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withleeknow · 9 months

Text

remedy.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort; implies that minho has anxiety, unedited bc i am me and you shouldn't expect much from me lmao word count: 1.2k note: hello hello!! i've been meaning to write this since the day of the rock-star comeback but i'm only getting around to finishing it now lol. but the timing's pretty neat so consider this a christmas present from me and mine to you and yours!! <33

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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when the sun rouses you awake in the morning, you feel two arms loosely wrapped around you that weren't there before you fell asleep last night.

you smile to yourself, enjoying the warmth and comfort that he brings you. home, finally.

you turn in his hold, as gently as you can to not disturb your slumbering minho.

you don’t know when exactly he got back, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours ago. sometimes, when he has night schedules, he doesn’t usually return until the sun is peeking over the horizon. you’re used to him having to work throughout the wee hours of the night every other week. you don’t like it, but you’re used to it.

you expect to find him snoozing peacefully beside you, with his handsome face and his lips parted cutely as he lightly snores, but when you finally shuffle around to look at him, you instantly frown.

a frown that matches his own.

baby, you think, what’s wrong?

even in his sleep, minho’s brows are knitted together, the corners of his mouth tugged downward like he’s having a bad dream. the instant concern that rushes through you parts the hazy fog in your brain, and then... you remember.

it was only half past three in the morning when your phone buzzed to life, the vibrations resounding brassily against the wooden surface of your nightstand. reaching out blindly for the device, you only needed to peek through one eye to scan the time and the caller id before you held it to your ear, your face still smushed against your fluffy pillow.

"hmm?"

"i'm sorry," minho was quick to apologize. "did i wake you?" he sounded rushed, like he had wandered off to a corner to steal a few minutes for himself before having to go back.

you made a noncommittal noise, already feeling the exhaustion luring you back to dreamland. it had been a long week and you'd endured five whole days just to get to the weekend, to be able to spend hours on end with your boyfriend. it'd be just you and him, wrapped up together in your cozy little bubble, all your stresses and troubles kept at bay. he was always the best part of your days, your weeks, your months, even your years.

even though you were drifting, you still managed to ask, "is everything okay?"

"yeah, everything’s fine. i just missed you."

it made you smile nonetheless. he didn’t often disturb you in the middle of the night just to be sappy with you whenever he was stuck working odd hours, but it wasn’t necessarily anything out of the ordinary. minho could still be needy and clingy sometimes. it was one of the things that you loved most about him - that he could be a grumpy cat most of the time, but underneath that prickly exterior, he was just a big softie. you loved it even more that you were the only person who could bring out that side of him.

"missed you too," you mumbled. it didn’t sound at all lively, but you knew he could tell that you meant it.

you caught a sigh from his end before he continued. though this time, he let his defenses down when he spoke. his voice came out along with a tired exhale, laced with something that you would’ve been able to pick up on had your mind not been delirious with sleep. "wanna be there with you," he said in earnest. "want you to be here with me."

"when are you coming home?" you asked, even though the words came out a little garbled, your voice heavy with sleep.

"in a couple hours. i'll be home right after this."

"okay. we can-" cue a big yawn. "we can stay in bed as long as you want in the morning."

"yeah, that sounds nice."

"then i’ll see you in a bit, okay?"

he paused briefly before his next words came out a little unsteady, hesitant. the unease with which he spoke bypassed your unassuming radar completely. "can we just stay on the phone?"

"min-"

"you don't have to talk to me. just... stay with me for a while."

you think you might've passed out again after that, the subsequent silence and his breathing on the other end having lulled you back to sleep in a matter of seconds.

my love, it brings tears to your eyes just thinking about it, how could i have missed it?

you quietly move closer to him, shuffling inch by inch until you’re chest to chest, hoping his body could sense your warmth and be comforted by it, even just a little bit. you press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, but even that simple touch stirs him awake even though minho is usually a deep sleeper.

his eyes slowly open, and you suppose the tug on your heartstrings loosens when the furrow between his brows eases as he takes in the sight of you.

he heaves a sigh of relief, and it’s like you can actually see some of the tension leaving his body as he pulls you to him, holding you against him so tightly that it’s impossible to move even if you wanted to.

"hi," you say, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, snuggling further into him until it’s hard to tell if the heartbeat you feel is yours or his.

"hi," he replies, his soft lips placing a greeting kiss on the top of your head.

"bad day?" night, but oh well. technicalities.

his answer comes muffled against your hair, though you feel the slight vibration of his chest when he mutters, "it wasn’t that bad. i was just a little overwhelmed."

"but it's better now?"

"much better, now that you’re here."

truthfully, you don’t really know what to say in moments like this. you want to be able to offer him reassuring words that could ease his nerves and calm his raging sea, but you’re not good with words. you never have been. you don’t think you ever will be, as much as you want to. for him.

it makes you feel guilty at times, not being able to give minho the peace he needs.

you do try though, to comfort him as much as you can.

"i love you," you say quietly. your arm wraps around him, your palm landing on his upper back where your fingers tenderly soothe the firm muscles you find. i'm sorry i wasn't there for you. i wish i have the right words to say to you.

"i could listen to you breathe and feel ten times better," he admits, putting some distance between your faces so he can look at you, as if it'll help emphasize his words. "i don’t even need you to do anything. i just need you. you’re more than enough for me."

his eyes bore into yours, glittering with nothing but a kind of sincerity that he never shows anyone but you. you kiss him then, soft and slow. you want to pour as much love into him as you possibly can. and even then you don't think it can amount to a fraction of what he deserves.

but nonetheless, you try. you try because he means the world to you.

i'll do better for you. let me share your burdens with you.

pulling away, you tell him, as your palm gently holds his cheek, a touch which he leans into instantaneously. "go back to sleep. i’ve got you."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know angst #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 2 months

Text

Part III

Word count: 3900+

Warnings: a lot of anxiety and panic attacks (our reader have a tough time adjusting to the new life), also little smut(ish)

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part II | Part IV

The morning found you curled up in the ottoman, peacefully sleeping. A knock sounded on the double doors and you jolted up looking around the unfamiliar room. As your brain got rid of the heavy fog of the sleep, all memories of the last day popped out and you sighed heavily. Your gaze fell to the bed and you immediately sat up, eyes wide. The bed was made, no one slept in it. You quickly checked up your body. And apparently you were just as untouched as that bed. You were confused as well as relieved. You didn't understand. How was it possible? You and your husband were supposed to do.. something. Did he not come? Or he came in, found you sleeping and left? Angry? And where did he sleep?

Another knock sounded, snapping you out of your thoughts before you started spiraling. You weren't sure what to do, so you went and opened the doors a little. Same maids were waiting there and as last night bowed.

"Good morning, my lady. We came to help you to prepare."

"Prepare? For what?"

They looked at each other with raised brows. "For the day, madame," the other one answered.

Blushing you stepped back letting them in and they immediately set to work. Even if they noticed the untouched bed, they didn't show any signs nor commented it. While you were getting dressed, servants brought breakfast to that small dinning table you saw last night. You bit on your lower lip when you saw only one plate.

"What about.. my husband?"

"His Lordship has already eaten. He woke up early in the morning and currently is at the meeting," one of the maids answered with a light nod to the doors opposite of yours. After that they all left leaving you to eat alone.

You were sitting there, staring at the food while it stared back at you. You had no appetite. Again and again you replayed every minute of the wedding ceremony and the party, looking for any serious mistake you'd done. You certainly did something otherwise he would have come last night. You thought that you were on quite good terms with your husband based on the fact that you were secretly holding hands most of the last evening.

This was bad, so bad. It was a catastrophe. Your father had to already know about everything, he always did. He was certainly so furious. You dreaded to meet him. Moreover if your husband decided to send you back, you definitely wouldn't live to see another day. Father would kill you right away before you even left this place. He didn't need someone as useless as you. There was no way he would forgive you. It wasn't in his nature. High Lord was the highest offer you could get. There was nothing better than that. Your father wouldn't accept any lower offer now.

You couldn't breathe. Panic gripped your insides, suffocating you. If you were back home, you would crawl to the space between your bed and the wall. It was so narrow that you hardly fitted in, but you felt safe there. You used to spend there even whole night after beating or when you were scared like now, you simply hid there and waited until the feeling faded away.

When walls started to close in on you, you left the food as it was and closed yourself in the bedroom, desperately looking for some corner where you could hide. The room was too spacious, too airy for you. It only made things worse. After searching in vain, you tried the bathroom with the same result and at last the closet. There in the back of the room, you found a narrow dark place between some drawer cabinet and the wall. You squeezed in there and sitting down on the floor pulled your knees to the chest as tightly as you could. Finally you could breathe in a small sip of the air, the pressure on your chest gradually eased. The tears began rolling down your cheeks and you sobbed until at some point you passed out from exhaustion.

"So this is where you've been hiding this whole time?"

A deep voice spoke, waking you up. In the distance you heard raindrops drumming on the windows and the air smelled of rain, smoke and apples roasted on fire. You didn't dare to look up, instead you curled up into yourself even more.

"Everyone out there is looking for you since lunch."

"I'm so sorry," you muttered into your knees.

The male sighed heavily. He seemed to be pissed off. "Can you explain me what in the bottomless depths of the Cauldron you're doing here?"

You pressed even harder against the wall, trying to get as far from him as you could. This was it. He had enough of you and there was no witness, so he could freely act upon it.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. You knew that no matter what you said, it wouldn't work. It never worked. Yet you couldn't stop apologising, still hoping it could ease the intended punishment.

You heard his footsteps muffled by the carpet as he approached you and got ready.

"I apologise, Y/N" he murmured and his fingers lightly touched your elbow. The smell of smoke was replaced by spicy cinnamon. "I didn't mean... I'm not angry at you. I was just worried sick, thinking that... Ah, it doesn't matter." He struggled with his words.

When you didn't move, he groaned and continued.

"Maids came to report that you are missing as soon as the meeting was over. They said that you looked pale in the morning and that you didn't sleep in the bed nor eat. They thought you went to take a nap. Just imagine how surprised they were when they came to wake you up for lunch and couldn't find you."

His fingers traveled down your forearm to your hand and gently squeezed it. Iciness of his strict deep voice melted, replaced by warmth and tenderness. "What happened? Why are you hiding here?"

You dared to peek at him. Your husband was crouching in front of you, his amber eyes watching you closely. He really didn't seem to be angry, just tired.

"I'm sorry to have caused you worry," you little bit straightened up, still avoiding his eyes.

He gently pulled on your hand. "What happened? You can talk to me. Someone hurt you? Or told you something you didn't like?"

"Are.. are you going to send me back?"

"Nope," Eris chuckled, evidently amused by your silly question. The sound was rich and kind of cute. Your heart did a strange thing. He seemed to be more relaxed than the last night at the party. "Last time I checked on this matter, your father signed that he will never even try to contact you and left with rather a rich reward."

You gaped at him in disbelieve. Your head went completely silent.

"It's true. You will either stay here or call Rhysand to come to pick you up, but you won't go back to your family."

"Thank you, my lord," you smiled genuinely, relief spreading in your chest.

"There you are. Finally smiling," he looked over his shoulder. "I think we should go out and tell everyone that you are fine. I guess they are still looking for you. What do you think?"

You flushed, feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry for causing the troubles."

"It's fine," he waved his hand and helped you to stand up. "At least they are finally doing something meaningful."

Eris left you in the sitting room between your bedrooms and went to stop the search. While he was gone, some servants with trays of steaming food marched in and set it on the table. They again prepared only one plate. Disappointed you looked at heavy double doors with carved ornaments that you hadn't noticed before. You still hoped he would come back.

After a moment the door swung open and one of the maids walked in.

"His Lordship apologizes, but he had to return to his duties," she announced.

Sad that after all he wouldn't come back, you sat down and let servants serve you the meal. Still having no appetite, you at least ate a bit of every dish of the late lunch that they presented you and when you were done they all left except of that one maid. She sat down on small stool in the corner of the room, took out something from under her apron and started embroidering. Your husband apparently made sure that you weren't left alone again.

For a while you watched her dancing hand with a needle and then you moved to a bench under the window, looking out into the drenched garden half hidden in the mist. Despite all the colours, it was quite a melancholic sight yet comforting. It perfectly matched your mood. You watched the colourful flowers and trees until they plunged into darkness.

The dinner went just like the lunch. Servants brought in food and you ate alone. Soon after you were done, other maids came in and ran a bath for you. The other one who spent the afternoon looking after you, meanwhile left. Just as the previous night, they washed you properly, massaged bath oils into your skin and hair, and helped you prepare for the bed. After they were done and cleaned the bathroom, they left.

With heavy heart you took a seat in the very same ottoman and watching the doors, waited. Your bedroom and the sitting room next door were so quiet that you heard the faint ticking of the clock and crackling fire from behind the closed thick doors. Eventually that sounds lulled you to sleep.

Later that night you jolted up, scared by a tremendous crash of thunder. Your heart leaped to your throat. Since you were child, you were scared of storms, its wild sounds echoed through the stone halls even deep under the mountain. However, it was nothing compared to this.

Another thunder rumbled through the sky. You jumped up with a small scream, pressing against the wall on the opposite side of the room, covering your ears with hands. You started pacing back and forth, your body trembled. Opening door of the closet you ran to your new-found safe place, hoping you could weather the storm there, but the sounds of thunder followed you even there.

A particularly bright bolt of lightening crossed the sky, closely followed by sound so strong that the walls shook. That was the last straw and you fled to the sitting room and to the double doors on the opposite side. You hesitated with a hand only inches from the smooth surface of the oak door. Another thunder rumbled around you and your hand met the cold surface before you could change your mind.

Surprisingly, the doors opened right away as if he waited with hand on doorknob. Your husband stood there with messy red hair that had a copper hue in the light of the fire from the hearth. Shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, he blinked down at you with sleepy eyes. If you weren't so scared, you would stop to take a proper look and blush fiercely.

However, thunder struck again and you leaped to his arms, hiding your face at his muscular chest, your hands looking for something to grip on.

"What..?" he grumbled and stepped back, eyes widely open. His big hands landed on your shoulders, trying to push you away.

The lightning bolt enlightened the room, all decorations rattled and you cried out, clinging to him with arms wrapped around his waist. His brows raised in shock.

The beats of his heart under your face grew stronger and louder than the storm and you opened your eyes sharply, suddenly realizing what you were doing. Your breasts were pressed against his stomach. There was no way he didn't feel them through the thin material of your nightgown. You didn't even want to think about it. With bowed head and gaze focused on the floor you retreated a few steps back, blushing and thanking the Mother that the lights were turned off.

"I'm so-sorry, my lord, I didn't-" your sentence ended with a scream as decorations in the room rattled again.

"You are scared. Of the storm," he stated baffled. Only then his sight fell to your chest and everything bellow it and his cheeks turned pink. He held his breath.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, my lord," you said much calmer than you really felt, still looking at his bare feet.

"No, it's fine." He cleared his throat looking somewhere above your head.

With another too loud thunder you ducked with hands on your ears. Eris stepped closer, arms stretched to you, but then he changed his mind and let them fall back to his sides.

"Ehm.. What should we do?" he muttered under his nose.

"Do-do you want to come in?" he offered gesturing to his room.

"I-I think I could."

He stepped aside, making space for you. Without touching him again you slipped in. His room was just like yours, everything, including even the colours of sheets, was the same. The only difference was that instead of the vanity there was a desk in the corner. Left side of the bed was a mess, the rest was untouched. No personal stuff, favourite paintings, nothing.

Eris watched you with interest as your eyes wandered around his bedroom. Seeing you scantily clad in his private room where he didn't even allow the servants to come clean, was doing something with him. He shook head, exhaling heavily through nose.

"Sit down," he waved to the ottomans. Meanwhile he touched a teapot on the coffee table. It took only a minute and small puffs of steam began to rise from it. He filled one mug and handed it to you. Then he sat in the other one with own cup of tea in hand.

You looked at the windows, wondering whether the storm was already over, because it had been quiet for quite some time. How surprised you were to see the lightening flashing behind the curtains.

"It's just magic. I'm quite light sleeper and don't want to be disturbed," he explained with a small smile.

You lowered your eyes guilty and squeezed the mug. "I'm so sorry for disturbing you, my-"

"Eris," he interrupted you with narrowed eyes and tilted head to the side. One of his brows raised up. "You keep calling me 'my lord'. But we are married couple now and I'm not your...owner." He grimaced at the word. "Call me just Eris. And as I said before, it's fine."

You nodded and sipped the warm tea. You both fell silent unsure of what to say.

The realisation that it's night and you were alone with your husband in the room with bed, hit you suddenly and your heartbeat speeded up. You fought with your feelings and the urgent need to take a look at him, a proper look, until you couldn't resist it anymore. You wanted to get to know him better. Out of all the males you'd ever met, he was the least scary one and the fact that despite everything, he hadn't tried to hurt yet, encouraged you.

You started with his hands. Shyly you looked up at his long, elegant fingers embracing the cup. You quite liked them, their shape and how they felt on your skin. You didn't even need to focus to recall the feeling when they were entwined with yours. Your gaze of its own accord moved up the strong cords of muscles to nicely sculpted biceps.

The bedroom was rather dark, only one small light was on on the bedside table. Yet it provided enough light for you to involuntarily notice small freckles on his shoulders. There were dozens of them and you caught yourself thinking that you would like to try to count them. Your cheeks heated once again, but it didn't stop you.

Next your gaze shifted to the largest display of thoroughly shaped flesh and tight skin, to his chest. You knew nothing about these things, yet you had to admit that it was very nice chest. Even just simply looking from the distance, did funny things with your body and you felt tingling in your lower belly. If you remembered it correctly, his skin felt smooth and hot under your face, his flesh soft and firm at the same time. Dusted with a few lovely freckles, it rose and fell with quite rapid breaths.

Eris wasn't bulky, rather lean, but still so strong. A warrior.

You wanted to continue down to his stomach where you noticed a lot of interesting looking shadows you'd like to study closely, but it felt inappropriate. Not that what you were doing right now wasn't, but you couldn't stop yourself. You were always scared to properly look at people, to see them and the details of their faces. With your husband it was different, as if something was calling you, inviting you to take a look.

Wanting to see his handsome face again, to explore it and commit it to your memory, your eyes traveled up over the column of his neck to his chin. His Adam apple bobbed as he swallowed, arteries pulsed in wild rhythm that matched yours.

He was perfectly shaved, there didn't seem to be a single hair left out on his face. His lips in a nice shade of pink were full, the lower lip fuller than the upper one, and slightly parted. You knew that they not only seemed to be but really were soft. You still could feel their touch on yours and to be honest, you'd like to taste them again. Did they still taste of honey and alcohol or could you taste herbs now? You'd really like to get the answer. His lips quirked into a boyish grin and stayed like that.

Your gaze skimmed over freckles on his high cheeks and straight nose. Damn, you wanted to count them so badly now. Would you ever get a chance to try it? At least once and you'd never ask for more.

Lost in that beauty and your imagination, your gaze wandered to his eyes partly hidden under slightly furrowed arches of brows, and their colour immediately caught your attention. They seemed to shine in the dimly lit room, flames dancing in them. His gaze bore into you with such intensity that you felt wetness gathering between your legs. You turned into a panting mess, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot in your own skin.

"What are you doing?" His deep, hoarse voice snapped you from trans and you blinked.

While you were admiring him, the air in the room grew thicker, strong scents middling together.

"I-.." You didn't know what to say, mouth completely dry, too ashamed of your shameless behaviour. You shouldn't behave like this, it didn't suit a lady.

His grin widened. "Do you like what you see?" your husband teased you.

"I-.." you shifted uncomfortably, your eyes moved to his lips, then to his chest and back up to those marvellous eyes.

"You what, Y/N? You can be honest with me."

You inhaled sharply, your face flushed with even more shame. "Yes, I like it, m-"

"Tsk tsk tsk. I think I told you to call me by my name."

"I like it, Eris," you murmured.

His eyes closed briefly and he exhaled deeply, making a strange noise. It sounded like a growl.

"Say it again. My name," he specified when you gave him questioning look.

You hesitated for a moment. There was something about him that made your pulse skyrocket. He was dangerous predator, able to kill with a single thought, but strangely, you wouldn't mind to be his prey. You didn't know him at all, yet you felt a connection between the two of you. And you longed to explore it more, to see what he was capable of.

"Eris," you whispered into silence between you.

Frowning with closed eyes he made the same noise. One second he was sitting in ottoman with mug in hand, the next one both mugs were left on the table and he was kneeling next to you. Even on his knees he was so tall that his eyes were level with yours. Those long fingers that fascinated you moments ago, found yours, entwining with them while his fiery eyes burned your body and soul in the most pleasant way. Room felt so hot suddenly that you had the urge to open the windows, get rid of any clothing you had on you and expose your bare skin to a cooling rain.

"Y/N," he groaned, his gaze slowly fell to your lips.

You were so attracted to him that it had to be result of some kind of spell. Not having enough strength to resist it anymore, you gave in. Still longing to taste his full lips you leaned in slightly. His eyes returned to yours, searching. Whatever he saw, it seemed to work. His softness brushed over your lips, tenderly pulling them into a kiss.

His lips were just like you remembered them, soft and sturdy at the same time, tasting like honey and tea he drank. You wondered where that sweet taste came from because there was no jar of honey in this room nor the tea was sweet. Deciding it had to be taste of him, you moaned.

Your lips parted briefly, but he was fast. His tongue slipped in with ease, hungrily exploring your mouth. You gasped at the new sensation. Everything was new to you. You were taught some theoretical basics, but never practised them.

His body pushed against yours until you were almost lying, hands on the back of your head and your waist navigating you. Thin material of you nightgown presented no barrier between your bodies. You felt him everywhere, but it wasn't enough. You needed more.

You reached for him, needing to feel his hot skin. As soon as the tips of your fingers lightly brushed over his shoulder, he abruptly pushed away, breaking the kiss.

He backed to the center of the room, hands running through thick red strands. All the warmth left together with him and you were left trembling, confused and lonely without his closeness.

Both of you were heaving heavily. He averted his fiery eyes, hand reaching for a handle. As if instantly remembering something, his hand dropped to his side.

"We should go to sleep. It's late. I have a lot of work to do, so I have to get up early."

Shirt appeared in his hands and he quickly put it on. "You can sleep here tonight."

Without looking at you again he climbed to the bed, waiting for you. You were desperately needing time to compose yourself, to understand what just happened, why your body betrayed you and reacted the way it did, but you couldn't keep him waiting. You slipped under the covers on the other side, lying on your back stiffly like a board.

Eris turned off the light, mirroring you. You were sure you wouldn't be able to even close your eyes with him so close. You were just laying there, nervously gazing at ceiling.

In the darkness his hand found yours, gently squeezing it. Within seconds pleasant warmth spread into your body and your eyelids grew heavy. Just before you slipped into a realm of dreams, Eris turned to his side, facing you and whispered lowly.

"Good night, love."

#ghost of love #gol #eris fanfic #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vandaddy #eris fic #eris x you #acotar #eris acosf #acosf #sarah j maas #acotar fanfiction

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omoghouls · 1 month

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Please imagine your fave peeing themselves after really really trying not to, and breaking down crying, and having their back rubbed by their significant other or friend. Bonus points if SO/friend talks softly to them, tells them it’s okay, they can go get cleaned up now. No harm done. They don’t think any less of them for this, okay? No more crying, time to go home and get comfy and rest. (Hope you feel more like yourself again soon btw 💜)

Crying screaming throwing up YES AA A. A A

They have that bubbling of shame in their chest- that burning heat of embarrassment heating up their entire body as urine dribbles off the cuffs of their pants and joins the rather large puddle under them ;o; They had tried SO hard to hold it- to make it to literally anywhere semi-decent of a place to piss but nooo their body said “Haha no. We’re going to pee right here.”

Which to be fair to their body, it had been fighting far longer than anticipated in order to keep all their muscles tensed enough to hold back the flood. But, muscles tire out and the overfilled organ made entirely of muscles was going to obviously be the first of the muscle group to give in.

They don’t even realize they’ve started to cry until they startle themselves with a choked sob leaving their mouth- so wound up in their own mind to know what their body was doing.

Ofc that has their s/o/friend jump from thinking about how to clean this up to comforting the wetter ;o; Soft shushes, fingers swirling comforting circles onto their back as they assure them it’s okay, accidents happen! They aren’t mad, it’s just a bit of pee, nothing a lil mopping can’t fix!!

The wetter leaning into the touch of the other person- a mixture of exhaustion and lingering anxiety making their body feel heavy and brain all fogged up- in moments like this, eternally grateful to have someone who cares about them this much ;w;

#M #omorashi #omocute #also waa thank you- i just got them nasty brain worms rn ahgfshgjsdf

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Combat Baby

Dead Disco Masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.7k words 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Feelings of fear, sadness and anxiety. Discussions of blood and injury. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals. Comfort and fluff. Angst. Established throuple. You get a phone call in the middle of the night. This takes place sometime before Chapter 1 of Dead Disco. It can be read as a standalone.

It’s the middle of the night when the phone rings. It vibrates against the nightstand, the rattle slowly bringing you to consciousness and you blink a few times to shake free the fog of sleep.

The screen displays a blocked number.

Your stomach becomes a pit.

“Hello?” A British man says your name on the other line, the accent different from Simon’s, but still heavy, still thick. You don’t recognize it, and that lone fact has you sitting straight up.

“Yes?”

“This is Captain Price. I’m the commanding officer of the 141 and on scene at St George’s hospital.” Your body jolts, heart stopping dead in your chest. Oh no, god no please. Don’t let them be dead, don’t- “Ma’am?”

“I-I’m here.” You half swallow the words to try to prevent the panic from spilling out of your mouth.

“Soap asked me to call ya, see if you could come down here.”

“What’s going on? Is he okay? Where’s Si-“

“I can’t tell you anything else, just that he wants you to come down.” Your fingers fly onto a web browser to look up the hospital, a tiny sliver of relief twisting in your gut when you see it’s not incredibly far away. Not close, but doable with a few trains. The sleep that has been trying to spring free has completely evaporated, leaving your eyes wide and pulse racing, fear rapidly spreading through your veins while your mind conjures every single worst case scenario it could come up with. “Okay?” The captain’s voice is gentler now, encouraging, and you nod in the dark.

“Okay… y-yeah. I’m on my way.”

The hospital is bright. When you run through the lobby doors, it’s the first thing you notice. The walls are white, too white, and well lit, illuminating everything, every person in the giant room. You search their faces hurriedly, throat tight with worry while you decide that none of them are Johnny or Simon, and you practically throw yourself at the front desk.

“Hi, uh, I’m looking. I’m looking for my partner? He’s-“ A British accent calls your name and you whirl to see a man in uniform standing behind you, his hand waving the receptionist off and gesturing for you to follow him through a set of double doors.

“I’m Captain Price, we spoke on the phone.” Of course.

“Yeah, where’s Johnny? And Simon?” You blow past his pleasantries because you honestly don’t care. You want to see your guys. You want to know what’s going on, and you want to know right now. The captain considers you thoughtfully for a moment, a short second that feels like an hour, before another set of doors is banging open to reveal-

“Darling.” It’s Johnny. Johnny’s here. Johnny’s standing a few feet in front of you with his arms open. Johnny’s wearing his uniform that has a giant stain on the front. Johnny’s wearing his uniform that has a giant red stain on the front.

You launch yourself into him without a second through, without a care about anyone watching, and press your face into his neck to take a deep breath.

“Are you okay? Where is Si? Is he okay?” You babble, pulling away to get a better look at his face. He looks exhausted, and weary, and sad and you want to fold him into you again and never let go. Johnny is strong, he’s so strong even when he doesn’t want to be and right now, you can tell, he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be in command, doesn’t want to hold everything up. Guilt burns into your brain when you realize it’s for you, the strength is for you, even though he’s off balance, off kilter, he’s holding it together in this moment for you. “Johnny.” It’s a whisper, soft and raw, and he brings you back into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around your body and holding you to him while he presses his nose into your hair, shuddering a barely contained exhale. You hold him back, desperate to wrap your arms around him, stroking a hand up and down his spine slowly while you take deep, measured breaths. You bite your tongue against the overflowing bounty of questions you have, pausing to just be here, in his arms, his face buried in your neck. You try not to push him, try not to force it out of him. He’ll tell you, you know he will. He speaks every love language that exists between the three of you, communicates clearly when your head is a mess and your thoughts are all jumbled, sees you when you’re lost and pulls you back to shore. He makes Simon tea at one in the morning when he can’t sleep, he forces you to put your sneakers on and then pushes you out the door in the middle of the day so you can enjoy the sunshine. He gives you more than you could ever give back, and this moment is a dark, glaring reminder of that fact.

He pulls away, giving someone a nod, you assume the captain, and leads you over to where a group of chairs sit.

“Where is he?” You haven’t let go of him, gripping on like he’s your lifeline, and he lowers you into a chair before sitting down in the one next to you.

“He’s in surgery.”

“Okay. Is he going to be okay?”

“Love.” You slam your eyes shut. No no no. “The doctor thinks there is a good chance he’s completely fine, but it was a very serious…” he pauses, and you know it’s because he’s trying to choose the right words “injury, and he had to go into surgery right away. He wasn’t conscious.”

“A good chance.” You repeat it and he nods. A good chance. You try to fight the emotion that wells up inside your heart, but it’s no use, and you’re choking out a sob within a second, Johnny nestling you back into him, palm rubbing up and down your back.

“Shhh. Everything’s alright now. Ye know he’s a strong bastard.” You bob your head in a halfhearted nod, but it’s hard to keep yourself afloat when you think about Simon alone in an operating room, with “a good chance.” Your lungs suddenly feel tight, the air in the room becoming a flimsy, feeble thing you’re not even sure exists. A good chance. A good chance? That’s… a chance. A chance he will be okay. A chance he will live. Not a given. Not even the starting point, just a chance, a good- “Darling.” Johnny’s fingers pull your chin upwards, until he’s forcing you to look at him, a warm palm moving to cradle your face when he’s satisfied he’s got your full attention. “I need you here, with me. Stay with me.” He doesn’t need to say anything else; you know. You know what he’s asking. You know he’s coaxing you to stay present, to not go down a long dark path, to keep yourself with him, and not below the cresting waves of your own heart, your own brain.

You swallow the saliva that’s building in the corner of your cheek and squeeze his hand. You can do it. You can do it for him. For Simon. For them. For all of you.

“Hard to kill right? Like you’re always saying at home?” The whisper brings a glimpse of a smile to Johnny’s face.

“Thas’ right, love.”

You wait for a long time. Johnny holds you, and you alternate between rubbing his shoulders and clutching his hand, your anxiety turning you restless as you shift relentlessly in the uncomfortable chairs. He slowly starts to tell you what he can about what happened, how Simon got separated from the team he was with, how he ended up outnumbered in an impossible situation, how he fought like hell and won. He recounts how he heard Simon calling for him over the radio in a moment of desperation, a pure loss of control, a last-ditch effort to hear his voice, and vice versa. He tells you that Simon made him promise in the helicopter to call you, as soon as they landed, because he wanted to see your face before he went in for surgery. He knew you’d be scared if Kyle or Price was the one to wake you up, and he didn’t want that.

“He was still… talking, in the helicopter. I didn’t think… he was in that bad of shape, on the way. I think he was bleeding. Internally. And that’s why he faded out when we got here.” You nod, tracing a pattern of dirt on Johnny’s forearm methodically, timing it’s ups and downs with your own breathing. “Everything changed so fast. I’m sorry I had Price call. There was paperwork and they needed it as soon as possible and I didn’t want to wait to get ya here, I didn’t do as he asked but I-“ His voice chokes to a stop abruptly, and there’s a tear, on his cheek. Just the hint of one, shining beneath the awful ceiling lights of the hospital and you press your lips to it, trying to keep them from trembling against his skin.

“It’s okay, Johnny. It’s okay.” You’re about to tell him to forget it, that he didn’t let Simon down, that everything is alright, when a doctor in a white coat comes through the doors with a smile on her face, her long legs carrying her over to stand before the two of in a blink.

She’s smiling. The chance was good. It’s good. He’s good.

“Mr. Riley?” She says, and you choke on a surprised gasp before you look to Johnny with a raised eyebrow. Uh… what? He pats your thigh affectionately before nodding and pulling you to your feet alongside him.

“Yes, is he okay?” He spits, over eager, anxious and rushed to hear whatever it is she has to say. He too, has no time for pleasantries.

“Your husband is out of surgery and stable. He should make a full recovery. We’ll go over discharge instructions and he’ll be here for a few days until I’m comfortable with his progress on antibiotics but, he’s in good shape.” Your husband. You bury the word deep, covering it with a whole mountain of other thoughts before you dwell on it. They would have told you, right? They wouldn’t have gotten married without you, would they? On a mission? The notion makes you feel nauseas, and then the guilt swallows you whole. Get a fucking grip. Simon is hurt.

“When can we see him?” You blurt.

“He’s still in post op right now, but I can bring you to his room to wait for when he’s settled in, how does that sound? He’ll probably be asleep for a while, but you can be there while you wait for him to wake up.”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Johnny wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses his lips to your temple with a fierce intensity. “Thank you, so much.” She gives the two of you a smile before leading you down the hall, and Johnny holds you close to him the entire time.

Simon’s okay. He’s going to be okay.

He looks too big in the bed. His shoulders stretch the width of the mattress, his hospital gown not even snapped closed, just draped over his torso, covering the white bandages are wrapped around his ribs. You stroke the side of his cheek, fingers tracing along his jaw line gently, pushing some strands of dirty blonde hair from his face while you whisper lowly.

“We’re here, Si. We’re right here. Everything’s okay.” You’ve been trying not to watch the clock, trying not to count the minutes, over eager and impatient for Simon to wake up and finally open his eyes. You want to see him, blinking, breathing, speaking, before you finally feel at peace, and you can’t stand to see him unconscious, immobile, in a bed. He’d hate it. You know it, you know he’d hate it if he was awake, know he’s going to hate it, when he does wake, and you’re anxious to soothe him, even in his sleep. Anxious to lay your ear against his heart and count the heavy thumps of the muscle, eager to wrap yourself around him so he knows you’re here. You’re anxious to see his wry smile, see the flutter of his lashes, hear his voice. He’s so beautiful, so… unearthly to you that sometimes when you look at him you think you might be in a dream yourself. He’s your rock, your immovable force that never falters, never fails you, or Johnny. Holds you both steady. He looks so peaceful, so serene in this moment, even though you know in his mind, it’s far from the reality, and you hope he’s not dreaming in hell, experiencing his nightmares trapped in sedation. We’re here, I’m here. It’s okay.

On the other hand, you’re not eager to wake Johnny, who’s asleep in the chair opposite you, Simon’s hand clutched in his, his head sideways on the bed next to Simon’s thigh, mouth open with a slow drip of drool pooling from it. He’s exhausted. Hasn’t sleep in 29 hours and he stayed awake for four hours after Simon was brought back to the room, trying for as long as he could until he just couldn’t keep his head up anymore. He needs rest. Your heart flutters when you look at him, the scruff of his mohawk laying against the white blanket wrapped around Simon’s leg, his features blank as he drifts in a dreamworld far away. He’s so sweet, so perfect that it makes your heart hurt, like someone’s emptied ice into your chest cavity and you can’t help but reach across and stroke a thumb across his knuckles in time with your other against Simon’s cheek.

An hour later, Simon’s hand spasms, and you watch his eyelids start to twitch, body tensing in the bed as both you and Johnny jump to your feet so you can see his face.

“Simon? Hey.” You stroke your fingers along the inside of his palm gently, trying to ease him into consciousness, while Johnny hovers closer, knuckles white against the rail, his free hand on Si’s shoulder, the touch gentle and reassuring. Simon slurs your name, then Johnny’s, then Johnny’s again before groaning:

“Darling.”

“We’re here.” You rush out, the swell of your emotions rising up the back of your throat while you wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Right here.”

“Are you in pain?” Johnny asks, but he’s already pushed the button, and you both step back when the nurse comes in so she can give him pain meds and check the monitors. When she’s finished, the two of you surge forward, retaking your places and you finally get to see that crescent moon smile on his lips, the ghost of his happiness surfacing from beneath everything else going on, the pain, the trauma, the sedation.

“You’re here.” He whispers, eyes moving between the two of you. Johnny lowers himself to touch his forehead to Simon’s, before tracing the lightest kiss across his lips.

“Of course, we are, ya mad bastard. Don’t ever fuckin’ do that again.” He says and Simon grunts, hand shooting out to grab his with a squeeze while his other palm presses to your cheek. You hold it there with one of your own hands, tears dripping from your eyes while his thumb strokes back and forth across your skin.

“’m sorry I scared ya.” He grits out and you break into a soft, relieved smile.

“Don’t be. We’re just so happy you’re okay.”

“I’m alright, darling. Can’t be leavin’ you two alone anytime soon.” His eyes droop, lids trying to shut and you know the pain medicine is pulling him back under, where he can sleep and heal until it’s time to wake again. He fights it, but it’s a losing battle.

“It’s alright, Si.” You soothe him. “Go back to sleep. We’ll be here while you rest.”

“Y’promise?” He sounds a little spacey, a little loopy, and Johnny smiles while you stroke his hair in a rhythmic pattern, just how he likes at home.

“We promise.”

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cuntess-carmilla · 2 years

Text

Reminder that, while not the sole diagnosis criteria AT ALL for POTS and orthostatic hypotension, always feeling particularly exhausted after taking hot showers is a hallmark symptom of orthostatic intolerance.

Most people feel energized or just relaxed after a hot shower. If it's common for you to always leave the shower feeling depleted (or a sauna, or any other humid + hot environment), it's worth looking into orthostatic intolerance chronic illnesses, POTS being the most common, especially if you often start to feel like you're suffocating or about to pass out during long hot showers.

POTS is both a rather common chronic illness and an under-diagnosed chronic illness. It's a neurological and cardiovascular illness. It's not deadly, but it's disabling.

Orthostatic intolerance can cause chronic fatigue, brain fog/cognitive dysfunction, exercise intolerance, recurrent fainting or near-fainting, depression or depression-like symptoms, anxiety or anxiety-like symptoms, poor body temperature regulation, poor blood flow, and more. If you menstruate, all these symptoms tend to get worse during one's period.

Depending on the type of orthostatic intolerance someone has, it can be treated fairly simply with varying degrees of success.

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lokiified · 4 months

Text

a world with you

summary: when you get back from a mission, and Ethan isn't there.

pairing: ethan hunt x f!agent!reader

word count: 2.8k

author's notes: descriptions of injury, mention of a python snake, anxiety over major character death, flirty banter and some suggestive stuff, reference to a Jason Mraz song, so angsty for a bit but sweet fluff i promise, established relationship, no use of y/n, taking care of ethan bc he deserves it, i imagined this with mi2 ethan bc that look is just unmatched so this takes place in like 2007

The innocent mumble of traffic below the window was starting to give you a headache. Your ears had been strained, pricked-up to the slightest of noises, for what felt like ages.

Battered and bruised from the mission, you’d stumbled into the safehouse a mere hour ago. You were running on only adrenaline and Ethan’s training playing on loop in your brain as you instinctively started undressing to clean your wounds. The haze in your mind mercifully numbed the burn of rubbing alcohol and the aches in your bones, and when you finally came-to you’d showered and changed into a clean set of clothes. It was then that you realized that you didn’t know where Ethan was.

“If I don’t make it back, please don’t come looking for me,” he’d always said, brushing gentle lines across your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “keep yourself safe first.” He would press a soft kiss to your forehead, as if it would seal his words into your mind.

But now, now that he really wasn’t here, now that it was the fear of a dreaded possibility coming true that was clawing it’s way done your spine, it took more strength than any mission to keep yourself from throwing on your jacket and boots and marching back into the world, exhausted as you were, to find him.

The mission was simple: get in, plant a trace on a necklace in the hotel’s vault, and get out. You’d both been expecting the security in the back hallways of the hotel, but what you hadn’t prepared for was that one of the goons was an ex-agent, defected and gone rogue a few years prior; he recognized the two of you immediately. In the midst of the struggle, you’d been separated from Ethan.

Now, hands trembling as they fidgeted in your lap, you were waiting. The window in the living room was open and the apartment was dark, depriving every other sense to focus all of your attention on listening, waiting for Ethan to come back. Surely he was going to come back?

But the men were big and there were at least a dozen of them, and the memory was pierced with the crack of gunshots beneath the haze of adrenaline as you made a break for it.

You… made a break for it? Why did you run? Why didn’t you stay and fight like Ethan probably did? You were such a coward. How could you leave him there to fend for himself? Of course he’s can take care of himself, but what if he’s dead?

Then it would be your fault.

The guilt suddenly choked your lungs like a python with its prey, stifled sobs wreaking silent havoc on your body as you pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged yourself, burying your face into your knees. He was dead and it was your fault, all your fault. He had always been so selfless, so brave and so willing to do anything for you, even back when he barely knew you. You were a horrible person. You could never face Luther again; not with the knowledge that it was your fault Ethan was dead, that you had killed him—

“Agent?”

Your head snapped up from your knees, eyes locking onto the figure that had appeared in the window’s reflection. The sudden roar of blood pounding in your ears made you dizzy, and you squinted into the inky black night as you stumbled through the fog in your brain: he certainly looked like your Ethan, although the silhouette of his hair falling around his shoulders was the only detail you could make out in the darkness, but it seem impossible. He couldn’t be here. You’d left him behind, he was dead and it was all your fault. But then who was this man that had the key to the safehouse? Should you run? Suddenly the reflection was moving, then there was movement in your peripheral, and a figure that looked a whole lot like the Ethan you loved came and crouched in front of you.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’m right here.”

His hands reached your waist but you jumped back at his touch and scrambled into the cushions, half expecting this to all be a hallucination. His hands recoiled and quickly raised in surrender, his brows twitching together with worry as he watched you, your chest beginning to heave in panic. Your heart longed to believe it was Ethan, wanted nothing more than to melt into his touch, but it didn’t make sense for him to be here.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on yours as he slowly lowered a hand. You eyed the gun on the holster around his shoulders, but he moved past it and found the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one slowly and moving to slide the shirt over his shoulders. He quickly dropped it on the floor and brought his hands up again.

“It’s me, okay? I promise. You can check, I promise it’s me.”

You inspected him from afar, noting the smattering of bruises across his ribs and the graze of a bullet on the underside of his right arm, crusted over with blood. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and grime, but nowhere could you find any seams or signs of deception. You moved closer to him.

“Tell me something only my Ethan would know about me,” you said, your voice wavering in the aftermath of your panic. Ethan smiled, warming your heart with his radiance.

“Our first date was two years ago, in Rome, when our mission got called off after we’d already landed. I took you to dinner at a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city, and we danced to that Jason Mraz song you love so much-“

“A World With You,” you finished with him, slipping off the cushion and into his open arms on the floor. His arms encircled you and squeezed gently, and your tears came spilling out of you at the comfort of his touch. He moved so his back was against the couch and you were cradled in his arms, his head resting atop yours as he stroked your arms to soothe you.

“I thought you were dead, I thought they killed you… I thought you were dead and it was my fault because I left you there, how could I leave you there?” The words tumbled out of you between sobs, your mind and body expelling all of your fears into his warm embrace.

“No, hey, I told you to run, remember?” He said, bringing a hand to lift your face and look at him. “I told you to run as soon as the guard recognized us, remember?” You shook your head, trying to recall his voice but all you could hear was the sound of gunshots and shouting fading behind you as you raced through the halls.

“I promise I told you to run, okay?” He brushed away the trail of tears on your cheeks and moved the hair out of your face as he spoke. “You were just following orders, you did the right thing.” His voice was like a balm to your wounds, soothing the guilt that gripped your chest. The rest of the night was coming back to you; Ethan’s frantic shout when he realized the situation with the guard, his promise to come find you. Your breathing evened out. You became aware of his own heart beating solidly beneath your weight, of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Yeah… yeah okay,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest again. You focused on breathing, on the steady thumping of Ethan’s heart, the proof that he was alive here with you.

“We should really get you cleaned up,” you said after a while, and he sighed.

“I missed you,” he replied as he squeezed you tighter.

“I missed you too, but that doesn’t change the fact that you desperately need a shower.” His head sprung away from resting atop yours and he looked at you in disbelief.

“What are you saying, Agent?”

You pecked a kiss on his nose and grinned, “you stink.”

He broke into a grin and leaned closer to you, placing a hand on the back of your head and capturing your lips in a kiss. You moved in perfect tandem with each other, the anxieties of the day fading into the background as you poured your heart into this moment, this single moment where nothing else exists besides the two of you, kissing in the dark like two teenagers on stolen time.

Your arms draped over his shoulders and your hands moved to tangle in his hair, pressing your body against his as if you could get any closer to him. His hands moved between cupping your face and gripping your waist like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you more. His teeth caught your lower lip and you released a breathy moan, and you felt his lips curl into a smile at the sound. He broke away with heavy breathing, pushing your hair out of your face.

“I thought I smelled bad” he whispered with a smile as you caught your breath.

“Oh you do.” Ethan leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled away and stood to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” His face melted into a pout and you laughed, causing his lips to twitch up into a smile and betray his feigned offence. You reached your hands out to him and he accepted your help, standing up slowly. You noted the way he grimaced as he stood and your eyes flicked across his body in search of the source of his pain.

“Do you need help walking to the bathroom?” you asked, then rolled your eyes when he quickly shook his head. “Let me rephrase that: I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom.” Ethan grinned at you and accepted your aid, slinging an arm around your shoulder and lending you some of his weight. Slowly, the two of you made it to the bathroom where you set him down on the closed toilet seat. His shirt stayed behind on the floor of the living room, and in the dim light and sweet aroma of the candles you found in the cupboard you helped Ethan peel off the rest of his clothes and expose the wounds underneath. Mercifully, there were no major gashes besides the bullet graze on his arm.

“Are you injured at all?”

You gave him a stern look, “you’re not allowed to ask that until I’m done taking care of you.” You finished wrapping his arm and stepped back to inspect the rest of him, then walked over to the tub and started running the hot water.

You noticed the way his eyes followed you wherever you went, his gaze warm and filled with longing, like you were the most important thing in the world.

As the tub filled up you helped Ethan to his feet and into the now ankle-deep water. You pulled two towels and a facecloth from the shelf and put them on the mat in front of the tub. You’d showered earlier, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to pamper Ethan after a hard day. Goodness knows he deserves it.

You shut off the water and slid out of your sweats and t-shirt, the chill of the darkened apartment hitting you suddenly before you dipped your toes in the water. It was the perfect temperature, and warmed you instantly as you submitted yourself further into its embrace. You both sat facing each other, knees to your chests, the steam of the water rising up to color your cheeks and twist Ethan’s hair into curls.

Allowing the silence to linger like the steam in the air, you motioned for Ethan to turn around so his back was to you. You cupped your hands and brought water up to his head, soaking his hair through. You smiled to yourself as you reached for the shampoo, grateful that Ethan had remembered to bring his own products. He was very passionate about his precious hair, and the IMF’s safehouse supplies were never up to his standards.

You massaged the product into his scalp, the tension that remained in his neck melting away with every press of your fingers. His head rolled back and his shoulders dropped, and you caught a glimpse of his small smile, eyes closed in bliss. I should do this more often, you thought to yourself.

When you were done with his hair you pulled the showerhead from its hook on the wall and rinsed his head, combing your fingers through the strands as you went. Once the last of the shampoo was rinsed out you took the facecloth and lathered it up with soap. Gently, you scrubbed away the sweat and grime from the day, kneading the sore muscles beneath Ethan’s battered skin.

“I remember this one,” you whispered, so as not to startle him in the sacred stillness that had settled over the room. Your ministrations had paused at a long white scar, poorly healed and puckered. You dragged your finger down it, from the top of his right shoulder blade to his waist. “You got it in Malasia, back in ’04.” Ethan turned around to face you, a serious look set into his features.

“I remember,” he said, and you could see him flipping through the memories in his head. “You were captured. I disobeyed direct orders and went to rescue you.”

Your lips twitched up into a smile; he had saved your life that day.

“That was the day I realized I loved you.”

The sound of limbs wading through water wafted up your ears in the steam as you watched Ethan’s face, his hand coming up from the water to cup your face and his head leaning forward to rest against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling the heat radiating from his body and the dew that was rising on his skin from the heat of the water.

You’d always found a way back to each other, even before everything.

After a few minutes he pulled away and pressed a kiss to the edge of your hair, inhaling to smell your shampoo and smiling against your skin. You raised yourself out of the water and his eyes grazed over your body, a hint of his playboy smirk surfacing but he seemed to think better of it; it had been a long, tiring day for the both of you. Instead of whatever had crossed his mind, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the front of each of your thighs. When you were both dried off, you pulled on your clothes from earlier.

“Let me go get you something, I’ll be right back.”

You returned with a soft cotton t-shirt, a deep green that complimented his tanned skin and chestnut hair beautifully, and his favorite pair of sweatpants. The sight of him in such comfortable clothes, a cheeky smile on his face, made your heart soar with joy. He deserved every comfort you could ever bring him. His hands were warm when they reached yours, fingers intertwining as you lead him into the darkened bedroom, the moon and city lights casting a gentle blue glow onto the bed.

You fell asleep almost instantly, but Ethan laid awake for hours. Despite the exhaustions of the day, he didn’t feel like he could sleep yet. He had been worried about you too; worried he would come back to the safehouse and find it empty, void of your presence which he so desperately needed. He always needed you, but after days like today he felt like he might die without you. There was no one else he felt safe enough to surrender to; no one else he could give his weakness and pain to and trust them to handle it with care.

The gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his arm was continuously drawing him closer to sleep, but he felt the need to reflect on your time together and make sure he hasn’t taken anything for granted after being half-convinced he had lost you today.

He thought of Rome, of the way your face shone in the glow of the city lights beneath the rooftop where you danced with him. He thought of waking up beside you in countless countries that the average person could never name. He thought of the day he told you he loved you, hiding in a Russian forest while hiding for your lives. He thought of the day you were assigned to his team, your sweet and innocent face immediately lighting up his world despite the darkness that haunts him.

With your hands intertwined, your bodies as close as physically possible, and his mind filled with memories of a world with you, Ethan finally submitted himself to rest.

#look who FINALLY posted a fic #ethan hunt #tom cruise #mission impossible #mission: impossible #mission: impossible 1996 #m:i #m: i #ethan hunt fic #ethan hunt fluff #ethan hunt angst #ethan hunt x reader #ethan hunt x you #tom cruise fic #mission impossible fic #mission: impossible fic #mission impossible dead reckoning

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