment, and I don't know what to do."

You look up at him. He dried your tears with the pads of his thumbs. His touch was warm and comforting. You nuzzled against his hand.

"I'm going to cut back," Chris said. "I'll renegotiate some of my contracts, but my priority is you and our baby."

When he says our baby for the first time, you couldn't help but give a laugh of disbelief. He pulls you in close, a handsome smile of his own tugging at his lips. He kisses your forehead.

"I know you probably think I'm just saying this, but I'm really excited to have this baby with you."

You smiled, finding his pretty blue eyes. "Yeah?"

He confirmed with a nod, pressing his lips to yours. "Yeah. Excited, and scared shitless, but we'll make it work. We always do."

------------------Author's Note-------------------------

"Everything that you've ever dreamed of

Disappearing when you wake up

But there's nothing to be afraid of

Even when the night changes

It will never change me and you"

Happy almost March 🥺 hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think!

•read more of my angsty Chris Evans fics here

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#Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans angst #chris evans x female reader

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ask-sibverse · 5 days

Note

passive nightmare x reader oneshot?

When nightmare becomes passive again when Dream takes the apple how would reader react and help nightmare when they and the gang find out

So you probably mean one of two possibilities, I'm going with the Shattered Dream option because I like that option better. (Is each "version" of Reader getting a side with each Dreamtale twin at this point? That's what it looks like, lol)

You... Definitely weren't expecting Dream of all people to eat a corrupted apple. Slightly less unexpected was for him to grow his own goopy tentacles and go completely out of control. You all returned home with your tail in between your legs after that, and you had no idea what became of Blue or Ink after that fight.

Nightmare retreated to his room and locked himself inside. You and the rest of his men were left to tend to your wounds alone. You expected him to come out eventually but... He didn't. Days passed without even a sound to indicate he was even alive, and the aura he naturally exuded was getting weak.

Which is why you were breaking into his room now. You were totally prepared for yelling and scolding and maybe to be thrown out by his tentacles.

"Come on, it's just me," you said gently, trying to coax him out. "I saw some injuries on you, can you please let me take a look at them?"

What you weren't expecting is to find Nightmare so... Small. And fragile looking. That bashed in part of his skull reminded you a lot of Horror. He seemed determined to hide his current state from everyone, even you. You only caught a glimpse before he was out of sight again.

"I already treated any wounds," he said gruffly, facing away from you.

"Oh yeah? And when was the last time you changed any bandages? Over a day?"

"I've been keeping clean!"

"Then let me see."

He finally edged back into view. He looked shorter than you like this. The corruption must've given him a height boost somehow.

"So did the corruption transfer from you to Dream?"

"It would appear that that is what happened, yes." He refused to meet your eyes. "Do not tell Killer about this."

"He's going to find out eventually." You started changing his bandages, leaving his eye alone for now. "He lives here, and he's worried about you."

"I'll never hear the end of it, ending up like this. I look frail and weak, hardly fitting to appear to be a leader."

You snorted. "As if that should stop you? You've bosses those boys around for decades now. A little change in appearance shouldn't change anything."

#t1dreader #shattered reader #passive nightmare #passive nightmare sans #passive nightmare x reader #sans x reader #nightmare x reader #x reader

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fluffysucker · 8 months

Text

Fine Line

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Mob Au)

' We'll be a fine line. We'll be alright.'

A/N: I'm so sorry for the long delay. I have been having the busiest of days but I finally have some time off which I'm hoping can get me to write more. Anyway so thank you so much for being so nice.

This is supposed to be the last chapter but I got carried away and hopefully the last one will be out soon.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

TW: Violence. Threats. Cursing. LMK if I forgot something,

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist.

It was war, and you knew it. All of you did. But it was inevitable. There was no escape or an easy way out. One had to go down once and for all. You wished it would be them, but you could only pray they didn't drag you along.

A bit of time had passed. You were still staying with Bucky. Whenever you brought up leaving or finding somewhere else, he immediately turned the idea down. He never got bored of reminding you that he couldn't let you go, and it was his fight as well. He's got you now.

And he did. He took good care of you. You were well-nourished and fully rested. You didn't lift a finger. The maid and housekeepers were very happy to have you back. They didn't need Bucky to swear them to secrecy. They could tell that nobody should know you were with Bucky, and despite not being part of the mob, they understood why. And they didn't want to be the ones to compromise your safety. They liked you too much.

Along with the food and sleep, Bruce stopped by every couple of days to check on you and change the bandages on your wounds and stitches. He also kept giving you medications, which helped greatly with your recovery.

Since you got married to Rumlow, this was the longest you felt physically fine. And emotionally as well. Having Bucky within arms reach and getting to keep his company once again has been doing miracles for your mental health. You felt almost pathetic at how much you were genuinely feeling better.

The way Bucky treated you was a surprise. You expected some sort of resentment or bitterness, or at the very least, awkwardness. He tried to stop you from getting deeper into the darkness, and you didn't listen, thinking you were protecting him. Yet here you were. Dragging him further into a mess he never signed up for, seeking his protection

But all you saw were adoration in his eyes, kindness in his words, tenderness in his touch, and delicacy in his actions. It was a pleasant surprise.

You never talked about your current situation or even your history. But the love that connected the both of you was undeniable. He may not have said the words again, but Bucky's behaviour spoke louder than any words. The fact that he was risking it all for you showed his true feelings for you, which never died. The feelings that you deeply reciprocated

You couldn't help but feel a heavy feeling in your heart at how you turned his life upside down. One phone call in the middle of the night put this burden on his shoulders. No matter how much he said it was okay, you couldn't help but feel like you were an obstacle he needed to overcome.

However, he never once made you feel like you were trouble. On the contrary, Bucky provided soft, sweet feelings that you could swear you forgot they existed. It was the ease of hanging out with him. The peacefulness of his company. The compassion in his actions. The great care he put into everything for you. The comfort of falling asleep, held by arms that could never hurt you. A silent tradition the two of you developed that made sharing a bed the rule, not the exception. It wasn't shocking when your demons haunted you fearlessly at night or how your nightmares counted the seconds until attacking you in the deep darkness of the night. It wasn't unexpected or new for this to happen. However, this time, you had a knight in shining armor. Your own knight in shining armor A man your heart loved so much that your nightmares couldn't win.

You didn't need to ask. After finishing his nighttime routine, Bucky would join you in your room, getting in bed with you. You thought he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart after your breakdown on the third day here. Your terrified screams and wailing sobs had rung through the floor you shared. It was all catching up to you. The pain. The hurt. The betrayal. The fear. You were finally letting yourself feel it all. And it wasn't just the murder intention in cold blood. It was unfairness that had been your life for so long now. All the strain you had to endure. All the emotions you bottled in.

You were weeping and close to hyperventilating. Only once did you feel Bucky's arms around you were you consoled, pulling you into his lap and rubbing his hand all over your back and thighs while trying to get you to breathe slowly. Even after catching your breath, his gentle voice didn't stop whispering soothing things into your ears. You knew you should have moved once your sobs were reduced to sniffles, but you didn't find it in yourself to do so. You could only wrap yourself more tightly around him, gripping his shirt firmly in your fists. His voice and touch were grounding you, keeping you afloat away from the pain.

After that, Bucky didn't need you to vocalize it. He understood. So he came to you every night. It didn't make the terror stop. You had so much unpacked to just go away. But every time your mind betrayed you and was to throw you into panic, your tensed body would instantly relax against Bucky's strong hold, who pulled you closer to him once he felt the tension in your body. It was like he knew how to calm you down immediately. And he did. He was your safe place. Your fortified castle.

You were extremely thankful, thinking he was doing another good deed for you. The truth is, it was never just for you. Bucky felt a sense of stability and security having you in his arms, so close to him. He wanted to feel you beside him. He needed to know that he was the one taking care of you. He needed to be sure you were okay. Two years of radio silence between the two of you, then finding out what you had to go through, did this to him.

It would have been easy to let yourself get tricked by the restful atmosphere Bucky created, but you knew better. This wasn't a vacation. This was the quiet before the storm. And you knew Bucky was working on something. But he tried his hardest to keep his promise to keep you away from all this mess. Whenever you asked, he didn't give you answers. You told him you had to know at some point. Despite how much he hated it, he knew you were right.

So you embraced yourself when one of the housemaids told you that Bucky was waiting for you in his office. Pulling all your strength to knock on his door. A breath of relief escaped you once Bucky's voice reached your ear. If Bucky was there, you would be fine. That is the only thing you were so sure of.

Bucky got up from his seat after you entered the office, preferring to stay close to you as long as you were here. A smile made its way to your face when you noticed Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson sitting on the chairs in front of Bucky's desk. Being Bucky's most trusted men and his long-term bestfriends, you were familiar with them. Years ago in your dating days, when Bucky first introduced you to them—if you can call catching you cuddling on the coach with face masks and your hair in towels and watching rom-coms an introduction—you were waiting for the rudeness and unacceptance. But it never came. Instead, you got a family. Both men were so welcoming, treating you like a sister. Like you were one of them. So you were happy to see them again, feeling even more secure now.

Bucky led you to the coach, where he sat next to you. Then they started talking. Telling you everything. And you listened. They gave you all the information they were able to find, hoping you could help them connect the dots and figure out your father and husband's plan. And you didn't hesitate to offer all you knew.

It went on for days. Bucky would call you into his office every now and then. You would have long conversations, and they would ask you even general questions, trying to form a better idea out what was happening. Until Rumlow and Pierce pulled a card that exposed their whole game to Bucky.

So when Bucky called you in this day, you couldn't hide your unease once you took in all the new people joining in. Bucky's hand never left yours, a sign that he was right here. He tried to delay this meeting as much as he could, refusing to risk your safety, even if he trusted every single person in this room. But it couldn't wait anymore. They need to move fast.

You didn't speak a word as Bucky explained everything to you. Listening and taking everything in. Everything makes so much sense now. You had been the pawn for far longer than you knew. You were played for a fool. A mixture of anger and sadness ran through your veins, making you agree to Bucky's plan right away. He reassured you that you could turn it down and they would figure something else out, but you didn't. You wanted this to be over.

You were declared dead.

It was a weird feeling. On paper, you were gone. In their minds, they had won. However, they were about to be proven wrong. It's the day you've been waiting for yet somehow dreaded the most.

Bucky kept you by his side all morning for both of your sakes. Both of you are praying for the same outcome. The only outcome you can accept You and Bucky stayed together until the last minute possible. Until you had to move.

Everyone was in position. Most of Bucky's men were out of the house or well hidden, so it would look normal. Only Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were in the house. and, just like expected, at night. Loud footsteps and angry groans were echoing around the house.

Breaking into the house, a very furious Alexander Pierce and out of his mind Brock Rumlow, along with dozens of their men, walked into the house like they owned it.

"BARNES." Rumlow shouted, looking for the man he hated the most.

Keeping his confident, cold composure, Bucky walked out of his office, followed by Steve, Sam, and Natasha.

"That's not a nice way to visit someone." Bucky came to a stop in front of them.

"I'm going to kill you." Brock moved to attack Bucky, only to be stopped by Pierce's hand on his chest.

"How long have you been planning for this?" Despite his calm voice, Pierce was fuming.

"I wasn't planning for anything." This was going to be a long conversation, and Bucky wanted them to be the ones talking the most.

"Cut the bullshit, Barnes." Rumlow tried to move towards Bucky again but was stopped by Pierce again.

"I don't know what you want." Bucky was holding his ground, sticking to the plan.

"You robbed us." Rumlow shouted, anger coating his voice.

"I don't think so." Bucky enjoyed watching the two men lose their minds.

"DROP THE ACT, BARNES." Pierce's voice rang in the house, making all eyes turn to him. Not a single noise other than the unsteady breathing.

"I have been waiting my whole life for this moment. The moment I get back what I deserve. What had always been mine. So I will be damned if I let you play me like this." Pierce moved forward to stand closer, finally digging into the real issue.

"You mean what was hers all the time?"

"It was never hers. She was nothing and deserved nothing. This is my whole life's work. She shouldn't have gotten anything from it."

"Yet her mother left her everything."

"It was a mistake. My wife's only and last mistake A mistake I have been trying to change for so long now."

The piece of information came as a shock to everybody. Alexander Pierce loved his wife so much. They were young lovers. A young, ambitious man who was willing to do anything to get his father-in-law's permission to marry his daughter. Even going so far as to put everything he owned in her name. And he did. And he never changed it. The bigger his empire became, the more his wife had under her name. He loved her enough to trust her.

His wife did love him dearly, but she loved you more. It didn't take Pierce long into the marriage to show his true colors. He was never violent with her or you. However, your mother didn't trust him with you if something were to happen to her. It was distasteful to try and protect your daughter from her own father. But she did.

When Pierce found out his wife left everything he worked so hard to achieve for you, he was raging. It didn't help that he was grieving her and their love as well. His emotions were on high drive. So he channelled them all into hating you and getting back what was his. And all you were told was that your mother left you nothing.

"And marrying her off to Rumlow was going to solve it."

"I had to do something before you would get her to run away with you."

"It has always been about the money for you, hasn't it?"

"Of course it is. Not only did I never want a daughter in the first place, but I got a weak, pathetic excuse for a daughter who could never keep my legacy. My biggest failure in life"

"A stupid bitch who handed you all my wealth"

"I should have listened to him when he said to kill her years ago."

It's infuriating to hear someone talk about you like this when you were nothing but the best. but that was their plan all along. They wanted you out of the picture as quickly as possible so they could have the money. Which is why they had their riot men in the police station to hurry your death announcement. They reported you missing a week ago, and that move exposed everything. Since when do they include the police in their work? However, the fastest way to get your money was a document confirming your passing.

But Bucky was smarter than them. He had you transfer everything to his name before the announcement, making sure to keep the dates unseen on the legal form. And you had no problem doing so. If you trusted Bucky with your life, weren't you going to trust him with money you never knew you had in the first place?

"I just want to know when. When did you get her to sign off on everything for you? I had eyes on her all the time. And she is too dumb and blind to plan something like this on her own." It was Rumlow's turn to ask questions now.

"So, how did you do, Barnes? When did you get our money?"

And that's your sign.

"When you left me to die,"

Your voice echoed through the house as you stepped out of Bucky's office, all eyes turning to you.

"When I found out you wanted me dead my whole life." You came to stop right next to Bucky, in front of your father and husband. Bucky's hand was itching to hold yours, but he knew it wasn't the right call.

"You are supposed to be dead." Rumlow couldn't hide his surprise and shock at seeing you standing in front of him, looking healthier than ever. You were glad Josh wasn't here among the others because you didn't want to put him in a hard spot. He saved your life, and that is not how you repay him.

"Miracles happen. Just like how I survived all your attempts to kill me." Your voice was strong. Stronger than you ever used with either man.

It's important for them to know that you are still alive and well. That their plan failed beyond what they ever thought. That you were finally making your own decisions. Despite how much Bucky hated it, he knew it had to be done.

"And how did he get it? I willingly gave him everything. Because it's my money, and I get to decide what to do with it. Like Mom trusted me with it, I trust him." You were talking to both men.

"I get to make my own decisions, despite how much you like to think you can control me. You can't." You knew you were pushing your luck, but it was now or never.

"You, bitch." Rumlow marched towards you, trying to reach you.

But Bucky was quicker, pushing you behind him, standing tall in Rumlow's face, daring him to come close, daring him to think about touching you.

"Natasha, please take her to her room." Bucky's voice got colder as he called for his friend.

You went with Natasha as planned, putting all your efforts into not squeezing Bucky's hand before going upstairs.

"Oh, she has a room now." Rumlow's remark was sarcastic but so angry.

"Always had. Always will have." There was no point in hiding it anymore. They already knew. It was now time to see how much you really meant to him.

"What exactly are you expecting to happen now, Barnes? We are going to walk out and accept defeat. You aren't that stupid." Pierce said angrily. The sight of you alive and breathing was aggravating.

"Actually, that's exactly what you will do if you want to walk out of here alive." There was no way they were walking out of here alive, but Bucky liked to play.

"Oh, we are walking out of here alive. You are the one who will never see the sun again. And let me tell you how I waited for this moment.."Rumlow's didn't affect Bucky's in the slightest.

"KILL THEM ALL."

Rumlow's command to his men was loud enough for everybody to hear. But none moved.

"Did you all go deaf? I said, Kill them all." Rumlow repeated his order.

"What do you want us to do, boss?" One of the men asked

"We said kill them." Pierce shouted as he and Rumlow turned to look at their disobedient men.

"Boss?"

"Take them outside. The rest of the men will tell you where to take them."

Pierce and Rumlow's heads almost flew off their bodies with how fast they swung to look at Bucky, who was smirking. It was the moment he was waiting for.

"What? Surprised?. Of course, your men aren't loyal to you. You aren't the least bit decent to deserve anyone's loyalty."

"Unlike you, they are smart men who knew how to pick the right side.

"You, on the other hand, are not so smart."

"You should have never walked in here. You should have never shown your faces."

Bucky moved to stand right in their faces, enjoying every bit of this. Especially seeing the two men crumble under him.

"You should have never let your ego make you think you could win. Think that you even had a chance."

"I'm going to make you regret everything. I'm going to make you pay for everything." Bucky was stressing over every word leaving his mouth, his cold stare like daggers.

His next words were more for Brock Rumlow.

"Especially messing with my girl."

"For every time you made her cry, I'm going to hurt you worse. For every time you laid a hand on her or touched a strand of her hair, I'm going to tear you apart. For every scar on her body, I'm going to burn you alive. For every time you hurt her, knowing she is my girl, I'm going to make you wish that I would just kill you."

"I'm going to make you pray for death but never get it."

"TAKE THEM"

Bucky's demand rang through space, and quickly, the men surrounded Pierce and Rumlow, outnumbering them and dragging them outside the mansion with both men's protests and failed attempts to escape. It was all in vain. They lost. They fell, and they shall never arise again.

Steve and Sam followed the men out, making sure Pierce and Rumlow were taken care of until Bucky had the right time for them. They patted Bucky's shoulder before leaving, happy that it all worked out as planned, knowing how much this meant to him.

There was only one thing left.

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