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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

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A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings.

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles.

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms.

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks.

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests

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himehomu · 7 months

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With Walpurgisnacht Rising coming in 2024, I want to talk about something that has been bothering me since Rebellion. It was never the “plot twist” of Homura separating Madoka from her godhood nor her taking those godlike powers for herself thus becoming the devil. It was always people's reactions to Homura doing this and the way they based her entire character around this specific moment that really rubbed me the wrong way. Saying she's a selfish monster who's trapping Madoka in a fake world for her own personal gain or that she's taking Madoka's agency away from her and making decisions for her that directly rebel against what Madoka wants... And, to that, I just want to know.... do literally any of you know what Madoka actually wants or are you just basing her character around her sacrifice?

Yes, it was for the benefit of all Magical Girls and yes it freed them from their cycle of selling their souls in the name of hope just to die at the hands of their own grief and despair, but Madoka didn't plan to abruptly cease to exist at the cost of it?? She didn't want to be stuck between life and death only existing as a deity meant to eradicate Witches for all of time. Madoka wished to erase Witches before they are born from the past, present, and future. Going back years upon years in time, destroying Witches and mercy killing Magical Girls; fighting forever, past and future, for all time. Ceasing to exist as an individual, only able to materialize and interact with someone when they're dying of grief and sadness and pain; relieving them of that pain so that their last moments won't be in agony, so they can die in peace, but there's none of that for Madoka. There's no death, no closure, no release, no freedom from this hell of being a weapon and nothing more.

But, Madoka would never voice these struggles and frustrations. Because Madoka isn't that kind of girl. She's the kind of girl who shoves all of her problems down and bases all of her self worth on how much she can do for others, how happy she can make others, and how useful she can be. She forces a smile and masks her pain because she doesn't want to burden anyone with her problems. She puts herself down constantly, risking her life trying to help others because she cares so little for herself. Without being useful, she believes her life has no value. And Homura knows this. Because Homura knows her. I feel like most people take Madoka's bright pink colors and smile at face value and don't realize she's chronically depressed. That's why in the first timeline, she and Homura naturally got along so well: they were both girls who hated themselves and based their self worth on how they made others around them feel, both self-loathing girls who deem themselves worthless if they're not useful in some way. Madoka was just better at hiding it than Homura was. And she still is by the 100th loop.

But, in Rebellion, when her memories of being a god are taken away from her, and she's given a hypothetical scenario of her fate, she says "wow that sounds awful and scary and lonely and I would never do something like that." The Flower Field scene is one of the most brilliant and misunderstood scenes in all of anime. Majority still to this day argue that, since Madoka doesn't have her memories, her words hold little to no weight, and Homura is simply hearing what she wants to hear. So, naturally, they disregard what Madoka is saying, assuming it's just Homura being selfish. And that's where they mess up. Because, the fact that Madoka doesn't have her memories here is the whole point! Homura is already well-aware that if Madoka had her memories, her self loathing would result in her caring so little for herself that she sacrifices herself every time which is why immediately after Madoka's words, she assures Madoka that she is indeed "strong enough to make that decision." Homura just wanted to confirm if Madoka would still miss her life pre-godhood in spite of that, which she outright says she does.

There are also arguments that Homura was somehow influencing Madoka in the labyrinth aside from just not remembering becoming a god, but Shinbou already stated in an interview that this wasn't the case, and that these were Madoka's honest words. In fact, Madoka's true feelings regarding her godhood are revealed for the first time within the lyrics of Madoka's character song (sung by her VA Aoi Yuuki) that played as the ep 1-2 ED titled “Mata Ashita”. The song is about Madoka post-series which consists of Madoka wandering around aimlessly, quietly observing as humanity resumes without her, lamenting on the life she lost after becoming a god and wishing she could have been more honest about her feelings to Homura in ep 12, asking her to realize she's lonely.

[I'm pretending that I'm used to being alone, but I'm not really that strong.

The scenery is the same as always, the city is the same as always.

Even though I think everything will stay unchanged.

I still feel like I'm the only one who's tiny. Instead of "See you later."

I should've said, "I'll stay for a little longer."

I wanted and hoped that you would realize it.

But with the words "See you later,"

I lie to myself again.

And hide my true feelings beneath my usual smile. Saying, "See you later," I wave my hand.

Cracking a smile, yet I'm feeling lonely.

The truth is, I still have more to talk about.

But even my voice saying, "See you later"

is so near yet far from you that it can't reach you.

So let me say this like I always do, just once more: "See you tomorrow"]

This is definitive proof that even BEFORE Rebellion, this was already confirmed to be Madoka's true feelings.

The second time Madoka's true feelings post-godhood are adressed is via Madoka and Homura's concept movie quotes explaining that the God (Madoka) is clearly suffering in her “heaven”, which is more like a prison of isolation. The lizard girl (Homura) takes pity on her and separates her humanity from her godhood, thus making her human once more. Here are also some direct quotes from Magia Record which provides even more context for what Madokami is experiencing:

All of this, with the addition of Madoka's words in the Flower Field scene being confirmed to be her real and honest feelings, puts the whole “pulling madokami down from heaven” scene into a different perspective. Considering the entire reason why Madoka even became powerful enough to become God in the first place was because Homura's 100+ time loops linked multiple parallel universes together with Madoka at their center, and it's confirmed Madoka was suffering as a god, I would think people would be happy to see Homura reverting Madoka back to a human being and rewriting the entire universe to be a world where Madoka is happy and free, surrounded by her friends and family???

The fact that Homura's love for Madoka was so strong throughout 12 years of 100+ time loops, it turned Madoka into a goddess but when Homura was able to see just how isolating and lonely godhood was for her, she took her godlike powers for herself because she loved her and was willing to take on the exhaustion and isolation of immortality as the devil to spare her of anymore pain and sadness. Homura freed Madoka from a nonexistential purgatory prison and a decade later she's still demonized for it, how insane is that??

#pmmm #pmmm rebellion #pmmm walpurgisnacht rising #pmmm walpurgisnacht no kaiten #puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #madoka magica rebellion #madomagi #mahou shoujo madoka magica #madoka kamane #homura akemi #madoka x homura #homura x madoka #madokami #homucifer #akuma homura #ultimate madoka #i dont want to see not ONE “oh but she still shouldn't have done it because it's not her decision to make it's madoka's” argument #what the fuck is madoka meant to do?? she is literally stuck.#“b-but what about all the other magical girls??” what about madoka. it seems like homura is the only person to consider madoka's feelings #and yet ppl villainized her for it. called her a perverted freak who was trapping madoka in a cage like how fucking dare you #for an entire decade homura has been demonized for loving madoka when the entirety of madoka magica is homura's love letter to her #homura did nothing wrong gang this is for you and for me #homura did nothing wrong #and i stand by that idfc #court is adjourned #madohomu #cw long post #not tagging this as an analysis bc this is all material straight from the source and it doesn't get more canon than that

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fkinavocado · 5 months

Text

in which your husband and Harry’s wife dragged you both into a situation you didn’t want to be in, but as it turns out, everything happens for a reason

Loved, heard, seen- Masterlist, Author’s Notes & Warnings

Part One/ alternatively, read on wattpad

Part Two (word count: 3.4k)

“Hello?” Harry brought his phone to his line of vision, making sure he’d actually picked up the call, “Uhm,... hello?”

“Hi. Is this a bad time?”

Harry racked his brain to place the person’s voice, the fact that he didn’t have the number saved in his contacts made it even more difficult. It sounded awfully familiar, though… “Oh! It’s you!”

She never did give him her name. And neither did he, come to think of it. He only gave her his number before she got out of his car after he drove her home. Just in case.

“You remember?”

Harry sighed heavily. “I wish I could forget everything about that night,” he chuckled nervously. “No offence.”

“... I can't forget, either. You were right.”

“Oh?”

“Listen… would it be too… upsetting, if we met up? You’re the only person that’s been in my shoes that I feel I could open up to about this. It’s been… very lonely, eating at me… Maybe talking would help make better sense of it…”

Harry didn’t have to ponder. He’d wanted the same thing all along. He was glad she reached out to him, since he couldn’t contact her. “Name the place.”

Harry wondered if he looked as broken as she did but had just gotten used to seeing his miserable face stare back at him in the mirror every day. It’d been close to a month since the… circumstance that had brought the two of them together. Admittedly, he hadn’t paid close attention to her appearance back then, but, seeing her now, he definitely recognized some changes, albeit subtle. She appeared more frail, her under eyes darker, the polish on her nails chipped off, her lips chapped and bitten, her clothes wrinkled. He observed her over the cup of coffee he was sipping on on that rainy afternoon as she talked about how it’d been like trying to move on from that night.

“You were right. I did know, even then, that this was going to ruin us. But I kept lying to myself, thinking I could just pretend it never happened. Hoping that he’d gotten it out of his system and that things would go back to normal. You know I even dared to believe things would get better? I thought maybe this would put things into perspective for him and make him realize what a good thing he’s got going at home… Was I naive or what?”

Harry furrowed his brows compassionately, “You and I both. Believe it or not, I also hoped for the same. But, assuming things went for you guys the same way they did for us… it wasn’t quite the case, was it?”

She shook her head solemnly, staring into her cup of coffee. “He never asked me how things went on my side. He doesn’t even know I never went through with it. The following morning, he called me at around 11am. That’s… extremely late for him. He’s an early bird, chronically so. He’d been clearly… distracted. So when I told him I’d already taken an uber home he didn’t question it. He then came home and acted like everything was normal. He didn’t talk about it, I never asked him any questions. He didn’t care to ask me any, either… I wouldn’t say we’re pretending like nothing ever happened, because that’s not it at all. This… unspoken, huge thing that happened is always looming over us. Now whenever he’s late from work, he doesn’t even tell me why he’s late. It’s like… I know why. I don’t have to ask. He doesn’t have to tell me.”

“Jesus…”

The woman nodded, fidgeting with the corner of her paper napkin. “Things are better at your end, then?”

Harry almost laughed at her assumption, “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know which of us has it worse. When I got home after I dropped you off, I called her again and it went straight to voicemail for the hundredth time, so I texted her letting her know I went home and to call me to go get her if she didn’t feel like ubering. She never called for me to get her, thank god, but when she walked through the door and I asked her how her ride was she told me the guy had driven her. I was speechless, she’d actually disclosed where she lived, what else did she share with him? Aside from the obvious… Like, was this gonna be a thing now, between the two of them? I had so many questions, but then I couldn’t really say anything, could I? Since I offered to drive you, too. I’m fairly certain their report in that regard was much different to ours though… but even still, I couldn’t get myself to tell her off for it. I mean… he fucked her. Did the fact that he knew where she lived really make it worse?...”

Harry sat back in his chair, forcing himself to take a breather and calm down a bit. He was getting worked up. But when she encouraged him to keep going, and his restless leg wouldn’t stop bouncing beneath the table he gave in. “She was fucking beaming! She wouldn’t stop talking about what a good thing this is for us, how finally she feels like she can breathe, how she can’t believe we waited so long to try this… confirmed that she’d already made plans with this guy for the following weekend. I just froze. I couldn’t believe she was really saying all that. She never really asked me how things went for me, either. She just kept putting words in my mouth. See? Wasn’t it fun? You’re such a lucky bastard, men can only dream they could be in your shoes with their wives giving them this much freedom! Hell, even pushing them to do it! Can you imagine? You’re living the dream, baby.”

“Oh, God…”

“Then… one night soon after that she wanted to play and, brokenhearted fool that I am, I went along with it even though what I really wanted was for us to sit down and really talk about it. But I just couldn’t get myself to open up the subject, mainly because I already knew what her stance on it was and what it would lead to, and I wasn’t ready for that… kept thinking I could try doing this to save our marriage. I’d agreed to it, even though she’d coerced me into it if i’m being honest… but I did agree. I couldn’t blame her for the repercussions, I knew what I was getting into. So I felt like I had to see it through, had to try and make it work…

“So when she came to me all loving, and I missed her so much, I gave in, I needed to feel like us again… Make her forget about anyone else. Make her only want me. And then… in the midst of what I thought was one of my best sexual performances… she tells me she wants to try something this guy had asked her to do to him and I–... fucking lost it. I jumped out of that bed as if it were on fire. I’m sure I could’ve handled it more maturely but I locked myself in the bathroom before I said something I would regret. She kept pleading from the other side to open up and talk to her, tell her what was the matter. I realized all I had to say to her were hurtful things. I chickened out when I opened the door and saw how genuinely worried she was. She literally has no clue what I’ve been going through since that night… in her head, we’re heading in the right direction and this is only going to bring us closer.

“So, I asked her not to tell me about any of it, going further, and promised I’d do the same. That I couldn’t handle talking about it. At least not for a while… She agreed, said she totally gets it. And then we went back to bed and I never got to see what that son of a bitch asked her to do to him because ever since, I’ve avoided all her advances. She keeps making little quips such as uh-oh, running out of stamina huh? Save some for me next time. Then she giggles and asks me to just spoon her instead and I just sit there for hours on end mulling everything over while she’s sleeping soundly in my arms.”

The woman sat silent for a long while, visibly saddened. “Jack never initiates sex anymore. Like… at all. I don’t know If I’m glad for it or if I should feel even more hurt. I’m not sure I feel anything at all anymore. I feel… numb.”

“... Me too.”

After a long pause Harry added, muttering, “Fitting name, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Since he’s such a jackass.”

The woman laughed, which made Harry smile in return. He wondered whether this was the first time the two of them had done so since that night.

“You must have a really nice name, then.”

Harry’s smile lingered. “In that case, I’m sure the same goes for you.”

“You first.”

“It’s Harry.”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah. See? Nice names for nice folk. Wouldn’t hear of people with such names going around causing so much heartache, would you?”

“Absolutely not. Felicity is also… fitting in a way. Only cares about her own happiness.”

Harry gave her a look. “You actually remember my wife’s name?”

“Yeah, it’s a rare name, stuck with me.”

“True. And you’re right about her. I’ve always known it… But nobody’s perfect. Thought I could compromise on some stuff. Didn’t realize it would compromise our marriage in the end.”

“That’s… pretty huge, Harry. I know it sounds awful, but hearing you say so valides my own feelings. Like, I worried I was overreacting, thinking my marriage is over because of this. But that’s just how I feel. I can’t see us ever recovering from this mess.”

“Neither can I. It’s killing me on the inside the longer I go along with it. And even if I do speak up about it… I know it’ll never go back to how things were, which admittedly, weren’t great to begin with. This whole thing kinda helped put everything into perspective. She was right, we did need something else, be both did… I was willing to do whatever to please her, but that’s not exactly feasible in the long run. It was just a matter of time before we faced some hurdles. We’re just not on the same page sexually. I was just fooling myself thinking I could deny my own needs and that she could suppress hers.”

“So… what now?”

They both sat in silence for a long while, the coffee had gone cold and the rain outside was pouring even stronger than before.

“It’s inevitable. We have to talk to them.”

“...End it?”

Harry nodded solemnly and when her eyes immediately glazed over and she stifled a sob, he reached his hand out to cover hers reassuringly. He moved to sit on the chair next to hers and eventually wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, bringing her in to rest her head on his own. She tried to keep quiet, not to disturb the cafe’s patrons, and he gently shushed her reassuringly, telling her everything was going to be alright. Willing himself to believe it, too.

Almost two weeks had passed when Harry finally decided to text Y/N. He’d been apprehensive about it, knowing she must’ve been hurting, but also, he felt guilty for not going through with what he himself had suggested was inevitable. He hadn’t broken things off with his wife. Worse, he’d actually had sex with her, in an effort to still try and save their marriage. He couldn’t finish though, and he’d never reached full mast. Which prompted her to not get off either. It’d been a mess and it ended in Harry crying in the bathroom afterwards while she probably thought he was finishing himself off in the shower. He’d never felt more miserable in his entire life.

Felicity was away for the weekend with her new boy-toy and Harry was feeling seriously on edge. He contemplated just packing his bags and leaving. It was cowardly of him, to be sure, but he felt like he’d never go through with it and actually leave her otherwise. He couldn’t bring himself to talk to her and end things properly, like a man.

He felt emasculated in every way possible.

H: Hey. It’s Harry. Been meaning to reach out, hope it’s not a bad time… How did things go?

He was in their walk-in closet staring at his clothes and trying to work up his courage to just grab them off the hangers and toss them into the biggest suitcase he could find when she replied.

Y/N: Hey, Harry. I’m the worst… I couldn’t bring myself to do it : ( I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this anymore…

H: Don’t feel bad. I couldn’t go through with it either. But I can’t go on like this…

Y/N: What do we do : (

H: She’s with him right now.

Y/N: He’s not been home most nights. It’s over without having to even talk about it. I bet if he came back home and I was gone he’d be relieved at this point.

Harry read Y/N’s last text message before deciding to call her since they were both alone anyway. “That’s exactly what I wanna do. Just pack my stuff and be gone before she comes back. Is that… too cowardly, do you think?”

“It’s not. They don’t deserve an explanation. It’s impossible they don’t see we’re hurting. They just choose to ignore it.”

“Let’s just leave.”

“Harry… if you say that again, I just might do it. Like, right now.”

“Let’s rip the band-aid. Let’s do it. I mean it, Y/N. We can do it. We could do it together. Just… I dunno. Go somewhere and turn our phones off and be there for one another, make sure neither of us caves in and goes back… What do you say?” Harry was pumped. He could feel adrenaline surging through him. The thought of actually doing it made him giddy beyond belief.

Y/N was silent for a long while, all he could hear was his own laboured breathing. But eventually she replied, sounding resolute. “Give me half an hour. We’re doing this, Harry.”

Harry had never felt more alive. It was odd, but it was true. He finally felt like he was doing something for himself, in a long, long time. He’d packed his shit in record time, leaving him just enough to drive to Y/N’s. When she didn’t pick up her phone immediately, he felt his heart sink to his stomach. Had she changed her mind? He felt he couldn’t do this without her. But when she eventually picked up with laboured breath, she informed him she was dragging her suitcases to the elevator and couldn’t find her phone in all that rushed chaos.

Harry wouldn’t take no for an answer, and insisted he’d help her. When she buzzed him in and he reached her floor, he was mildly shocked at the amount of suitcases she’d lined up near the elevator door. He’d only packed his essentials, but Y/N meant business. It looked like she’d packed up her whole life in those bags.

“Oh wow. Ok, alright. Gotta give it to you, you’re a fast packer, considering.”

Y/N smiled at his amused tone, despite her nerves. “I dunno when he’s coming back. Had to be quick. And I knew your SUV could handle all of these.”

“How do you know it’s not already filled up to the brim with my own shit?”

She rolled her eyes when he started loading them up in the elevator, urging her inside to keep the doors open. “Please. You’re a man. I’ll be surprised if you filled two suitcases.”

Harry feigned offence. “It’s three suitcases, alright? Well, two suitcases and a backpack. And I didn’t pack everything. It’s my house, after all.”

Y/N was silent, her smile fading somewhat. “Well, this apartment is his. So…”

Harry kicked himself for opening up that can of worms but the haste in which they loaded her stuff into his truck kept them busy and hopefully took her mind off things for a bit.

When they drove off, for a long time they didn’t even talk about where they’d be going. Harry just drove aimlessly, only making sure they left town on the nearest exit. They couldn’t even use Google Maps as they’d shut their phones off and threw them into the glove compartment in complicity.

They eventually discussed some options. It couldn’t be any of the places they’d been with with their spouses. Not that either of them thought they’d be coming looking for them, but regardless.

Eventually, after driving for a few hours while keeping themselves busy singing along with whatever came on the radio to keep themselves distracted, they decided to just crash at the first decent motel they’d find on their way. It was getting too late to drive safely any further.

They were both giddy at the prospect of crashing at some random motel like some sort of Bonnie and Clyde, still high on the adrenaline rush.

Soon they found themselves in a shabby motel room under a false mr and mrs name. They’d already slept in the same bed before and so the options of getting separate rooms or twin beds weren’t even brought up. They trusted eachother beyond formalities, and besides, the pact was that they would go through this together.

They took turns showering and Y/N called for him from the bathroom when she was finished with hers. “Harry? Ugh, I brought the wrong bag with us…”

“Want me to go get it for you?”

“I mean… I just need something to change into. Do you have some extra pyjamas?”

“Uhm…” Harry didn’t have to check, he knew he’d not packed any extra in his backpack he took with him to the room. “I can give you mine but I’ll have to sleep in a t-shirt. And boxers, of course.”

“Would you mind terribly?”

“Not at all. Just… you know. Don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, that’s why I clarified…”

“Oh, shush. Can I have them?” She cracked the door open and stuck her hand out. “Oh, also, no knickers. I’ll be sure to wash them for you afterwards.”

Harry faltered mid-undressing, but then rushed to hand her his discarded pyjamas. “Don’t be silly.”

He threw a t-shirt on and got under the covers. Surely she’d seen men in boxers before, he was acting a bit childish. But he really meant it when he told her he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way.

She emerged from the bathroom, all swaddled up in the too-large pyjamas and smiled sheepishly at him, then turned the lights off and joined him on the other side of the bed.

Harry flinched when he thought he’d heard her say something. Had he already drifted off to sleep? That was… definitely surprising. He’d had trouble sleeping ever since– “Did you say something?” He whispered, just in case he’d been mistaken.

“Sorry,” she whispered back, “did I wake you? I didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep. Do you always sleep on your back?”

“... Was I snoring?”

Y/N giggled. He smiled into the darkness at the sound. Everything felt so lighthearted and easy with her around, no wonder he’d fallen asleep. “No. But are you a snorer? Because if so, I might have to reconsider this whole arrangement…”

“Oh, shush.” He playfully kicked her leg under the covers, noticing she was closer than he’d gauged. “I think all that driving got to me, plus the adrenaline crush. What did you wanna say?”

“I just wanted to thank you… I don’t think I would’ve gone through with this without you, Harry.”

Harry smiled into the darkness again. He couldn’t see her, but her words really warmed him up. “Same here. Just don’t wake me up at 4am telling me you wanna uber back home, ok?”

She giggled again. “Hell no. You’re stuck with me.”

“...Good.”

Part Three

A/N: soooo. it's gonna be 3 parts, after all 😅😅 thanks to the lovely @freedomfireflies for beta-ing ❤️

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

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#harry styles smut #swingrry #harry styles concept #harry styles prompt #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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your-eternal-lies · 1 month

Text

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter one)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

WARNINGS — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER ONE HELLO, NEIGHBOUR

Steve Rogers stands before the sleek new digital coffee maker on his kitchen counter, his fingers fumbling with the confusing array of buttons.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, blue eyes narrowing in concentration. The machine beeps in protest, flashing symbols that might as well be hieroglyphs for all the sense they make to him.

Back in his day, he reminisces as he jabs futilely at the modern contraption, all he needed were some grounds, water, and a bit of heat. So, why does this have to be so complicated?

But the LED display just flickers mockingly at him before flashing an error message, which only adds insult to injury.

As Steve stands there, engaged in his silent battle with technology, his phone vibrates on the counter. It’s from Natasha, and for a minute, he thinks he’s being called into work. Instead, her words pop up on the screen like tiny grenades:

Natasha: Have you asked out Sharon yet? Natasha: She’s cute AND a nurse—practical for a guy who gets shot at for a living.

He sighs, pocketing his phone as he leans against the counter. Sharon is cute, he relents, but asking her out means stepping into unfamiliar territory.

He tells himself that he can’t afford any distractions, thinking about his duty to SHIELD, about the literal shield that feels a bit heavier with each passing day. After Peggy, Bucky, the ice… he didn’t feel like it was fair to drag an innocent civilian into this crazy life of his.

A lot of the time he still feels like that awkward and skinny Brooklyn boy, who had never even danced with a woman before, let alone go on a date with one. They had always looked at him with a sad mix of pity and derision, would much rather hang off the arm of someone like Bucky.

And despite his now… enhanced, shall we say, appearance, the looks of admiration he often gets now just seem to ring hollow.

He knows Natasha means well. She understands the weight of history he carries in his heart, as she’s got her own demons she fights to keep at bay. So, Steve never faults her for encouraging him to have a life outside of work… even if she doesn’t necessarily take her own advice.

Well, he knows shockingly little about her, so he doesn’t know that for sure.

Shaking his head, Steve decides to give the coffee machine one last chance, pushing what he hopes is the right combination of buttons. The machine whirrs affirmatively, and victory seems to be within reach for one hopeful minute—until it sputters pathetically and then goes dark altogether.

“Ah, forget it!” Giving up, Steve unplugs the machine, deciding that he’ll just have to conquer the world of espresso another day.

Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from his Captain America garb, he decides to head downstairs to the Starbucks on the first floor.

At least there, getting coffee is easy.

Just down the hallway, you stand before your dresser, rummaging through its contents.

When your hand finally emerges victorious, it’s clutching the lone survivor of your clean underwear collection—a single polka-dotted testament to your chronic procrastination.

Laundry day cannot be ignored any longer, not unless you wanted to start fashioning outfits out of your dish towels.

Resignation slumps your shoulders as you zip around your apartment to gather the scattered attire strewn across the floor, each garment snatched up and tossed unceremoniously into the gaping maw of your laundry basket.

With the basket brimming, you wedge a hip against it to keep everything contained. You move slowly towards the door, putting on a pair of slippers, only to be stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from your couch.

“No, Chuck,” you remind your unofficial roommate, a German Shepherd who goes by the name of Charlie—or Chuck, as you prefer to call him. “You can’t come. You are banned from the laundry room after ‘the incident’.”

But Chuck’s tail continues to wag hopefully, his large brown eyes shining, his head tilted to the side in the very picture of innocence.

You soften, but only a touch when you remember him peeing all over your freshly washed, neatly folded laundry, meaning you had to start all over again.

“Nice try, buddy,” you give him a half-hearted glare. He lets out a soft woof, and you swear you see judgment in his eyes as he looks at your leaning tower of laundry. Well, what does he know, the big oaf? He licks his own butt. “Couch fortress until I return, okay?”

The hallway outside your door is its usual self—stale air, the faint smell of someone’s burnt breakfast, and the muffled echo of someone’s TV playing what sounds like a rerun of I Love Lucy.

As you round the corner, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. There, leaning against the wall with a casual grace that flies in the face of a man who leaps out of planes and fights aliens for a living, is him.

Captain America himself, in all his star-spangled glory, waiting for the same ride down to the lobby.

Oh, no. Nnnnope.

You are not taking the elevator with Steve freaking Rogers, carrying an arm full of your unwashed unmentionables while dressed in old PJs and a tank top. There is no way!

The urge to run back to the safety of your apartment is strong, where neither your couch nor your dog have arms that could bench press a Buick.

Maybe you could step back behind the corner, make a run for the stairwell, or maybe even pull the damn fire alarm—

But it’s too late. He’s heard you, already twisting slightly at his narrowed waist and tossing a glance back at you over his shoulder.

“Hey, neighbour,” he smiles. Your heart does an unwelcome somersault.

Well, at least the elevator ride would be quick… right?

« Series Masterlist || Chapter 2 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

Notes — So, to encourage my writing, I’ve decided to make each chapter exactly 1,000 words, no more and no less. It’s harder than I thought it would be! But it also takes the pressure off to hit a longer word count and helps me manage the pacing. I hope you enjoy!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #summer’s fics

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latenightdaydreams · 19 days

Note

Very specific request but König finding gn!reader (who was unambiguously his lover) who was presumed dead in a nursing home. Crippled and scarred, maybe they were also part of the military, but your body was never recovered after the mission. Yet here you are, sitting in some nursing home with a book in your lap and a blanket around your shoulders, looking so much paler and thinner than he remembers. Maybe they wanted to wait until they were strong enough to actually go see him in person themselves, or maybe they're struggling with their self image now. Just headcanons on how he and reader would deal with it, if you want more angst maybe reader is also disabled now, unable to walk without crutches, or developed a chronic illness. I'm just such a sucker for this type of hurt comfort.

🥹As someone who uses arm crutches, this story was close to home lol. Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy🥰

Finding You (g/n)

Fluff and angst (slightly)

Master List

>cw: internalized ablism, disability

1.3k word count

Today was just like any other day at the nursing home. You sit in a vintage arm chair with a pale blue crochet blanket around your shoulders, donated from a local artist, you took it as soon as you saw it in the pile. The shade of blue reminding you of König’s eyes.

You miss him, crave him, but you aren’t ready for him to see you. Not like this. Physical therapy has only been helping but only so much, your body still looks wasted away. A deep scar cutting across the left side of your face now, making you feel hideous. You don’t resemble the person König fell in love with and you’re scared that if he sees you, he will fall out of love.

You drop your eyes from the window to your book. You struggle to stay focused on the words when all you want to do is see, even talk to, König. The months have been lonely, your depression only getting worse. Next to you, resting on the chair, are your new arm crutches you’ve been getting use to walking with since your spinal injury. You glare at them with distain for a while before looking back out the window, remembering life before the incident.

The common room is quiet as most people are outside today to enjoy the warm weather. You wish to be outside, but you still feel a level of embarrassment having to use crutches now to walk. You never knew how hard internalized ableism could affect you until you became disabled.

König walks up the stairs and opens the door to the nursing home. He sees a young woman sitting at the front desk and she greets him warmly.

“Hallo, I’m here looking for y/n.” He gives her your full name.

“You’re their first visitor! I’m sure they will be so excited.” She stands and gestures for you to follow her to where you are.

She walks him through long hallways full of rooms, finally he arrives at the end of a hallway with large windows illuminating the room, the walls painted a pale yellow, making the area bright and cheerful. She points to you.

König stares, not recognizing you at first. You’re small, your skin pale and your hair grown out. You haven’t noticed him, dissociating and looking out the window instead. König thanks the woman and begins to slowly approach you. His eyes gleaming with love as he looks over your fragile body.

“Schatz?” König speaks softly to not startle you. He notices the crutches next to you on the chair.

You turn your head to look at him head on. Your eyes widen with surprise to see him. A wave of emotions rushes over you as you realize he is really here. You don’t respond, just stare. You watch as König kneels in front of you and slowly pulls off his mask. His cheeks are red and there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Schatz?” König slowly moves his hand and rests it on your thigh. He has missed how you feel.

“König…” Your voice shaky as you’re overcome with emotions.

Hearing your voice makes his small smile grow, his eyes study your face. Dark circles under your eyes and a deep sadness fills them. A small frown on the edges of your lips. A new scar on your face, he wonders what happened, but won’t ask right now. No matter what, you’re still the most stunning human he has ever laid eyes on.

“I’ve missed you.” His grip slightly tightens.

“I’ve missed you too.” You move your book to the side on the chair, your hand finding his.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He grasps your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. “Why didn’t you call? Write? Something?”

König doesn’t mean to talk about such heavy topics right now, but he is just so full of heart-ache. Life without you has felt so empty.

“I wanted to heal, get better.” You look into his eyes scared of rejection.

“I could help you heal Schatz.”

“I didn’t want you to see me like this…” Your voice cracks as you talk, you drop your gaze to your lap.

He squeezes your hands slightly; he is aware of how much you’ve changed. Not just physically changed, but probably also mental.

“You know that I love you no matter what, right y/n? You’re my light.” König has felt rejected, learning that you were alive yet never tried to reach out to him.

Your frown deepens at his words, tears building up in your eyes. A heavy feeling of guilt and regret washes over you.

“I’m sorry…”

König gently grabs your chin and turns your face to him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad to see you’re alive.”

He looks at you for a while before leaning in and kissing your lips softly. You kiss back and move your free hand to cup his face. You didn’t realize how much you missed him, his touch, until right now; you’ve been suppressing your feelings for so long.

Just then a nurse comes into the room and approaches the both of you. She smiles warmly and places her hand on the back of your chair.

“Today is a beautiful day, you haven’t been out in a while y/n. Why not show your guest around the garden?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” König excitedly agrees. He stands up and reaches his hand out to you.

You let out a deep sigh, not really wanting to do anything. Yet, you grab his hand and stand up, your legs wobble slightly. König notices and quickly wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close. You feel so much lighter in his arms. Holding you steadily, he reaches down and grabs your crutches.

“You need these, right?” He asks in a soft voice as he hands them to you.

You nod and grab them from him. You slip your arms in and stand with them. König softly steps back and lets you stand by yourself. He watches the way you stand and how you rest on your crutches.

You both walk out of the room and to the back door to enter the garden. König walks at a slow pace to keep up with you. His eyes on you the whole time to make sure you don’t fall or need his help in some way. You feel self-conscious as he looks at you, you know it isn’t with malice, yet you can’t help how you feel.

Stepping outside the warm sun hits your skin and you squint your eyes. König just smiles, taking in how precious you are to him. Seeing how far you’ve come in your healing journey makes him proud, he’s always known you were a strong person. He just wishes he could have helped you along the way.

You walk with your crutches, one foot at a time, making sure to not rush yourself and allowing your body to move at a pace it’s comfortable with. The pain from moving already starting to kick in, and it’s written on your face.

“Do you need any help Schatz?”

“No, I’m okay.” You lie not wanting to push König away by asking for support.

König nods, seeing a bench in the distance he begins to slowly guide you there with a hand on your back, not meaning to over step but he sees you struggling and wants to help. Once there, he puts his hands around your waist to help you sit. There are so many things he wants to ask you, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Instead, he simply wraps his arm around you and pulls you close to him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Would you come home?”

“I- I need to heal still.”

“I can hire a nurse for you, you know money isn’t an issue Schatz. I can take time off work as well.”

“I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You are never a burden. Never.” His voice stern but he isn’t angry. “You’re more important than stupid paper work. Please, come home to me.”

You look up at him with teary eyes and just slowly nod your head. You thought when König saw your crutches, your scar, your frail state, he would fall out of love. He would be… disgusted. But no, his love has proven to be unconditional.

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