#the foreboding silence is real

[pezhead]

I don’t know if you’ve seen the post about absence of cat (chill) and absence of a cat (suspicious) being two very difference things, but your age gap au Donnie came to mind…

Is Donnie off reading a book or disassembling lithium batteries unsupervised?

[pretzel-box]

Sebastian saving the reader from the Puddles of Void-Mass during a solo run male reader please🙏

Suffocated

Words: 1,2k

Status: Proof-read

Tags: Mention of pain (near death experience), male reader faintly crushing on sebastian at the end

It was probably your fifth run at this point, rushing through door after door while carrying the heavy diving gear on your back, which significantly slowed you down. The weight of the gear felt almost unbearable, each step a reminder of the immense pressure bearing down on you from the depths of the ocean you were stuck in. This time, they sent you down on your own, making the job infinitely more difficult since it was just you and your senses inside the creepy underwater facility, a place that had been on an almost everlasting lockdown for reasons you were too afraid to fully explore.

The silence down here was oppressive, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional creak of the facility's aging structure. The corridors seemed to stretch on forever, each one more labyrinthine and foreboding than the last. And you could swear, if an angler didn't get you somewhere in between, then a wall dweller might just tackle you from behind, leading to a painful death. You'd heard stories about them from secret intel, but it was hard to believe at first. Yet, in the eerie quiet of the underwater base, even the wildest stories and rumors seemed to hold a kernel of truth.

It was around floor 48 when the lights in the minimalist office hallway started to flicker for a moment. It was the signal you dreaded, the one that meant you needed to find the nearest locker and hide without risking another stressful panic attack in the dark. Your heartbeat quickened, a frantic drum in your chest, and you could already feel the familiar cold sweat on your palms as you scanned the hallway for a hiding spot.

Then, from somewhere close, too close, you could already hear the ear-piercing scream from the other room. It was a sound unlike any other, unnatural and filled with a kind of agony that made your blood run cold. It sent a shiver straight down your spine, freezing you in place for a split second, before survival instincts kicked in. You hurriedly squeezed your large body into a nearby locker, the cold metal walls pressing in on you as you pulled the door shut with trembling hands.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to steady yourself, only to notice, too late, that something was already inside. Black tentacles, slick and cold, had wrapped themselves around your limbs and torso. They pinned you painfully against themself and the steel interior, the tight space making it impossible to struggle or even scream. The tentacles were strong, far stronger than you, and they pulled you deeper into the locker, squeezing your chest until it was hard to breathe.

The realization hit you like a punch to the guts. This wasn't just some malfunctioning piece of equipment. The locker wasn't safe. The puddle of void mass inside had been waiting for you, and now it had you exactly where it wanted. The scream from the other room echoed in your ears, but now it was distant. The real terror was here, in the dark, cramped confines of the locker, with those cold, unyielding tendrils slowly crushing the life out of you.

You thrashed against the tentacles, but each movement only seemed to make them tighten their grip. Pain shot through your body as they dug into your skin, and the locker seemed to grow even smaller, the walls closing in as your vision began to blur. Panic clawed at your mind, the darkness pressing in from all sides, but there was no escape, no hope of breaking free.

Your last thought, as the world around you faded to black, was that you should never have come down here alone.

Then, through the suffocating grip of the tentacles and the haze of near-unconsciousness, you heard the faint sound of locker doors being smashed open. The noise echoed in the small, confined space, jarring you back to a sharp awareness of your surroundings. Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, two large, claw-like hands grabbed you forcefully by the shoulders. The tentacles loosened their grip just enough for you to be yanked free from their constricting hold.

You were pulled into a weirdly cold yet oddly comfortable chest, the frigid surface somehow soothing the aching, bruised skin beneath your diving suit. Your lungs, starved for air, filled themselves again with precious oxygen, the sudden rush of it making your head spin.

As your vision cleared and your heart slowed its frantic pace, you found yourself standing face to face with your rescuer: the sly sea-serpent merchant himself. His eyes, slitted and glowing with the familiar fluorescent eerie light, bore into yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His scales, dark and shimmering like the depths of the ocean, reflected the dim light of the hallway, casting strange patterns on the walls around you.

He was massive, his presence filling the space with an overwhelming sense of power and control. The coldness of his chest, where you were still pressed against, seeped into your bones, yet it was not an uncomfortable cold.

"You're lucky I found you in time, my friend" he murmured, his voice a low, resonant hiss that reverberated through your entire being. His breath, cool and tinged with the scent of brine, brushed against your face as he leaned closer, his sharp, serpent-like features coming into clearer view. "That thing would've crushed you like a clam if I'd been just a moment later."

You managed a shaky nod, still too stunned to speak. The shock of being pulled from the brink of death left you weak and disoriented, but the merchants presence, as fearsome as it was, also brought a strange sense of relief. You were alive, and for now, safe though you couldn't shake the feeling that safety was a relative term when it came to Sebastian standing before you.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied your expression. There was a knowing gleam in his gaze, as if he could read every thought running through your mind. "Don't look so surprised," he said with a sly grin, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth. "You didn't think you'd make it through this place on your own, did you? Not without a little... assistance."

His words, laced with a mix of amusement and something darker, sent another shiver down your spine. You knew of him, of course it was clear that he would demand a fitting payment.

And now, standing in his grasp, you couldn't help but wonder: What price would you have to pay for your life?

Your Adam's apple bobbed as you swallowed hard, the motion a clear sign of your anxiety. Yet, despite the fear that still gripped you, a strange sense of calm began to settle in your chest. Sebastians cold, calculating eyes watched your every move, but something deep within you, said, against all logic, you would be safe with him, payment or not.

It was an inexplicable feeling, this sudden trust. His presence didn't carry the malice you feared from the usual monsters in this place. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of assurance, as if the danger you felt moments before had been snuffed out simply by his arrival. The way his hands, though clawed and fearsome, held you now with a surprising gentleness only reinforced that instinct.

You relaxed slightly, your tense muscles beginning to loosen as you drew in a slow, steadying breath. Maybe it was the way he had saved you, with such effortless strength, or the quiet confidence in his demeanor that made you believe against all reason that you were in good hands.

[rubysunnday]

a soft place to fall

summary: the softest place to fall would always be into Nikolai's arms (or three times Y/N fell and Nikolai caught her)

a/n: it's been a minute

"Well, that's not foreboding," Nikolai said, leaning on the side of the Volkvolny.

The island loomed before them, the tops of the mountains covered in cloud. The sky darkened as they approached, the sun disappearing completely.

"It could be anywhere in there," Tolya muttered, stretching out, trying to get a better look.

"It's there," Mal said a beat later, pointing to a small, almost invisible, opening in the bottom of the island.

Y/N huffed out a laugh, quickly trying to cover it as a cough when Tolya turned to her with an offended look.

"We're going a shore!" Nikolai yelled, slapping the side of the boat once.

Ten minutes later, Y/N found herself knee deep in cold water, her heart thrumming away in her chest. She was terrified. The Sea Whip might not even be real, but the tension and anxiety was so thick amongst their little group, that every little sound set them all off.

She knew, deep down, that she would be able to handle whatever happened. But it didn't help her nerves.

"You alright?" Nikolai asked softly, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against Y/N's arm.

"Ahuh," Y/N nodded, "just... nerves."

Nikolai nodded and gave her a quick, blinding smile. "We've got you, don't worry."

He reached down and squeezed her hand briefly. Y/N inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the butterflies soaring inside her at the slightest touch from Nikolai.

A pebble fell down from the roof and as Y/N tilted her head up, she caught a glimpse of yellow, slitted eyes and dark green scales. The Sea Whip lurched forward, snatching one of their crew mates up in its jaws and yanking it up and through a hole in the roof of the cave.

Y/N fell back, catching herself on the rocks. The rest of the group turned and began firing the pistols and rifles up at the ceiling.

"Stop!" Alina cried. "Don't hurt it."

The gunfire stopped but no one lowered their weapons, keeping them trained on the roof of the cave. Y/N's heart was pounding in her chest, her hands shaking as she held her revolver tightly.

"Where's it gone?" Nikolai asked, his eyes searching the roof frantically.

Y/N felt something vibrate against the ground and the water sloshed against the back of her legs. She turned and, as she did so, the man who had been standing behind her was yanked backwards and under the water.

"It's here!" She yelled, stepping backwards as quickly as she could in the water without tripping over.

Alina brushed past her, standing where the Sea Whip had just been, her hand hovering over the water. The silence was deafening. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke.

The Sea Whip suddenly dived down from the ceiling again. Mal lurched forward and pushed Alina aside. Y/N was frozen to the spot, the scales of the Sea Whip glinting in the dim light as the whipped towards her.

A hand yanked her to the side and she lost her footing, falling into the water. Y/N scrambled to her feet, shooting Tamar a grateful look for pulling her out the way.

"It's playing with us," Nikolai said, standing up as quickly as he could and pulling Y/N to her feet as well. "Conserve your ammo!"

The Sea Whip launched out of the water again.

Y/N saw the tail coming towards her. She threw herself to the side, falling into the water and disappearing under it, the Sea Whip's tail smashing into the water above her head. Her vision became obscured by dozens of bubbles, the water clouding over.

Y/N couldn't find the way up, she couldn't see, she couldn't breathe. The Sea Whip was still swimming about, it's body bumping against Y/N's.

Hands came under her arms and yanked her to the surface. Y/N gasped loudly, gulping the air down gratefully. She knew it was Nikolai. Nothing could disguise the scent of his cologne - the feeling of his hands against hers, the way he squeezed her arms once, trying to reassure her.

Y/N gripped the sleeve of his jacket tightly as she coughed, her throat burning. As the Sea Whip shot up from the water again, it launched at Mal. He blocked the attack with his rifle, wedging it in its jaws. Alina then shot out a blast of light, killing the Sea Whip instantly.

It flopped into the water and then slowly floated to the top, smoke wafting up from where Alina had hit it.

Y/N stared at it, still half submerged in the water, Nikolai's arms wrapped around her tightly. She swallowed and then abruptly started coughing again.

"Hey," Nikolai said, looking down at her. "Are you ok?"

Y/N swallowed, panting slightly. She nodded. "Fine."

"Tolya," Nikolai called.

"I'm fine -"

"I just want to check," Nikolai placated, squeezing her hand. "Before I make you drag this thing back to the boat."

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, but her smile gave away her amusement. "Funny, Nik."

"It's so choppy!"

"Way to state the obvious."

Nikolai gave Y/N a glare - one that was entirely ignored as she grinned back at him.

She was gripping on tightly to one of the main ropes hanging down from the main mast. Waves kept smashing up against the side of the boat, water sloshing over the edges. It was nearly impossible to remain upright and everyone was wet.

Yet Y/N was beaming, enjoying every single second. Nikolai, gripping onto the steering wheel tightly, watched her as she all but crawled further up the boat, going to help one of the crew tie off a rope.

He sometimes wished he could have an ounce of Y/N's joy. It might make life easier.

"Brace!"

Nikolai gripped the steering wheel even tighter, ducking down behind it slightly, as another wave smashed into the front of the ship. The front of the ship tipped up, struggling to ride the wave.

The ship slammed down abruptly, water splashing up from the bow of the ship. Nikolai pushed himself up on the wheel, surveying the damage with a hesitant gaze.

Everything looked to be in tact... ish.

"That was fun," Y/N said, carefully walking over to him, her stance wide to counter the constant bouncing of the ship.

A particularly hard wave smashed into the ship, knocking it to the side. Y/N let out what had to be an involuntary shriek, for Nikolai had never heard her make a noise like that before, and fell forward.

Nikolai opened his arms, braced himself, and caught Y/N. Her body slammed into his and he grunted, taking a step back to brace himself.

"Sorry," Y/N winced, putting her hands on his chest as she pushed herself back onto her feet.

Nikolai smiled crookedly, trying not to look down at her hands, feeling their warmth through his soaking wet jacket and shirt. "Don't be."

"Everyone alive?" Nikolai called, pushing himself up onto his haunches, eyes frantically scanning the occupants of the ship.

Numerous grunts gave Nikolai his answer. He winced as he put his weight on his injured leg, blood staining his trousers. Dominik rushed to his side, taking his arm and putting it on his shoulders.

"You need to sit down," Dominik said, taking almost all of Nikolai's weight.

"No, we need to get off this boat," Nikolai panted. He was looking around the destroyed ship, at the bodies, the burnt metal, the chunks of tree littering the deck. "They're coming for us."

Dominik helped Nikolai climb down from the boat, navigating the broken trees and the dead bodies in their path.

"Wait," Nikolai said, halting abruptly, pushing away from Dominik. "Y/N, where's Y/N?"

"Here," Y/N called weakly, wobbling as she stumbled on a loose log. She took another unsure step and her foot slipped, rolling on a stone.

Y/N lurched forward. She mentally braced herself to land in the grass but a pair of arms caught her, holding her tightly to them.

Her eyes flew open and she stared up at Nikolai. They looked a wrecked, both covered in blood, grime and sweat. Yet he'd never looked so beautiful to her. Because he was still here, alive, and holding her.

"You okay?" He asked quietly, the tips of his fingers pressing against her back. He wobbled and Dominik silently put a hand against his back, steadying him.

Y/N nodded, her hand resting on his wrist, her thumb rubbing against his skin gently. "Yeah."

"Nik, we need to go," Dominik urged gently.

Nikolai suddenly snapped back into life, the young soldier and privateer taking over. "Nadia, Adrik, head for the trees and up that hill!" He yelled. "Come on!"

Wordlessly, Y/N put a hand on Nikolai's waist. He instinctively put his arm around her shoulders and, together (with some help from Dominik) the awkwardly limped as fast as they could up the hill and into the trees, leaving the wrecked ship smoking behind them.

[hbowarbabes]

Living to See Another Day

John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Summary: As the 100th bomb group get ready to fly their next mission, Bucky is uncertain of his fate or his relationship.

This is based off the scenes in episode 5 of MOTA

Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak

Words: 2k

Next

• • •

Thorpe Abbotts Airbase,

Norfolk, England

October 10, 1943

The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the air force base as Bucky stood on the tarmac, his heart heavy with worry. The supposed "disappearance" of his friend Buck and his crew on the mission to Bremen had shaken him to the core.

The unease in the air was palpable, a sense of foreboding hanging over the base like a dark cloud.

In front of him, Y/n’s crew were making their way to the jeep which would take them to one of the replacement aircrafts. That didn’t soothe Bucky’s nerves one bit.

There weren’t enough aircrafts to make the mission over the English Channel. And once they’d reached enemy territory, the rest would be left undetermined.

Bucky watched the squadrons getting in vehicles that would take them to their planes and possibly their last destination. His mind kept drifting to Y/n, the pilot who stole his heart all because of her sheer determination to prove that she could fly a mission even as others looked down on her. And that she did.

But no matter how talented one was, there was no guarantee of survival. You had to expect the worst.

The thought of something happening to Y/n or himself filled him with a deep sense of dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that he or anyone else could be next. No one knew.

As Y/n walked past him, her face a portrait of determination, Bucky felt a sudden surge of panic. He knew he had to do something, anything, to protect her from whatever invisible threat loomed on the horizon that could harm the future of their relationship.

Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Y/n aside, away from the prying eyes of their fellow pilots. Of course, they all noticed and whispered amongst themselves. Y/n, embarrassed and a bit confused, followed Bucky as he kept a soft grip on her arm.

Hiding behind a building, Bucky scanned the area for any wandering eyes, making sure no one else was listening.

Y/n stood there dumbfounded. This behavior was very unusual. She knew something was wrong just by the look of desperation in his face.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” Bucky said, his voice low and urgent. Confusion flickered in Y/n's eyes, her brows furrowing in concern.

“What's wrong? Why are you acting so strange?”

Bucky hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He knew what he had to do, even if it tore his heart to pieces. “Y/n, we can't do this anymore. We need to end things between us.”

The girl's eyes widened in shock.

“What? What’s going on? Why are you leaving me all of a sudden?” Y/n struggled to keep her voice at a low whisper, but she didn’t pay any mind to the men staring at her.

Bucky's heart ached at the hurt in her voice, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the real reason behind his sudden decision. She would see him as a coward if he even bothered to bring up his motive for wanting to leave her. Instead, he shook his head, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I can't explain it, Y/n. But please, just understand that it's for the best.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she scoffed, looking around in disbelief.

The man who she’d always trusted had dropped this news on her right before their biggest mission. Could the timing have been any worse?

“Fine. Then consider all of this,” Y/n circled her index finger, motioning towards Bucky as she got in his face, unable to hide her tears any longer. “over.” She turned on her foot, not wanting to hear another word out of Bucky’s mouth. He just stood there in silence, watching as he had let go of the one person in his life who he had loved so dearly.

As Y/n walked away, she quickly wiped away her tears, trying to act as if she hadn’t had the most unexpected news dropped on her.

Bucky felt a pang of guilt stab at his heart. He wished he never met Y/n like this. In a time of war.

If he could have it another way, he would’ve, but with all the men disappearing and planes going down more frequently, what was there for him? Because if anything, he wouldn’t be seeing home anytime soon.

And Y/n?

If he had to witness her go down, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

“Fuck.” Bucky muttered, mentally kicking himself for picking a time like this to end things with Y/n. The damage was done now.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

• • •

The fleet of 17 aircrafts soared through the sky, cutting through the clouds like silver arrows as they headed for Münster. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, the pilot's grip on the controls white-knuckled as they braced themselves for whatever lay ahead.

Only flying 2 aircrafts behind Bucky’s, Y/n still felt as if she wanted to rip the Major’s head off. She kept her calm composure even through the many questions and assumptions she had heard upon getting in the aircraft. The crew could see her tear-stained face and they had already guessed that there had been a dispute between her and the major.

Y/n didn’t explain the whole ordeal, but instead sold them a lie that the Major had only warned her of her flying abilities.

Part of the crew bought it, but the rest knew better. Y/n was just covering Bucky’s ass so no one would find out the two were dating. It would do more damage to her career than anything else.

“Don’t try to get us killed, sweetheart!” A crew member yelled with humor, all aware of Y/n’s lack of patience at the moment. She was much too focused on keeping watch for enemy aircraft.

She had been lucky enough to survive the missions she'd been on. They all came with their complications, but in the end had resulted in her and her squadron getting to live a little longer.

But today's mission felt different. There wasn't a feeling of security, and it all had to do with the shortage of inventory of aircrafts. they could easily be taken out. They were sitting ducks.

And then it happened.

German aircrafts descended upon them like a swarm of angry bees, outnumbering them with ruthless precision.

Chaos erupted in the sky as the metallic glint of gunfire filled the air, the deafening roar of explosions drowning out all other sounds. There was no escape.

In one direction, German planes would be firing at you, and in another, one of the fleet's aircraft would be seen going down on fire or blowing up before it even hit the ground.

Even with her many attempts to keep the plane in the air, Y/n's aircraft was hit, a burst of flames erupting from its engines as it spiraled out of control.

“Our engines been hit!”

Y/n’s voice echoed through the radio of the remaining aircraft’s. This is exactly what Bucky had been worried about. His heart clenched in terror as he watched her plane slowing falling out of the sky and closer to the earth below, a trail of smoke marking its descent.

In a state of panic, Y/n hit the bailout bail, urging everyone to get out while she tried to keep the plane up a little longer.

“Y/n, we’ve gotta get out!” Her co-pilot shouted as the remaining crew members jumped out into the sky.

Pushing herself out of her seat, Y/n rushed out of the cockpit right behind her co-pilot. The plane was descending quicker as each second went by.

Once her co-pilot got out, she jumped into the open skies, the bullets continuing to cut to through the air like flies.

Looking down at the land underneath her feet, the world seemed so large. She had never seen it this close before.

Y/n opened her parachute, the thick fabric billowing out behind her like a white flag of surrender.

What waited for her after had worried her more than anything.

Bucky held his breath for what felt like an eternity. He had no way of knowing if Y/n had gotten out of the plane.

On their aircraft, Bucky and his crew faced their own battle for survival, the enemy bullets raining down on their engines, not giving them much time to think of a backup plan.

With a high-pitched whine, their aircraft shuddered and lurched. It was then that Bucky urged the pilot to hit the bailout bell, giving the rest of the crew enough time to get out.

Once they were out, the pilot, along with Bucky would be the last to leave. Unable to decide who should jump out first, Bucky eventually jumped out into the open skies.

As he plummeted towards the earth, the wind whipping past his ears, Bucky braced himself for the impact, his mind a whirlwind of chaos. Was Y/n alive? Did she land?

Miraculously, he landed safely in a rural area of Westphalia, the soft earth cushioning his fall. As he picked himself up, he quickly gathered up his parachute, rolling it up so no one could see it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure in the distance, a familiar silhouette standing amidst the rolling fields.

Heart pounding in his chest, Bucky stumbled towards the figure, his legs shaky with exhaustion. And there, under the vast expanse of the open sky, he saw Y/n, her parachute deflated at her feet, her eyes wide with shock.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the world around them silent, the only sounds of the rustle of the wind through the trees.

And then, with a rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Bucky rushed over to Y/n and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear.

"Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as tears streamed down her face. "I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice filled with relief.

Bucky held her tightly, feeling the weight of his words from earlier. "Y/n, I'm sorry." he said, his voice filled with distress.

“I didn’t mean a word that I said,” Bucky whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I was a fool to let you go like that.”

Y/n gazed up at him with a small, sad smile played on her lips. “Bucky, you’re an idiot. Do you know that?”

“I know- and I’m so sor-”

Y/n brought her finger to Bucky’s lips as soon as she heard the sound of voices. He quickly closed his mouth, and moved up next to Y/n. Both of them dropped to the ground, peeking through the tall pile of hay, only to see people occupying the farm nearby.

They listened closely to the words being spoken by the occupants, only to realize none of them were in english. They were in German.

“Oh, shit.” Bucky muttered in a low voice, receiving an annoyed glance from Y/n.

“We need to get out of here before they find us,” Y/n continued to keep a close eye on the man walking around the farm. If they stayed there for too long, there would be a higher likelihood of them getting caught.

“Maybe we can escape through those trees. It’ll give us some cover so no one can see us.” Y/n motioned her head in the direction of the dense forest in front of them.

“No. It's too dangerous. Someone might’ve found out that our plane crashed in this area. They'll be looking for us. We have to lay low for a little.” Bucky shook his head in refusal as he knew this territory was unfamiliar to them and too risky to wander around.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that he and Y/n would go down together. Their lives were still in danger regardless of each others’ company, but at least they wouldn’t be going through it alone for the time being.

The specter of the missing crew still loomed in the shadows, and they both silently prayed that their crew made it out alive.

Now all Bucky and Y/n had to worry about was getting out of Germany. Alive.

[dev1lm4n]

coward

pairings: jackson-era!joel miller x f!reader

summary: in which joel wanted to stake claim over you, but he's too much of a coward to do so. aka jealous emotionally pent-up joel

word count: 3.5k

warnings: suggestive, not explicit just mentions of sexual relationships

notes: this was ultimately cliché as shit but i NEED to write it

Clank. Clank.

Sunset has fallen upon the town just mere minutes ago. Gleeful chirping of the local birds were quickly replaced by a chorus of cicadas, loud clattering of metal cutleries, and scratchy scrapes against plates. There was a foreign atmosphere settling between tonight’s dinner participants and to be honest, it’s much weirder than you anticipated.

It’s foreboding; alike to those family dinners you’d attend to exchange bland pleasantries with cousins and nephews. The kind where you’d have to swerve from uncomfortable questions probing into your personal life, whether it’s your marital status or your paycheck. Except there wasn’t that much of a crowd tonight. Just you, your ‘date’, and Joel Miller.

Joel Miller was someone you couldn’t label properly.

You weren’t exaggerating in the slightest bit when it comes to your complex relationship with him, if you could even call what you had with him a relationship to begin with.

It’s just too messy and embarrassing. It’s like trying to pick apart a tangled up ball of yarn, hoping you’d figure out when things began and when it ended.

Has it even ended? The particular question had you mindlessly stabbing the roasted chicken you managed to cook up. It’s a little overcooked and mildly underseasoned, but it’s better than the alternative. Joel’s staple, which was heated up cans of Chef Boyardee’s Beefaroni, had always been reserved for those who’d acquired his unique tastes. You and Ellie were his number one frequenter when it comes to it.

Joel looked displeased by the pleasantries. His nose crinkled briefly, but he played along regardless. “I go on patrols most of the time, but I could fix things too here and there.”

“So.. Joel, right? What do you do ‘round Jackson?”

Jack managed to break up the everlasting silence with his low-register voice. You assumed that despite the initial awkwardness, he had at least enjoyed the food, considering the heaping glob of mashed potatoes he’s adding onto his plate.

“Oh. That’s nice. I’ve never gone on a patrol before,” Jack shared briefly, only to beam a shy smile towards you. He’s a cute boy you won’t lie. Maybe that’s why you scouted him off  the bar last week. “I take care of the horses with her.”

“Jack’s also from Texas, you know. Thought you two would get along,” you opined.

You watched the cocky raise of eyebrows Joel did and the half-smile following after. He’s silently judging the excuse of a man you’ve brought home tonight, that or he’s just not in the mood for a late night chat after such a troublesome day.

Joel had always been an incredibly difficult man to read. You still think you could read a horse better than him. You’ve gotten better at it throughout the years you’ve spent alongside him, especially after the trip around America for Ellie’s sake, but it’s still a hit or miss most times. It almost felt like he kept changing the numbers to the safe. Just when you thought you’ve cracked the code, he’ll have you come right back to square one.

Joel’s mouth twitched at your silly little assumption, his face contorted as if asking you if you’re for real. You shrugged, amused in a sense. It’d be good for him to start making actual friends, right? Right now his circle was a limited bunch with you being the only non-family acquaintance. His social skills were something you and Tommy are both working on these days. Plus, Jack’s easy on the eyes, so it’s two birds in one stone. 

“I see you still have a thing for Texas boys, hm?”

Joel teased you, this time not even bothering to flash you one of his degrading glares. He pretended like he’s really into the colorful medley of roasted root vegetables you’ve roasted, when you know for a fact he hated any kind of greens. He’d only pretend to like it when Ellie’s around, preaching around about its importance. You realized that you’re getting sidetracked from the real offense he’s just given. A jab of jealousy you’d say.

What kind of game is he playing? Was it another one of his ‘push guys away from you because all men are shit and you’d get hurt’ game? Jack was such a sweetheart, he didn’t even catch on to Joel’s implications, instead he settled on laughing alongside your awkward chuckles.

“Friends?”

“How long have you two been friends?”

Jack’s eyes sparked with curiosity, looking like he’s genuinely in awe of the fond illusion you two must’ve convinced him with.

Joel grinned, a corner of his full mouth lifted at the thought. He almost looked pleased at the premise.

“Two years,” you chimed in for a quick save.

“Man, I thought you two were together,” Jack confessed, salad dressing smeared lightly on his top lip. “Can’t say I ain’t happy when she came sizing me up for a date.”

Your gaze cruised back towards Jack, fluttering a sweet smile his way in case he finally caught up to Joel’s inappropriateness. All you saw was just an innocent look of acknowledgement. His cheeks brightened and swept by a soft wave of pink when he noticed you looking his way, appearing to be thrilled that you spared him a chunk of your attention.

Such a sweetheart. It wouldn’t be so bad if you actually got serious with him; move into a small cottage house, raise chickens and sheeps. Then you could finally bask in stability and mutual understanding. The two things you’re currently lacking.

A silent beat passed at his words. 

You humored him with an obscure chuckle, but it was painfully obvious how the atmosphere dimmed and crumpled ever so slightly around the edges. It’s not the first time the two of you were mistaken as a couple by other villagers, even Tommy and his wife were dead set convinced the first time you sauntered in with him. The months spent on the road with Ellie and him were life changing to say the least and you’d like to think the two of you were bonded by such traumatic events. He needed a purpose, you needed refuge. It’s always been like that from the start. 

There wasn’t even a tinge of romance to humor. Once in the past, you made the mistake of giving in to your ‘delusions’. You wondered whether the silent brief touches he made whenever he walked beside you meant something more. You wondered whether the way he reacted exaggeratedly when you prick your fingers on a rotten door frame meant that he cared. You wondered whether the confessions he made while you were curled up, riding out a fever from a stab wound meant that he wanted you. Those pathetic flourishing feelings were stomped by the heavy soles of his boots the one time you asked.

You could still remember vividly the terrible things he said and the way you sobbed your heart out at that. Thinking back, you’d understand why he said what he said. It was wrong of you to humor such thoughts.

Jack hummed fondly into his handkerchief, neatly cleaning up his fresh shaven complexion that always seemed to make him look a few years younger than what he truly is. He’s more of your age, something you took into account when he came up in your radar. That must mean he’s more suitable for you, right? Unlike Joel who’s reeling into his late fifties; who’s probably too old for all the ‘childish’ shit you put him through. Jack’s also kind and considerate. He went out of his way to get you a basket of fresh apples when you’re sweating bullets trying to catch a loose mare. He never scowled or snapped at you. He’s good for you.

“No. We’re just really good friends,” Joel spoke up firmly into the warm summer air.

It looked like he’s finished with his meal, assuming from how squeaky clean his plate has gotten. Good that he’s filling up. You’ve always liked guys with a little more pudge to them. Not that it mattered. You two were just really good friends as he put it.

“I don’t think I can stay friends with a gal so pretty,” Jack chimed in flirtatiously, a charming smile etched its way across his lips.

You smiled in return, making sure to count to three before letting your eyes wander back to where Joel was sitting. It might be wrong for you to be searching for another man’s reaction when you’re here having sweet Jack as your date. What was certainly wrong was how your stomach finally rumbled with nervous butterflies when you saw his expression. When you saw the small itch disrupting his collected expression; setting his lips into an unimpressed thin line, a small vein prominent on his neck.

God, you wish you could capture the moment on camera.

The rest of the evening went by civilly; you’d expect your really good friend to rip Jack’s head right off when he kept making those stupid flirtatious jokes. Joel looked like he was trying his best to stay grounded and rational, but it's no secret he's holding back a dirty scowl. You caught the way he stuck his tongue onto his inner cheek, or the way he scrutinized each and every joke your date made. Forcing him to explain it thoroughly and embarrassing him in the process; you know he’s an ass, but tonight he’s really testing your limits.

You’d imagine he’d have an excuse as to why he’s behaving this way, like how your veggies tasted weirdly bland he couldn’t hold back his face. It’s unbelievably silly how he thought you’d believe such things at your grown age. That’s another thing to deal with. 

At the moment, you just needed to focus on bidding Jack a sweet goodbye. His smooth blond hair glimmered underneath the moonlight as he leaned in for a kiss. One you didn’t expect quite yet, but you didn’t have the heart to push him away. He’s been a good company after all.

As you expected, it didn’t feel right. His lips were soft and tasted like fresh oranges, but it didn’t feel right. Was it a mistake to keep him at bay when you’re still unable to let go of your peculiar crush? Probably. You were deep in thought as you pulled the front door closed. A gust of wind blowing over your shoulder while you let the guilt marinate into every inch of your skin. 

You felt icky.

“I don’t like him.”

Joel’s disdain traveled quickly along the walls, down the hallway, and onto the exact spot where you’re standing. You turned on your heel to face him, your lips drew back in a snarl. After everything you went through tonight, all the pillow cushioning so that Jake doesn’t feel all the more offended by his audacity, and you’re rewarded with this? You expected him to do one thing and he couldn’t even make it right.

“Yeah?” you piped up, eager to rile him up. “Well, I like him a lot.”

He’s used to listening to your childish preambles. It didn’t take him long to learn how much fun you have just by disobeying his rules, going through with whatever your heart desires, even when it poses a great danger to your own safety. You’re always tricky to deal with, but it’s the only thing that keeps his heart pounding at his old age. The only thing that made him feel alive, thawed after years of surviving. Maybe that’s why he still persisted in keeping you around.

“I’m serious, sweetheart. He sounded like bad news.”

Fucking sweetheart? You scoffed, sounding offended. He would always use that nickname whenever he’s trying to get something through your thick head, whether it’s to stop you from jumping head first into a pond or in this case, to stop you from making rash decisions. He knew what he does to you. He knew that you’d always listen, but not tonight.

“If you spend just one second of your precious time listening to what he has to say, you might actually see what I see,” you glowered. “You were fucking with him the entire time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You were looking down at him, Joel. You always do that. Think everyone’s beneath you.”

“I wasn’t. He’s just a little.. well, flimsy for you.”

“Oh fuck off. You don’t know a thing about me.”

That was a complete lie. He knew more things about you than you’d like, like the way you like your coffee in the morning and which horses were your favorite.

“I don’t?”

“You don’t.”

You solidified your answer, trudging your way past his shoulders like some agitated teenager. Joel thought you looked cute upset and maybe that’s sick of him, but he couldn’t help but be entertained at the way your lips jutted out in disagreement. You’re like this young new thing he’s obsessed with.

“Okay, okay. Come here. Don’t be upset at me. Jake is a nice boy.. I guess,” he gave in to the commotion you made, although he still felt somewhat bitter. 

Jake’s not that much different from what he’s like when he’s younger. Way before his kid, his botched marriage, and the apocalypse. When he’s twenty with a vision for life. It vexed him to admit that he was truly a good man for you. That the man you chose for once wasn’t a scheming jackass. “He worked with horses?”

“Yeah,” you gave in, flashing him the look. The one where you’re further emphasizing that you’re certain with your decisions, that you don’t need him guiding you towards what’s wrong and right like he always has. “He’s good with the horses.. and with me too. Gave me apples when it’s in season.”

Joel’s dark eyebrows curved at your statement. His arms lifted further up to rest against the thin of his waist, a judgemental stance in action. Did you think things like that were peak romance? What about all the times he personally executed all those clickers lurking over you? Whether it’s with a gun or a knife, he’s sure that he’d top Jack when it comes to things he did for you.

“Well then I’m happy for you,” he concluded with a curt nod, doing the one thing you didn’t expect him to do. You scrutinized his expression in response.

“You’re happy for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go on a date with him.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m gonna get him to kiss me again.”

“Wow. Sounds fun.”

“I’m gonna get him to fuck me so hard you could hear me in your stupid room, Joel.”

That one surely struck a nerve deep within him, judging from the way his lips contorted in disbelief. You’ve never been so.. vulgar in front of him. Not once have you mentioned anything about your sexual desires in front of him and so he thought you didn’t even know those kinds of things existed despite your big age. 

Maybe you’re untouched by the twisted world you’re living in. He assumed you were this sweet girl with an innocent crush on him, eyes twinkling with admiration everytime he walked in a room. He loved the attention, shamefully so, and he’d love to savor it as long as possible. Even when it felt wrong. He didn’t think it was possible for you to look at another in that manner. The thought had him marching towards you, large figure towering over.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” you challenged him.

“Because you’re doing this for attention.”

“I’m not,” you struggle to keep the act upright.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you actually like him. Tell me you like that silly boy.”

You gaped at his request. Adam’s apple bobbing reluctantly as you gathered every last bit of your plummeting confidence to look up into his eyes. They were arrogant; browns peering down at you like he’s just delighted to domineer, to reassert the magnitude of his influence towards you. He caged you in with merely a look. 

This spited you. He’s always been like this. Give you some room to explore so that you don’t feel trapped with him, but he’d always give a little tug to your leash whenever you forget your position. You were his, before he was yours. That was rule number one.

“I like him,” you repeated yourself, bracing for the onslaught of tsunami he might release at your stubbornness. “He’s kind and sweet and lovely and.. and he has the balls to tell me how he felt about me.”

His expression of disapproval seared through your skin, leaving you raw and vulnerable to whatever it is he’s going to say right back at you. You could tell that he was livid, although he's clearly trying his best to be the better man out of the two of you and stay grounded. 

He knew what you're like. He knew that you're riling him up so that he'd cave in to your requests, because God was it terribly hard to stay put when you're looking at him like that. Round pupils bared into his own. Joel felt the revolting urge to soothe your worries, to utter meaningless words of assurance, to validate the bond he's been trying his best to suspend. His desire festered like it was contagious, blurring the line of boundaries.

“If this is about last week, you know my answers remained unchanged.”

"Why?"

You sounded hopeless and it's clawing at his skin.

"It's unfair to you."

"You know what's unfair, Joel? Acting like you gave a damn, then shutting me out of your life like I meant nothing."

You scoffed. You weren't just desperate for an answer now, no, you were furious. Angry that he thought he could make the decisions for you, that he could be the one to determine which things were right and wrong for you when he knew for a fact that you're a grown woman with your own mind to rely on. Angry that he'd put his self worth in the gutter. Angry that he thought you'd judge him even after the things you've been through together; endless drives through the motherland, camping under a sea of stars, dancing with death itself.

Was it that bizarre of an idea? You plucked up the courage to get even closer. The frilly yellow ruffles of your sundress grazing his crossed forearm.

You poked an accusing finger into his chest.

"Drowning yourself in your pathetic pity party because oh, you're so broken. So undeserving of love."

Your furrowed eyebrows drove him insane.

"Yet you still keep me around. Couldn’t push me away because God knows you need me more than you'd like."

Your labored breath teased the column of his neck.

"That's what's unfair. The fucking waiting. The dancing around. Put me out of my misery, Joel."

He didn't know what to say. Silenced for once.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me."

You dared him, just like how he dared you. Joel felt conflicted. His vision glued onto the tips of his worn down leather boots as if it’d provide some kind of answer to your demands, He inhaled sharply, before letting out a shaky sigh. Afraid that he’d promise you something he couldn’t own up to, especially since his sharp edges are now dulled from age. 

Joel couldn’t be selfish. No, he couldn’t be that person any longer when he has one foot in the grave.

He knew his end was approaching.

Subtly, but surely. His heart tightened sporadically every time he’d run a little too fast. His joints were stiff and useless, enough that Tommy threatened to pull him off patrols if he kept pushing at his pace. He recalled the incident from his last trip. How he barely escaped a loose infected because his senses had dampened. Your voice also seemed to become more and more faint; he couldn’t even hear the list of items you’ve burdened him with on a shopping trip. Whether you needed a jar of raisins or a pair of shears.

Claiming you was selfish.

He decided on that awhile ago. Far before you’ve realized your infatuation with him, far before you offer such a sweet proposition. 

“Come back to me when you stop being a fucking coward, Joel.”

His throat grew parched at the buzzing silence. He willed himself to touch you, even when it burned his finger tips and sizzled the tip of his ears red. You looked furious, but that cute expression faltered in a miniscule of a second when he cupped the side of your cheek. His thumb stroked agonizingly slow as if you'd evaporate into thin air if he was too brash.

He'd always thought you’re beautiful. One of a kind. Whether it’s when you’re drooling embarrassingly or when you’re dressed up for the commune’s party. But you look the most unbelievable when you’re worried for him.

Was that selfish of him? He traced over your bottom lip gently, feeling the plush material underneath. How he longed to press his lips onto yours. Would it taste sweet? Would you feel soft? His bottom lip quivered, unable to form an answer.

[greycaelum]

You sat before the blind date your mother has been begging and demanding you to meet for months. He's the godson of your mother's friend that recently came back from overseas. Something about taking over their family business after some time prompted him to finally settle down in Japan and start his own family.

You finally had enough of her nagging and decided to meet the man and make it clear you're not planning to entertain a relationship. You have no plans of getting married. Ever.

It's such a foreboding thing to say when you're still so young. But there's that gap in your heart that seems to never be filled. It's like a part of you is grieving for something or someone you don't know. It's like you forgot something you never knew in the first place. It's crazy... But it's real.

"Lately I've been having this recurring dream." He started.

Whatever it is that compelled you to listen was long forgotten as you watch his lips weave through his thoughts and for a second it's like you were in that dream.

"And every time I wake up, my heart feels like I lost something I never found yet." He stared at you with deep-seated eyes. His forearms were on the table, a little too serious and a little too solemn for a first meeting. "Then my heart feels so weightless. Like I forget something I shouldn't forget... It's so weightless that it hurts."

You took a sharp breath and exhaled. Finally you mustered the courage to ask.

"Who's in your dreams?"

... The faint breeze and the rustling of trees fill the silence as his deep blue eyes stares at you for a long time.

"You."

Sequel to this; pt. 1

[isa-beenme]

Hey could you pls do the nightmare trope with azriel where the reader has a very bad nightmare in which she sees azriel nearly dead and when she wakes up and finds him she can't believe it's him and he manages to help her ? ☺️🤔

I certainly can! 😉😉

Oh my, thank you very much for directing me on this one, my biggest fear is writing something people wouldn't like since I usually get carried away in the story and write whatever comes to mind first

Hope you enjoy this!!

I know I said I wouldn't do more than one fic for each trope right now but whatever I like this one better 😡

Until It Happens To You

The night was restless as if the shadows themselves whispered secrets that their master shouldn't hear. You felt burdened by a foreboding unease, your mind shifted between the deep slumber and the real world. You didn't feel Azriel's body beside yours in the bed, his side turning cold at each passing moment he was away. You were sure he slept at your side this night, just as the many others he said your presence made it easier for him to finish his work and finally get some rest.

This strange arrangement between the two of you started a few months ago, you with your throat dry and in need of water and him with a pile of work, he didn't finish during the day. You were so deep into your sleep that somehow you managed to invite him to your room and tell him he could do it in your bed since "two work better than one". You were obviously asleep when he found himself at your side, but he remained there anyway and assured you the next morning that it worked, in a strange way. After some days, some times you actually helped him, he distracted himself by your calm aura and slept in your bed.

That's how everything started and, on his restless nights, he found comfort at your side, both of you holding your peace together as the dream world caught you both at night.

Anyway, you imagined he went back to his room, as he did so many nights before, it wasn't weird at all. Yet, you couldn't get back to sleep as the silence filled the house, almost as if it was mourning something. Your eyes started to close again only to open by a haunting scream that seemed to transcend the walls of the whole house, filling every corner with terror.

In this nightmarish scenario, you found yourself standing in the middle of the room, what before was a bright and colorful place became a desolate chamber shrouded in darkness. The air was heavy with a cold, forming an oppressive atmosphere. Dimly lit torches flickered around you, torches you didn't remember you lighted. They kept casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls, mocking you with their macabre movements, almost as if they were laughing at your lack of knowledge.

As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, you noticed the open door, more torches lighting your way to the corridor, and the stones covering the walls, dirty with a thin layer of blood that started on your door and kept going downstairs. You checked your own body to make sure, finding nothing but heartache, a feeling that your heart was being ripped out of you.

You followed the path that led you to the living room, the blood forming a thicker layer with each step you took closer. The sight you found wasn't any better, close to the balcony doors, in a position that looked like the person was trying to run away, you spotted a figure lying motionless on the cold stone floor. The wings were shredded to pieces, and blood covered their clothes, forming a pool on the sides.

Your heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned upon you, making your knees tremble as you took in the image forming in front of your eyes. It was Azriel, the one whose love and presence had become the foundation of your existence. Panic surged through your veins, and your voice choked with fear when you screamed for help, but it seemed like no one was in the house besides the both of you.

-Azriel! No, please, wake up! - You uselessly screamed as you ran close to his body, feeling that your heart could explode at any moment with the pain you felt.

With trembling hands, you rushed towards him, your footsteps echoing ominously through the chamber. Kneeling by his side, you desperately shook him, but he remained unresponsive. His usually tanned and alluring features were now pale and lifeless, and his eyes closed in an eternal slumber. Suddenly you understood the pain you were feeling. The mating bond. The realization kills you even more.

Tears streamed down your face as you cradled his motionless form, hugging his cold body the way you could, hoping for any form of life to come out of him. Your voice became a desperate plea as you kept talking to him, even if you knew he wouldn't answer.

-No, this can't be happening! Azriel, please! Wake up! - Your anguished cries reverberated off the walls, fading into the oppressive darkness.

Yet, despite your desperate attempts, your touch suddenly met no resistance. It seemed to pass through his form as if he were nothing but a specter. His body started to disappear in thin air, the despair seemed to taunt you, amplifying your pain and the sense of loss.

As this nightmare tightened its grip on you, the chamber distorted and morphed, becoming a labyrinth of pain and suffering. The walls closed in, constricting your movements, suffocating you with an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. You fought against the suffocating atmosphere, gasping for air, your voice a mere whimper as you tried to grasp Azriel's disappearing form.

- Please...don't leave me… I love you. I've been in love for a long time now and you can't leave me here… my mate - Your last words were whispered against the nothing.

When Feyre told you about the day she almost lost Rhysand she told you about the painful sensation of getting her heart broken. And you were there when she need it most while she remembered the situation, but you weren't the one falling off that deep end of silence and cold of a once cheerful and bright string that connected their souls. You understood her now.

You once had a friend that lost somebody close, and you were also there when they needed it most, but you would never be the one having trouble sleeping once the night came and you felt like you didn't do enough. But you understood them now.

You can say you're sorry a million times to Azriel's body laying on the floor. But even if you try hard, he won't come back. The same way you tried to sympathize with your friends, it was helpless, you wouldn't be the one picking up the pieces left of your heart. Now you were. And you felt helpless anyway.

Somebody loses somebody every day, but you'll never really know what it's like till you wake up to some really bad news and the worst scenario you could ever find. You'll never really know how it feels until it happens to you.

You looked around the room, the blood covering everything only made the pain worse. You looked outside, trying to find a starry night, instead, you only found a creature looking back at you, its teeth covered in your mate's blood when the thing seemed to smile at your figure. You only waited for the creature to break the windows and devour you completely, but as it came closer you only felt the wind meeting your skin as the thing breathed against your hair. It was inside the house the whole time, only waiting for you to mourn Azriel's body and relish its work before doing the same to you.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you entirely, your body jolted awake, every piece of skin drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmare had released its grip on you, but your heart still raced with lingering dread. Trembling, you looked around the room, desperately seeking solace in the comforting embrace of reality. The colors and brightness of your bedroom make itself known as you take in the world around you. The small sounds of night filled you in, the solitude leaving your body.

And then you saw him - Azriel - sitting at the edge of the bed, concern etched across his face. His presence felt surreal as if the boundaries between the nightmare and reality had blurred. Tears of relief welled up in your eyes as you reached out to touch him, fear covering your movements as uncertainty filled you.

- Azriel...is it really you? - Your voice was trembling with disbelief as your hand finally made its way toward his face. Azriel's eyes softened with compassion as he gently took your trembling hand in his, his scars making everything fall into place. The reality and the mating bond.

- Yes, it's me. You had a terrible nightmare, but you're safe now - His voice was raw, he was probably trying to wake you up for some time now. Overwhelmed by emotions, you throw yourself into his waiting arms, holding onto him as if he was your lifeline.

- I thought...I thought I lost you - You whispered, voice quivering with a mixture of fear and relief. Azriel held you tightly, his touch a soothing balm to your shattered emotions.

- I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. Do you want me to stay here a little longer? - At that moment, the nightmare's grip loosened completely, replaced by a newfound strength and resilience.

- I need to tell you something - His eyes widened a bit, and his breathing became uneasy. You realized he felt the tug you gave into that bond between you two - It was horrible to feel this being shredded to pieces as you died in my arms, I couldn't do anything while you disappeared right in front of my eyes.

- I'm here now, I'm fine - He kissed your head and pulled you closer - I woke up when I heard your scream. You were calling my name - He smothered his hand on your arms, warming you with his presence - When I got here you weren't screaming, but I could still hear your voice. I probably heard from…

- The mating bond - You finished the phrase for him, just seeing him nodding - Why didn't you sleep here tonight?

- If I spent one more night at your side without having you being mine completely I would go crazy - He put you to lay down on the bed, quickly getting under the covers with you - I thought I should put some space between us or I would hold you in my arms and never let you go.

- I wouldn't be opposed to this, you know - You said in a whisper, seeing the smile that planted his face as he went closer and closer to you, holding you impossibly near his naked torso, enough heat irradiated from him to warm both of you. His presence became your anchor, his love a guiding light through the darkest of nights - What do we do now?

- Now we sleep, I don't go to train tomorrow so we can talk and figure out how we gonna work this out - His hand traveled to your face, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes - I want you to have in mind that I won't rush you in any way, but I love you and I want this between us. I want you to love me too.

- I already do. I always did - You whispered as you went closer and closer, slowly ending the gap between both of you as you kissed his lips lightly, just a taste of the near future you both could have - I want everything with you, and I don't want to wait. Just to remember the sensation of losing you without getting to live anything makes me anxious.

- It's okay now. I promise I won't leave your side - He wrapped one wing around you, providing a safe space for you both - Get some sleep now, when the sun rises we can talk - He granted one last kiss on the lips before you closed your eyes and hugged him tight.

You stayed entwined in each other's arms, finding solace in the warmth of your embrace. The nightmare may have left scars, but also a sensation of longing for the bond that you would have to fulfill for the rest of your life. The scars would heal with time and you would both find solace in the unbreakable bond you shared.

[koshkamartell]

No One But Me

masterlist

previous

It was only two weeks after Joel had seduced you at his house for the first time. You were too blinded by the excitement and secrecy of it all, far too naive to recognise the foreboding tone in his voice or the intensity of his hawk like stare. You were already falling in love with him - it was impossible for you to have recognised the first sign of Joel's true nature spilling through his facade.

"Can you believe it?" You had asked Joel, your eyes shining brightly. "Kate's brother found this old sewing box on a scavenger mission yesterday. He knows I wear ribbons in my hair, so he gave me this."

You whirled around to show Joel the pale pink satin ribbon entwined in your braid.

"Isn't it beautiful?" You had asked. "And it's my favourite colour, too."

You couldn't see the way Joel glared, his mouth in a tight line and his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. His jaw ticked.

You had no inkling that Joel had actually been exercising great restraint of his emotions in that moment, although if you looked back now, it would have been clear. He was annoyed, irritated that another man would gift you anything, even something as small as a ribbon. It ignited a flame of jealousy in Joel's skull to see that someone else could make you so happy.

You twirled back around to face him. "Do you like it?"

Joel nodded. His eyes roamed over your face in  contemplative silence before staring directly into your eyes.

"He ever try anythin' with you?" He had grunted.

Your brows creased and your lips quirked in amusement. "Matt? Kate's brother? No way."

Joel took a step closer to you and cupped the apple of your cheek in his large, calloused hand. You leaned into his touch and smiled contentedly at him.

"Take out your hair," he murmured, his eyes fixed on you.

"Huh? Why?"

"Like seein' your hair down," Joel said softly. He leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your forehead. "Looks real pretty, babydoll."

You lowered your eyes bashfully and obliged Joel's request. You reached behind you and pulled the hair tie from your braid, then unthreaded the pink ribbon from your locks. Joel stroked your cheek with his thumb and let out a satisfied hum.

"There ya go," Joel whispered. "Perfect."

When he kissed your lips with a deep and sensual yearning, the ribbon fell from your fingers and onto the kitchen floor.

Oscar was awakened by the sound of rain pelting against the roof of his home sometime around noon. He lay still, teetering between the dream world and consciousness, until the cloud of his dreams fully dissolved. The first thing he actively noticed when he was properly awake was the throbbing heaviness of his head.

Oh, God. What's going on? He wondered, brain muddy and limbs like lead. Am I hungover?

His eyes slowly flickered open. The pounding of history head and the lethargy inside his bones increased instantly. He shut them again tightly.

Yes, a hangover, alright. Fuck me.

Oscar groaned and lazily rolled off his stomach and onto his back, vaguely aware of the softness of his mattress underneath him, thankful that he atleast passed out somewhere comfortable.

He wasn't sure just how much he drank last night. He enjoyed a beer with the guys every once and a while but never got drunk, never crossed the limit of more than a couple drinks in one evening. Alcohol was never a vice Oscar indulged in. Judging by how sick his body felt right in this moment, he would have drank alot last night.

Joel had been the one coaxing Oscar into downing one drink after the other until he was just about falling off the bar stool. Oscar vaguely remembered staggering home sometime last night, Joel firmly gripping his bicep to ensure he wouldn't stumble. He wasn't sure exactly how he got inside the house and into his room.

But atleast Joel was right about one thing - being drunk had made Oscar's brain stop racing and replaying memories of the past over and over, even just for a few hours. The dreams of last night were not ones of screams or bloodshed but a blur of random scenarios all blending into one another. It almost made the hangover worth it. Almost.

He dared to open his bleary eyes again. His gaze wandered over to the small window opposite his bed and he watched the rain pouring down outside.

No library duty today, Oscar randomly thought.

He was grateful that he didn't have to work while nursing a hangover, partly because he didn't want you to see him this way. Oscar didn't want you to think he was a drunkard, a weak man who couldn't hold his liquor. He certainly wasn't an alcoholic - he didn't drink every day like some of the other men did. And he hadn't planned to get hammered last night, either. Oscar screwed his eyes shut and groaned again.

This fucking headache.

Oscar drew the blanket over his body and burrowed underneath it's warmth, where he eventually fell back to sleep.

Your body instinctively roused from sleep at your usual wake up time, unaided by the tinny clang of the alarm clock you forgot to set the night before. Your internal body clock had adjusted to this time after years of an established daily work routine in Jackson, and even after a fitful nights sleep, you were able to wake up around the same time every morning, sometimes only a minute before the alarm clock rang. You weren't necessarily an orderly person who relied on strict routine, but like many others in the town you found regularity helped instill some kind of purpose and stability in your life. It didn't matter if you weren't working every day of the week. Adhering to even a lose kind of structure and keeping yourself busy was key - this was something Maria and some of the older residents had taught you as you grew up in Jackson.

••••••

You yawned and scrubbed the sleep from your eyes. It took a few lazy seconds for your mind to properly wake up but when it did, the first coherent thought it conjured was Joel.

Joel.

Your eyes flew open and you bolted upright in your bed.

"Joel?" You spoke, voice rough from sleep.

Was he still here in your room?

Your head swung around in search of him dumbly, as if his hulking frame could be hiding somewhere in your small bedroom. But it was clear from the stillness and deflated energy of the room that he wasn't. There was no sign of him.

He was gone.

You couldn't help the pitiful way your heart sank inside your chest. Despite knowing just why Joel was absent from your bed this morning, you felt wretchedly alone. You felt used. Like you had been abandoned.

You swallowed thickly at the familiar pang of emptiness stabbing into your stomach.

Joel had to go. It was his duty, part of his role in Jackson to protect the town. You knew this. He would return once the mission was over, safe and sound.

Your hands smoothed over the empty expanse of the bedsheets where he had been, as if searching for evidence, some kind of memento proving his earlier presence. Instead you found nothing physical amidst the tangle of the sheets, only the lingering scent of his body, his musk.

You collapsed back onto the mattress with a thud and stared up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that had begun to well in your eyes.

There had been many times during your time with Joel when he had left your bed before you awoke. Sometimes he snuck out of the cottage in the early morning hours because he had an early patrol. Sometimes it was because Ellie was home and he wanted to be there when she woke up. Whatever the reason for it, Joel's absence always hurt, tearing tiny pinpricks into the soft centre of your soul, leaving you with that ever present gnawing feeling of inadequacy in the root of your being. However, this morning that hurt was greatly exacerbated by the whirlwind of emotions Joel had evoked in you through his recent actions.

His behaviour and attitude over these last few days had left you dazed and disorientated. Joel had rejected you. It was he who refused to be in a proper relationship with you and to evolve into something more meaningful than sex. So why couldn't he let you go?

If he didn't want to give you what you wanted, why was he so obsessed with asserting ownership over you? Was it because Joel did care, did love you, somewhere deep down in his heart? Could it be why last night he showed you more tenderness than he ever had before?

You had so many questions to ask Joel but you knew even if you had the opportunity to ask them he would never answer you. Not sufficiently, not in the way you need them answered. He would probably just brush you off or argue with you or get mad again.

The intensity of his jealousy and rage haunted you. You still couldn't comprehend just how Joel had been so remorseless in his assault of you, how justified he felt in violating your body. The conviction burning in his eyes had scared you the most. Even now, the mere thought of his piercing stare made you want to shrink and hide away.

The juxtaposition of degradation and gentleness was profoundly confusing. The only thing that was clear was that Joel believed you belonged only to him. It made you feel as if you were an object that only he could manipulate at will. A plaything solely for him to fuck, to keep like a dirty secret, to desecrate.

You were ashamed that Joel had proven how weak you were. That despite his cruelty you would still love him. You would even open your legs for him and let him fuck you and make you cum like a pathetic slut. Perhaps that is all you were ever going to be - unworthy of love and only used as a fucktoy.

The convolution of it all made you want to sink your nails into your flesh and scream. You wanted so badly to go back to sleep and give yourself some kind of reprieve from the web of thoughts and emotions, but you had to get ready for work. You had to keep going.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rain hitting the roof of your cottage. You glanced at the window and saw the pounding torrent coming from the dull overcast morning sky outside. It brought with it a blanket of cold air that quickly enveloped the room and made your bare legs and arms shiver.

"Shit," you whispered with chattering teeth.

You hauled the blanket over your body and curled up underneath it, pulling your knees into your chest. You stared out the window and watched the droplets of rainwater slowly trickle down the windowpane.

You allowed yourself five more minutes under the comfort of your blanket before dragging yourself out of bed to begin your day.

••••••

The sky was cloaked in dark grey clouds and lent a subdued, melancholy quality to the atmosphere of the town that morning. You pulled the hoodie of your coat over your head as you began the walk to the small school building near the centre of town. It was still raining, albeit not as forcefully as it had been in the early morning. The ground was muddy and sludgy, making it necessary for you to wear your gumboots instead of your usual sneakers or boots.

The dreary weather reflected your mood aptly, you thought while you trudged on the path to school. With every step you took your pussy ached with discomfort, reminding you that Joel had been inside you and on-top of you only just last night. And despite washing your body thoroughly under the warm water of the shower this morning, you were sure you could still smell Joel under your fingernails, as if he had stained your skin.

You managed to teach your lesson at the school with some semblance of focus, despite the agonisingly slow ticking of the clock holding you captive. You willed yourself not to think of Joel and to just direct all your attention to the blackboard but it was impossible to do so for a prolonged period, especially when you overheard one of the children telling the others around him that a patrol had left this morning to scout for raiders.

"What are raiders exactly?" One student piped up.

"Bad guys who kill and steal!" The ringleader declared. "My uncle Troy is gonna use his rifle to hunt them away."

How did they know what was going on outside the safe walls of Jackson? You shouldn't be so surprised, you reminded yourself - children were curious and could be quite crafty, most likely acquiring information from spying on their elders or tiptoeing past adult conversations unnoticed.

"Children!" You reprimanded them sternly. You hoped they couldn't detect the slight strain in your voice. "That's enough. I don't want to hear any of you talking about anything other than entomology for the rest of the lesson. Got it?"

They nodded their agreement and were quiet and well behaved for the rest of the lesson. You loved the children and reveled in seeing their youthful faces become animated when learning something fun, when your patience was rewarded by their infectious smiles. The children were a consistent reminder of how precious life was and how important it was for you to help maintain the innocence of the children in the post outbreak world.

Despite your fondness for your students, you were deeply relieved when the school day finished and you could dismiss the children. When they cleared out of the room and left you alone at your desk, you savoured the silence and sighed a deep breath. You rubbed the sides of your temples with your fingertips and groaned. You were sitting on the edge of the chair, still avoiding direct contact with the healing skin of your buttocks.

It was only the first day of Joel's absence and you were struggling to keep yourself together.

"How am I going to do this?" You mumbled to yourself.

"Do what?" A voice spoke up, breaking through the silence of the room.

You gasped and turned towards the door. It was just Kate, watching you with a tilt to her head and a playful grin across her face. You sighed heavily and held your hand to your chest.

"Kate! Don't do that, you know I hate people sneaking up on me." You huffed.

Kate chuckled and strolled through the rows of desks with a drawstring bag slung over her shoulder. "Come on, you love it."

"You creep."

She pulled you in for a hug. "Come on, grouchy. You ready to head to my place?"

You hadn't forgotten the plans to meet at Kate's and work on Cassie's wedding gift. It was an old sewing box that was being restored and upholstered with satin lining, to be filled with some of Cassie's most cherished belongings. One of these items would be her deceased mother's bracelet, another would be a framed photograph, the only surviving picture of her family.

"Yeah, just let me tidy up my desk and lock up," you said.

You stood and picked up the chalk duster and started cleaning the blackboard. Kate stood at your desk and inspected the collection of papers and books sitting on-top of it.

"Bug Science?" Kate giggled, "Bet the kids love that shit."

"Yeah," you smiled to yourself. "Oscar found me one of the next installments so I can actually carry on with a proper lesson plan for once."

"Oooh, Oscar, huh?" Kate murmured. You recognised the teasing lilt of her voice, and when you whipped around to see her she was smirking and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You rolled your eyes. "Can't two people just be friends?"

"Ofcourse," Kate smiled. "It's nice to see you being friends with a guy."

You frown. "What do you mean?"

Kate shrugged. "I swear you barely talk to any dude in town outside your cleaning shifts at the mess hall. You always seem nervous around them." 

You look away from her; you suddenly feel conspicuous and full of shame. You remember the anger in Joel's eyes at seeing you with Oscar, the bitterness laced in his accusations when he interrogated you in your bedroom.

"We are just work friends," you mumble, sweeping the chalk duster over the blackboard.

"Yeah, I know," Kate grins at you. "I heard you. I'm just saying that it's good you're making new friends. Now, hurry up and let's get going. Rhi and Jess are gonna be at my house soon."

It was 9pm when you said goodnight to everyone and started the walk back to your home. It had stopped raining but a cold breeze ripped through the muddy streets, whipping at your cheeks and cutting through the layers of your clothes. You tugged your coat tighter around your waist and marched along. You couldn't help but think of Joel, wondering if he was warm enough out in the open tonight. Was he thinking of you at all?

Once you were done tidying the classroom you gathered your belongings and left the school together with Kate. You did your best to repress the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your mind, not wanting your friends to suspect that anything was wrong. It was hard to push thoughts and memories of Joel aside entirely, even with being in the company of your girlfriends and focused on a common task. You still enjoyed the evening and rejoiced with them when the sewing box gift for Cassie was completed. And even when dinner time came around and you didn't feel like eating at all, you still went with them to the mess hall, letting yourself bask in the comfort of their laughter and lighthearted conversation.

He is probably far too occupied hunting down the raiders, you idiot, you cursed yourself. Is there's anyone he would be thinking of, it would be Ellie.

Shit, Ellie!

You hadn't even considered Ellie and how she was feeling. She must be worried sick about Joel. You immediately decided to go check up on her.

You crossed the street and slipped between two houses to cut through to the adjacent street. Their home was only another block away from where you were, and it only took another couple of minutes for you to get there. Steeling yourself against the wind, you trudged up to the small front steps and knocked your fist against the door.

It didn't take long for Ellie to swing the door wide open. Seeing the solemn expression on her face, her wide brown eyes filled with worry, made your heart crumble.

"Hey," she mumbled.

"Hey, El," you said gently. "I heard Joel went with some of the others for patrol. I just wanted to check on you, see how you were going."

Ellie shrugged and looked down, shuffling her feet awkwardly. "Okay, I guess."

You reached out and gave her upper arm a small squeeze. "I'm here for you anytime, alright? If you need someone to talk to."

Ellie nodded and looked back up at you. "He's been on these kinda missions before," she said. "He's old but he's still a tough motherfucker."

You smiled softly at her candor.

"I just miss him, you know?" Ellie sniffed.

You sighed. Me too, you wanted to say.

"Do you wanna come inside?" She asked.

You nodded and she ushered you through the door and into the warmth of the living room. It didn't feel awkward being in Joel's house again, even with him gone; you had spent enough time here to be familiar with the nooks and crannies of the interior, with the smells and sounds, even with the quirks of the noisy upstairs bathroom pipe and the squeaky spare bedroom door.

"I'm actually gonna go sleep over at Uncle Tommy's to keep Maria company," Ellie explained as she shut the door behind you. "Just gotta pack some stuff before I go over there."

"That's a good idea. I'm sure Joel would agree with that." You state evenly.

Ellie snorts. "He still makes me lock the fuckin' door whenever I leave the house. He'd be pissed if I stayed here alone."

You give a shrug of resignation. "He's always been that way about your safety. You know he's just being protective."

Ellie rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah."

"Can I help you with packing?" You asked.

"Sure. I gotta get some shirts from the laundry, my tooth brush....," she thought aloud as she counted on her fingers. "Actually, can you go to Joel's room and get me one of his shirts?"

Your body went rigid at the mention of Joel's room. "What? His shirt? Why?"

"He said if I ever miss him I could sleep with one of his shirts," Ellie mumbled sheepishly. "Said it would make me feel better."

Oh. That made sense. If only you had the chance to do that, too.

You swallowed and nodded. "Which one do you want?"

Ellie scrunched up her nose and shrugged. "Doesn't matter." She turned around and grabbed some comic books that were sitting on the couch. "They're all the same anyways."

You were grateful that Ellie was so comfortable with you and trusted you, that she thought nothing of asking you to pick one of Joel's shirts out from his bedroom on her behalf. You made your way up the stairs and creeped to Joel's room. You'd been inside his house many times before, had been naked in his bed more times than you could count, but you still felt a twinge of thrill at venturing into his private space, alone and without anyone around.

The door was already wide open. You slunk into the darkness of Joel's room and fumbled for the light switch. The glow of the ceiling light illuminated the room. It was sparsely furnished with only a dark solid timber dresser and a matching bedframe and mattress. His bed was neatly made. The window was shut and the curtains were drawn closed. The scent of Joel - sandalwood and pine - filled your nostrils and wrapped around your heart like a warm caress.

You entered his closet and trailed your fingertips along the row of flannel sleeves that hung from the shirts on the coat hangers. There were several flannel shirts of dark greens and reds alongside a couple of jackets and long sleeve button up cotton shirts. The material felt so warm and soft under your touch. You selected a green flannel from the middle of the bunch and slipped it from its hanger. You had always liked Joel in the green ones.

You were about the leave the closet when something on the shelf above the shirts caught your eye. A sliver of something white. You frowned and stood up on your tiptoes to see what it was. You spied the edge of a small white shoebox peeking out from around a stack of jeans.

What could it be?

You glanced back over your shoulder to the door outside the closet.

Ellie was still downstairs.

Surely you could just have a little look, right?

You turned back to the box and chewed your bottom lip in deliberation.

You didn't want to invade Joel's privacy. You really didn't want to snoop. But the curiosity was gnawing at you.

Oh, fuck it.

You pushed up as tall as your tiptoes would allow and stretched your arm high above you to reach past the jeans and grab the corner of the box. You were able to just catch ahold of it.

Yes!

You nudged it toward you and pulled it off the shelf. Still holding Joel's shirt, you held the box in one hand and lifted the lid off with your other hand, your heart pounding in your chest.

When you opened it, you frowned at the contents before you.

There was a scrap of lacy white material. It took a moment for you to recognise that it was actually a pair of your underwear. An old Polaroid camera. An envelope stuffed with something. A pink ribbon. A gold necklace with a pendant. A folded piece of lined paper.

Oh. The pink ribbon.

The ribbon Kate's brother gave you.

You hadn't seen it for so long - you had thought it was lost, perhaps coming loose from your hair one day and disappearing forever.

What was it doing in this box? And why was your underwear in there, too?

You were about to sift through the rest of the items but the sound of Ellie's voice calling your name came floating up the stairs. It made you gasp and frantically slam the lid back on the box.

"Coming!" You yelled back.

You stumbled onto your tiptoes again and shoved the box back ontop of the shelf and scurried out of the closet.

Shit shit shit.

Ellie was still in the living room shovelling things into a duffel bag when you returned downstairs.

"Got it," you smiled, trying to appear casual and not at all flustered at the discovery you had just made.

"Thanks," Ellie accepted the flannel from you and packed it into the bag. "Ya know, I miss your banana bread. You haven't baked for ages."

You chuckled. "El, it's only been a couple weeks."

"Yeah, that's forever! And that last batch of cookies? They were so good, Joel practically inhaled his share." Ellie laughed.

You couldn't contain the smile that broke out on your lips. "Oh?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "So can you make more? Like really soon?"

"Sure," you smiled softly. "Hey, that gives me an idea. How about we bake something special for Joel when he comes back?"

"Yeah, okay." Ellie gave you a little grin. "Sounds good."

When Ellie finished packing you insisted on walking her over to Maria and Tommy's house to ensure she got there safely. You eventually returned home, your cheeks red from the cold wind, and rolled into bed without bothering to change your clothes. You were tired and just wanted to sleep.

You didn't know what to think about the secret box in Joel's closet. It was perplexing, and it made you feel slightly uneasy. You found yourself trying to rationalise what you discovered; perhaps he found the ribbon and was going to return it to you later, and maybe he kept your underwear as a harmless souvenir, a physical reminder of the intimate tie you two share. Maybe Joel was secretly sentimental.

You didn't allow yourself to really think about it in depth. Instead, you vowed to throw yourself in work at the school and library without dwelling too much on waiting for Joel to return.

The weather was still overcast and miserable the following day when you had the next library shift. Bundled in your coat you were about to open the library door when it swept back, opening wide to reveal Oscar already inside.

"Quick, come in," he urged. "It's terrible out there."

"Thanks," you said as you shuffled into the library.

Oscar shut the door behind you. He was wearing a navy blue turtle neck sweater with jeans. He had removed his shoes and left them by the door, and you saw his sock clad feet peaking out from under the cuff of his jeans. You smiled to yourself at the casual domesticity of it. You peered down at your own feet and groaned.

"Damn, my boots are all muddy! I'm sorry."

You gestured down at your shoes caked in mud and the dirty prints of your soles on the floor.

"No problem, I'll clean the floor later." Oscar waved a hand dismissively.

"Okay," you conceded quietly, feeling a little shy. You shrugged your arms out of your coat.

"Anyway, good morning to you." He tilted his head slightly, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "How are you today?"

You laughed a little. "Good morning to you, too. I'm alright. How are you?"

Oscar scratched his chin and then smoothed his beard with the tips of his fingers. "I'm alright, too.  Just thinking about the next steps in our library makeover venture."

"Well, whatever you decide, I'll be here to help." You said as you squatted down and untied the laces of your boots.

You and Oscar fell into an easy rhythm together, just like on your first shift. He continued painting the walls while you set about cleaning the library space from top to bottom.

"Couldn't do it without you, bookworm," Oscar grinned.

Oscar had asked for you to eat lunch with him in the mess hall again but you adamantly refused, making some excuse about not wanting to leave the library. Undeterred, Oscar disappeared to the mess hall and returned balancing a serving tray with two serves of the lunch the cafeteria was serving that day. You laughed with surprise at his kind gesture, which made him grin even more. And from that day onward, whenever you worked at the library, Oscar would fetch lunch for you both and bring it back for you to eat together.

Over the next four weeks the friendship between you and Oscar progressively flourished. The hours you spent together on the library shifts were filled with discussions of extensive topics, ranging from philosophy to food, music and novels. As you got to know each other better, the more evident it was that there was a connection between you, a mutual respect and affection for each other. You had never felt such an affinity with someone before; an intellectual match with reciprocal emotions and ideas.

It was innocent. There was no hint of romance or sexuality in your interactions, none of the flirtatious kind of repartee you often saw your friends exchange with men at the Tipsy Bison. You weren't accustomed to close friendships with the opposite sex but the sincere nature of Oscar's friendship was comfortable. You valued him for his thoughtfulness and wit, his kindness and his humour. Oscar seemed to appreciate your thoughts and ideas, always asking for your opinion on things. It made you feel important, worthwhile, seen.

Sometimes townsfolk came to the library looking for books on a particular topic, and occasionally some of the children would stop in to read the small collection of picture books and comics the Jackson library possessed. They all complimented on how bright and clean the small building looked now.

The library had always been your sanctuary, and now with Oscar's company there, it felt like your second home. Seeing the results of your efforts gave you a sense of accomplishment and pride. You wished Maude could see it. When you verbalised this to Oscar, he suggested you both visit her after work together; and you did, much to her delight.

You didn't see each other outside your library duties. Oscar had returned to the stables for work duty on the days he wasn't at the library, and you were busy teaching the children. You found yourself wishing you could see Oscar to tell him about the funny things that happened during the day, or about some random fact you had learned while reading.

Gradually over the month, you noticed tiny changes within yourself. You were whistling more often. That you wanted to read more. Your appetite improved greatly and you actually felt hungry. You were able to look at your reflection in the mirror without instantly seeking out your flaws.

You still missed Joel. You still dreamed of his handsome face and his hands on your body, still craved the taste of his mouth and the saltiness of his skin. His absence had only made you crave him more, outweighing your sadness and hurt and compartmentalising it into the depths of your mind.

So when Ellie came running up to you one afternoon while you walked home, squealing that Joel and the patrol group had radioed that they were on their way home, you rejoiced.

You wanted to shower him with kisses and slide into his lap and fuck him, feel him inside you once again, show him how much you missed him.

Had he missed you, too?

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed @kewwrites @romanarose @fan-fiction-floozy

[iibonniee]

A Quick Visit | Lee Minhyuk

Pairing: Lee Minhyuk x Reader

Genre: Smut, military!minhyuk

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

Rating: R

Word Count: 12k

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

She never felt wrong in her life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He watched as she nodded her head eagerly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[astroboots]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 9

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You and Steven finally reunite. Or alternatively: Marc is a dummy and makes questionable decisions as always.

Content: some angst, serious talks, so much talking.

Word Count: 8,400

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

"Sorry that I've been gone so long, love."

He stands in the dimly lit hallway, perfectly framed in the open doorway like a still-life portrait, and for a second it makes you doubt that you are looking at the real thing in flesh and blood. 

The novelty print shirt in bright mismatched emerald green and cream is a sight for your sore eyes, as is the familiar oversized grey jacket over it. It’s Steven’s favourite, soft-worn and starting to fray at the cuffs. 

But despite the familiar clothing, he looks... different somehow.

You’re not quite sure why at first. Something about the way he’s holding himself. His shoulders are held back, chin up, and for the first time since you've met him, he’s no longer hunching into himself trying to take up less space. 

It's enough to give you pause, and make you doubt that it's Steven who is fronting at all. Is this Marc on your doorstep in Steven's oversized clothes?

No. His hair is loose and softly tousled, raven curls messily crowning around his head and falling into his eyes in a way that would have Marc obsessively trying to wrestle them into submission. And there's no mistaking those wide brown eyes or the South London accent. 

It's definitely your Steven. Or… well, Steven at any rate. Whether or not he’s still yours remains to be seen, doesn’t it? All you have to do is open your mouth and ask, but... you can’t.

You’ve imagined this moment hundreds of times in his absence, endlessly rehearsed your apology to make quite sure you cover every mistake and wrongdoing, but now that he’s here, standing before you, you’re paralyzed. Your throat has closed up, feet cemented to the carpet, and the only thing you're capable of is staring at him in silence. 

Steven isn't moving either. 

Cold air blows through the empty hallway, wringing out all the warmth inside your flat. The chill settles into your bones, nipping at your toes.

Dropping your eyes to the ground, you measure the distance from your bare feet across to the toe caps of Steven’s sensible black trainers. You're barely more than a foot apart, yet the gap feels as unbreachable as a bottomless chasm. 

You know the only way to bridge it is to say something. But your mouth refuses to cooperate. Your tongue is as heavy as lead, and you can't budge it. 

All you need to do is say something. Anything.

Welcome him back. Say hello. Invite him in. Just bloody well say something!! 

“Do you want to–” 

“D’you mind if I–” 

You blurt the words out at the same time, both stopping mid-sentence as you catch yourselves. 

Then you're staring at each other again. 

God, the two of you together are a comedy of errors, but right now you can’t be sorry for it. The familiar ridiculousness steadies you, and you find yourself smiling just a bit despite your nerves. 

“Sorry. Sorry,” Steven apologises, a small matching smile blooming on his face, “You go first.”

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to come in." 

The smile on his face spreads, and your heart catches at the warmth in his eyes. Suddenly the gloomy hallway and your situation both seem a little less foreboding than they did a moment ago.

"I'd like that very much." 

You step backwards, and Steven follows you into your flat, taking off his shoes before closing the door behind him. 

"Would you like to sit down?” you ask, “I can make you a cuppa?" 

It feels a bit cringy, offering such British platitudes to him when it's the first time you've seen him for weeks. The unfamiliar tension is eating at your nerves.

Thankfully, Steven takes your awkwardness in stride. 

"Actually, I was hoping you and I could talk," he says, still smiling at you reassuringly. 

You nod dumbly, making your way further into the room. In the last few weeks, all you’ve wanted was to know how Steven’s been. If he’s okay, and how he’s felt about everything this whole time. But now that he’s here and you can finally ask, a part of you is scared to find out, because the answer might not be what you want to hear.

"...If that's alright, that is?" 

In front of you, Steven tilts his head, brows knitting in a concerned expression, and that, finally, is what gets you moving.

"That's– I mean yes, of course. I'd like for us to talk too." 

Steven walks over to the sofa, and makes himself comfortable. He looks so polite sitting there, calmly waiting for you as he's looking up at you expectantly. 

He settles one hand on the seat next to him, patting it as an invitation for you to join him. He does it with the gentleness of someone trying to coax a nervous stray when it strikes you that you've just been standing still gawking at him silently this entire time. 

This gentle calm is not what you have prepared yourself for in any of the imagined scenarios. Somehow, his kindness makes guilt spread like wildfire in your gut. There are so many things you could have done better if you could have a do-over. 

"I'm sorry," you say. 

It slips out of you without forethought, and Steven's eyes widen. Your stomach sinks to the floor at the way the smile slides off his face. 

"Come sit with me,” he asks, and when you’re still not moving, he continues, “...please?"

You look down at your feet, still frozen to the spot. You take a deep calming breath, and finally take a step forward, closing the distance between you, step by step until you finally reach the sofa and sit down next to him. 

"I should never have lied to you," you say, looking down at your hands and scrape nervously at your cuticles.  "I shouldn't have told you the way I did that night. It was insensitive and stupid, and it must've been upsetting and confusing."

Steven's expression is, for the first time you can ever recall, inscrutable to you. He's chewing at the inside of his cheek, no smile, no frown, just… listening. Your nerves are fraying under the sleeves of your sleep-shirt, but you press on regardless. 

"I should have told you much sooner, as soon as I realized something unusual was going on. That day you came to my office after the first trip to your flat — I should’ve told you then. You deserved to know about something this important, something that affects your life and it wasn’t fair of me to keep it a secret. You deserved better from me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I’m —" 

You never get to fully finish your spiralling loop of sorries. Steven's arms wrap all around you, pulling you into him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest like he never means to let go. 

"It's all right, love. It's all right," he murmurs warmly against your temple.  

It’s exactly what you’d been longing to hear from him, but it feels surreal. Like it's all just too easy to earn his forgiveness. There's no rage in him. No shouting. No judge with a gavel, finding you guilty and sentencing you to a lifetime in jail to atone for your sins.

"But I lied to you for months, Steven. How can that possibly be 'all right'?" 

“It’s okay. I’m not upset, I’m…” He pauses, loosening his grip around your sides and you chance a quick glance up to find him looking off to the side, brow furrowed. “Or, well– That’s not quite right, is it? I mean, it was devastating to hear, honestly, and I’m… not mad, exactly, but…”

He turns to look back at you, and you nod, encouraging him to continue even as you swallow down the sudden tightness in your throat.

“It’s just…” Steven continues, “You knew. Marc knew. It makes me feel a bit left out, I suppose? Being the last to know.” His head dips down, eye glancing off-site against, at the blank surface of your telly, before turning back towards you. “I feel like a right bloody idiot for not being able to figure it out on my own.”

"I'm sorry," you repeat. You don't know what else to say, how you can possibly make it up to him.

Steven’s hand comes up, settling warm against your cheek, his thumb rubbing against the apple of it before he tilts your chin up, silently asking you to look at him. 

"You don't have to keep apologising."

Maybe it's the British compulsion in you, but you have to bite your cheek to resist apologising for apologising too much. 

Instead you focus on Steven. Ready to ask the question you’ve been dying to ask while dreading it all at the same time. 

“Are we… I know ‘okay’ is a bit of a stretch but… do you still want us to be together? As a couple I mean.” 

He must see fear in your eyes, because he leans closer, wrapping his hand over yours reassuringly. “Yeah, I’d like for us to still be together. I love you. I'm here to stay. In it for as long as you'll have me, and this isn't going to change that. But I do need…” 

Steven trails off mid-sentence, and looks down towards his feet as if the end of his sentence is etched there. From the slight frown on his face when he looks back at you, he most probably didn't find it, but he tries again anyhow. “I would like some reassurances from you though. That… um… well.” 

He's still frowning, the struggle visible on his face. 

“I know that this was a fairly”—Steven grimaces—“unique set of circumstances, and that you were under a lot of stress and doing what you thought was best for me. I understand that, but I... I need to know that you won't hide something from me like that again.” 

“I won’t,” you blurt out immediately, shaking your head so forcefully you almost give yourself whiplash. 

“From now on, we tell each other the truth, yeah?,” he presses, eyes wide and solemn, “Even if the truth is ‘I can't tell you that right now.’ Deal?”.

"Yes, yes, of course, Steven." You nod slowly, matching his seriousness, meaning it to the depth of your soul. “I promise.” 

“Thank you,” he says simply, then he smiles at you, and your breath catches.

It’s one of those smiles—the kind that seem to light up the whole room—and relief bubbles up in your chest, washing away some of  the tightness that’s made its home there since the last miserable time you saw Steven almost a month ago. 

You’re not sure who initiates it — if you’re the one to lean up and close the distance, or if it’s Steven’s hand cupping your cheek that draws you closer — but, you kiss. A soft press of your lips together, but it feels like so much more. Like forgiveness. Like turning the page, starting a new chapter in your favorite book. 

It feels like coming home. 

The two of you stay like that for a long moment, you half-seated in his lap, Steven draped uncomfortably against the arms of the sofa, grinning at each other. 

"And next time Marc says it's for my own good, just ignore him, yeah? Man isn't exactly an authority on what's good for anyone." 

You laugh at his cheeky remark and a sense of relief rushes through you. It feels good to be able to laugh again without the constant anxiety coiled tight in the pit of your stomach. 

You're amazed by how with the simple return of Steven, that dreaded knot has vanished. It's like it never existed and this happiness between you has always been here and never left. 

It feels natural somehow, to be sitting on your sofa, cracking jokes, and with Steven's oh-so-casual tone, you almost forget, that tonight is the first time the two of you have ever mentioned Marc by name between you. 

You lift your head up to meet his gaze, but Steven is still looking at you like nothing's wrong, like it's just another Saturday night. 

"You called him Marc," you bring up as diplomatic as you can under the circumstances. "Does that mean–" you hesitate, not knowing how to phrase this without opening a can of worms for Marc if you had completely misread things. 

Steven must know what you mean because he gives you a half smile and answers your unfinished question for you. "That I know about the little American man living inside me? Yeah, it does." 

You nod, glad that some things seem to have been resolved at least. Though you know from experience that knowing about Marc, isn't even half of the battle. 

Because Marc is Marc. 

The man isn't exactly known for being loose-lipped and eager to share information. It strikes you that even with being forgiven, there’s still so much you and Steven need to fully share about what's taken place between the three of you since you first got entangled with each other. 

"How much do you know?" you ask, and you shift your weight in his lap to make sure you're not crushing him underneath you. "About Marc. About what happened? About any of it?"  

“He and I got to know each other pretty well. I wouldn't say he poured his soul to me... at least not voluntarily but–” he blinks rapidly as if rousing himself from a memory. 

“He didn’t tell me much about what happened between you and him though. I know he made you promise not to tell me. But beyond that… not much,” Steven pauses as he searches for your eyes.  

“I guess he thought it would be best if I heard it from you, and I’d like that too… Will you tell me about it? Fill me in on what I missed the first time around? I'd like to know what it was like for you.”

So you do. Steven tucks you in close to his side as you talk, watching you with those big puppydog eyes as you tell him about his disappearances. 

The worry, the confusion, the fear. 

About how the worst part was not knowing if he was safe. About the hours you spent imagining every awful thing that could have happened to him, terrified he had been taken hostage or that he was hurt and alone, unable to call for help.

"Is that– Was that why you were so upset that morning with the croissants? When you said you had a bad dream, was it really...?” Steven doesn’t finish his sentence, just looks to you for an answer as the word hangs in the air between the two of you, and you give him a small nod. 

“How long was I gone for?”

“A little over a week.”

His mouth compresses in an unhappy line, eyes closing for a moment as he processes that. 

“I'm so sorry, love," he says, taking your hand in his, fingers gently tracing the lines of your palm.

It’s clear that it hurts him to hear about how affected you were by his absences, but he doesn't try to stop you, and you don't sugarcoat it. You don't want there to be any more lies between the two of you this time around. Not even those of omission.

You hold tight to that ideal as you tell him about your encounters with Marc, how you got to know him slowly over months of text messages, short conversations, and shared breakfasts. Steven listens attentively as you confess your ploy with Marc to replace Gus and every confusing, sordid detail of what followed—your attraction to Marc, the near-miss of a kiss, even the mortifying sex dream you had in the taxi. 

Steven’s eyes widen at your admission, the arm around you tightening convulsively, but he doesn’t interrupt or look upset, just surprised.  Just listens attentively until you finish talking.

Once you do, he murmurs a soft, “Thank you for telling me, love.”

As terrified as you had been, all this time, of telling him the truth, it’s nowhere near as difficult as you’d imagined it would be. You feel better—lighter now that everything's out in the open, dragged into the light.

“So many things make sense now,” Steven utters, giving a slightly disbelieving shake of his head. “I was thinking that things kept being put away in the wrong places, but I just figured this place was haunted, not that I had a compulsive neat freak living in my body.”  

You laugh at that and Steven reaches over to brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen into your eyes. “I had no idea I was gone that frequently. No wonder Donna has it out for me. It's a wonder she hasn't just fired me and been done with it.”

“I think there are employment law protections about those sorts of things,” you joke.

Steven lets out a quiet laugh of his own at your poor attempt at humour. The tension and weight that you have been holding all this time slowly lifting as you watch his expression. Relaxed with a sweet half-sleepy smile. He must be exhausted from wherever he and Marc have travelled to make his way to you.

 “Can you tell me about… what happened between you and Marc in the time you were gone?” 

Steven nods, then he settles his back against the armrest, shifting down until he’s lying down against the sofa cushions. 

"After I... blacked out that night, I don't remember much. I was sort of conscious, but also not. Just seeing flashes and images.  Like– Like looking out a window. Or watching something on the telly. I couldn't control my body, but I could see what’s happening. It felt like an out-of-body experience. It was strange.” 

You shift down on the sofa to join him as he speaks, until you’re both lying down on your sides, squished together. 

“And Marc and I– We didn't get along very well at first. Fought a lot, mostly, because well… Marc's not exactly the most forthcoming guy, and I didn't understand what was going on. But then somehow the next thing I know, I wake up, and we're in Egypt, and all sorts of crazy things are happening."

"Egypt!?" you ask, surprised. 

"Yeah, it was amazing!!" he exclaims, darting upright on the sofa so suddenly that you nearly go sprawling arse-over-tits onto the floor. He catches you absently, barely pausing as you clutch at him, and helps you to steady yourself as he continues, "We got to go inside the great pyramid at Giza. A dream come true, that was! And that was just the beginning of our adventures!!" 

His eyes are glittering. At the mention of Egypt, there are no more pauses in his speech, and the words race out of him a mile a minute. 

"We chased people on the rooftops, we met up with a dodgy art dealer who had a mummy with a cartonnage that I got to decode. It turned out to be a coded celestial navigation map that led us to the long lost tomb of Alexander the Great, and– and–" 

It all sounds like a grand adventure, and your mind is boggled by the idea that Marc would put together a treasure hunt in Cairo for Steven's benefit. It's quite sweet really, even if you can't possibly even begin to imagine Marc putting together the travel itinerary. 

"And then–" Steven stops mid-sentence, the shimmering excitement in his eyes dimming as if he's getting lost in the replay of his memory. "Well... uhm... the next part, I'm–" he looks down at the floor, suddenly looking much more unsure of himself than he has all evening. "I'm not so sure, I can tell you the next part."

He shoots you a sheepish expression as he repeats the very same phrase he had made you promise him moments earlier.  

"At least, I can't tell you right now."

You nod in understanding, even if your curiosity is disappointed. But instead of letting the disappointment fester, you pull Steven back down, snuggling into his arms. 

He tucks his chin against the crown of your head as he continues to murmur apologetically into your hair. 

"It's really more to do with Marc's… um… business. Wouldn't feel right for me to tell that part of the story without him here." 

“So Marc’s not–” you hesitate, unsure of the terminology to use, and Steven shakes his head filling in the end of your question. 

“No, Marc’s popped out. Or well… in, I suppose. He’s left us alone for the night. Said he wanted to give us some privacy so you and I could catch up,” Steven says as he runs the outside of his knuckles along the line of your arm. 

It continues against the inside of your wrists before he finds your hand and interlaces your fingers together, squeezing your palm tightly in his. “We’ll tell you everything in the morning," he promises. 

"It's okay Steven. I'll wait", you say, shifting your leg until your limbs are tangling together in an attempt to have your bodies touching as much as possible. 

Right now you’re just happy to have this moment, with him here with you. It’s something you couldn’t imagine just twenty-four hours ago that waiting until morning to hear Marc’s side of it seems like such a negligible small sacrifice to make. 

"I still can’t believe I get to have this,” Steven murmurs like an echo of your own thoughts. 

“That first date we had…” His eyes are warm and crinkle at the corners as he lets out a small huff of laughter. “God, I couldn't believe someone like you was interested in me, you know? When you didn't show up at the restaurant, I thought for sure you'd realised how far out of my league you were. That wasn’t it at all though, was it?"

"No,” you let out a laugh of your own, relieved and vindicated to set the record straight at last. “You were the one who didn't show up! It was humiliating! I’d never been stood up before in my entire adult life."

You're still laughing to yourself as your fingers wrap around his golden chain, fingers tracing the outline of the golden David Star pendant, re-familiarising yourself with the comforting shape of it.

“Why did you come out at all then? When I called you on the wrong night after already standing you up. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told me to get stuffed and blocked my number after that.”

“I almost did,” you admit, “but I didn’t have anything better to do. And besides, I thought you were cute.” 

An image of Steven sat down in the corner of a small table, glum and small, flashes before your eyes. You see it play out in slow motion, the memory of it as vivid as ever as he spots you, with an ever-so-precious smile, lighting up the space around him makes your heart flutter in your chest all over again. 

“I’m so glad I decided to come," you tell him.

“I’m glad too. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you. Or well– I can, but I don’t want to. This is so much better.” The corners of his lips curve, eyes warm, and just like in your memory, it seems to light up the whole flat and you with it.

Looking up into those big gorgeous brown eyes, you feel starstruck all over again. If someone told you Steven had single-handedly affixed every star in the constellation of the night sky, you'd believe them without a single doubt. 

“I really love you, Steven.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I finally see that, love," he says as he tips down his head closer to you, eyes ever so soft. His voice is tender, earnest. “It means a lot to me, you know. That you knew about… well, everything, and still chose to stay with me anyway.”

For a long moment, you stay like that, holding each other in silence as you run your hands across his back, up and down his arms, along that sharp, beautiful jawline. His stubble prickles at your palm, and you cherish the tiny irritation because it reminds you that this is real. That Steven really is back, safe and sound, and still yours.

You’re lying on your sides in the cramped space of the sofa with barely any distance between you. Noses brushing, foreheads pressing up against the other’s as you refuse to let go of his hand. You ignore the fact that it's getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, even as your jaw cracks wide open with a gaping yawn. Even as the morning light is starting to seep through the blinds, splashing golden light across the walls of your flat.

Instead, you smile at him, sleep heavy in your eyes as you squint them open so that you can still observe him. Not ready to let this night end.

“Sleep, love. We have all the time in the world to talk,” Steven murmurs softly, one thumb brushing up against the apple of your cheeks. “Not going anywhere, remember? And I can promise that for real this time.”

You wake up on your sofa. 

Steven isn't there, limbs squished between yours in the position you had fallen asleep to last night. There are no folded clothes next to you, because you'd fallen asleep still wearing them last night. All you have is the quilt from your bed that has miraculously been moved on top of you.

It's also quiet. No running tap, no clinking of porcelain being put away, no crackling noise from the frying pan. 

Digging your elbow into the cushions, you sit up and the quilt that's tucked to your shoulders, slides down to your waist. The cold draft of the room sweeps over you and makes you shiver. You survey the remaining space of your flat. No one else is here.

You frown, as you scoot out of sofa, wincing at the biting cold of the floor that eats into your toes. Barefeet, you pad over to the loo, knowing damned well that neither Marc nor Steven will be standing by the sink. Still it doesn't seem to stop the disappointment that sits like lead in your stomach at the sight of the small empty room.

There’s a part of you that’s tempted to ransack your own home. Search every corner, flip every cushion on the sofa, and get down on your knees to look under the bed. You don't, because you've been here before. 

That first night when Marc was in your flat and had evacuated the premises by morning. He hadn’t left you a sign of life then, no breakfast, no clothing, not even a note.

It's probably why you don't spot it at first. Perched on cushion of the ottoman, waiting for you.

A small nondescript gift box that fits neatly in the palm of your hand as you pick it up, it feels heavier than you had expected given how small it is. Shaking it gently, you try to make out what it is, but there's just a faint rustling sound that doesn't give away any hints of what's inside. You look under the box but there's no note.

You kneel down on the carpet and scrape off the scotch tape with your nails as you open it. There is soft tissue paper inside and it crinkles with a pleasant sound when you unravel it to reveal a small metallic box. 

Holding it in your hand, you inspect it a bit closer. It’s a kitschy jewellery box of cheap brushed brass. The box is etched with generic hieroglyphics that are often slapped onto the tacky souvenirs Steven sells in the gift shop. Except this one does not carry any museum branding. Given the professional pride Steven takes in the accuracy of Egyptian trinkets, you can’t imagine that it's a gift from him... which leaves only one other person that could have left this for you.

You crack open the heavy brass lid. A malformed shaped figure, half dog half man, springs up from the box. It's a little banged up, with its long snout and dented face, that must be depicting Anubis, as it slowly starts to spin around almost like a ballerina.

There's a lovely tinkling sound coming from the box. A melody. 

It's a music box.

Something pleasant unfurls inside of your stomach. It sneaks up on you, travelling up your chest to the tip of your nose and you feel warm all over.

Sad and melancholy, you recognise it as a slightly off-key rendition of Moonlight Sonata. Whether the melody is wonky by design or simply shoddy manufacturing you can’t tell, but the imperfection only makes your heart fonder as you find yourself staring down at it with a dopey smile.

You're so caught up in your bubble, it’s almost enough to make you miss the commotion in the hallway outside your flat. 

"Mate, watch where you're going yeah?" Someone grumbles outside your flat.

It's followed by mumbled apologies before your lock is being manhandled to the jingle of keys and the front door swings open. Then Steven walks in, hugging two large paper bags to his chest. 

"Morning love! You're up already." 

Your lips pull into a wide smile as you watch him precariously balancing the bags in his arms. They are tall enough to obstruct his line of sight as he makes his way towards your kitchenette, and he’s relying on muscle memory alone to navigate. 

"Did Marc say good morning before he left?” Steven asks, as he starts setting down the bags on the kitchen counter. “I woke up in your hallway downstairs just now. Dunno why Marc dumped me there instead of coming up, or what is in these.”

He’s reaching into the bags to pull out containers that you know from the sweet breadlike scent of flour and butter wafting over the space of the flat, must be your breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say as something in your stomach flutters, and Steven looks up at you confounded. 

His head tilts down, eyeing the styrofoam box in his hands before opening the lid. Even from this distance, you can see the browned fluffy pancakes stacked inside.

“Oh wow, how did you–” he picks the container up staring at the bottom as if looking for a label or a text that would explain how you knew (even though the distance would have made it illegible even if there was one).

“It’s Sunday,” you explain, but it only makes Steven even more puzzled, his eyebrows knitting closely together on his forehead. “Marc always makes pancakes on Sunday.” 

At that, his expression softens into a warm smile. He turns back to the bags and pulls out a second styrofoam box and a handful of plastic cutlery. Carrying them over to you, he settles your breakfast on the ottoman before joining you on the sofa. 

“Oh hey! That’s the music box," Steven exclaims when he spots it, unwound and now quiet, still perched in your lap, "I wondered why Marc insisted on hauling that thing along with us. I told him the hieroglyphics were gibberish, and music boxes weren't invented until the late 1700s in Switzerland. Not historically accurate at all." 

Steven opens the styrofoam box labeled ‘Vegan’ and empties the included container of maple syrup over the pancakes inside as he keeps talking.

“Still insisted on getting it from that tourist stall though. He argued with the vendor for a good half hour even though they’re a dime a dozen and carried that little box with us the whole time. Protected it like it was a precious artefact." 

Picking up the takeout box, he moves to place it in your lap, but his eyes linger at the music box already there. "Guess I know why, now.”

Your fingers curl around the music box, the soft glow in your chest, growing with every beat of your heart as you imagine Marc, haggling with a local vendor for this cheap little trinket. Your cheeks warm at the idea of Marc, keeping this thing with him, in his pocket, close to him, through the weeks that have passed, and you brush your fingers over the etched markings, imagining him doing the same and whether he was thinking of you as he did. 

"I'll have to remember to thank him.” 

"Why don’t you do it right now?" Steven asks you. 

Your eyes dart up, and see Steven smiling down at you. Caught off guard, you stare at him blankly, it takes you a few to puzzle together the meaning of his sentence, still unused to the new reality that Marc and Steven know about each other now. 

"Yes," you say, then you nod, your pulse beating excitedly at the prospect of seeing Marc again after so many weeks. "Yes, I'd like that." 

Steven returns your nod, still with that soft expression painted across his face. He crosses his legs to sit upright in a more relaxed position as if to prepare himself. Then he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for a long moment, deep in concentration, and then they open again under drawn brows.

It’s been so long since you’ve spoken to Marc that it takes you a moment to work up your courage. You feel oddly nervous like it’s the first school day back from half-term and you haven’t seen your mates all summer and you’re worried about how much you’ve all changed, what they’ll think of you. That same jittery feeling you get when you’re early at a restaurant and are seated by the table first as you’re waiting for your date, nerves alight anxiously looking out through the window to see if they’re arriving yet. Except, you’re in your flat, not a restaurant. And he’s not really your date, he's– he’s– the alter of your boyfriend, and now he’s sitting right in front of you.

You can’t seem to settle on anything clever or heartfelt to say, and in the end all you manage is a tentative, "Hi, Marc."

His eyes are soft brown and kinder than you ever remember seeing them. No longer stern and grumpy like you recall, instead his features scrunch up apologetically.

"Whoops, sorry."

That's not right. The South London accent throws you off.

“Still me, I’m afraid," Steven says, as he shoots you a quick nervous wave to prove it. 

Biting down on his lower lip, Steven looks around himself. He seems bewildered as if he's looking for Marc and expecting him to pop ‘round from the corner of your fridge. "I swear this normally works," he mumbles. 

Steven's eyes continue to roam around the room, darting from the fridge to your bed to the telly, until they finally settle on the short hallway that leads to your front door. 

“Wait just let me– gimme a second will you?” Without any further explanation, he gets up to his feet and walks over until he’s standing in the hall in front of the full length mirror hung on your wall across from the door to the loo. 

You watch in confusion, as you see Steven close his eyes and take a deep calming breath. You wait with a suspended breath, as Steven opens his eyes again, waiting for something to happen. You're not sure what, but what you don't expect is for him to proceed to have a staring competition with himself in the mirror. 

"Uhm... Steven, what are you--" 

At your question, he turns his head over his shoulder towards your direction, then flits back to the mirror. His expression turns sheepish as he realises how confusing this must be to you. 

“Mirrors help,” he explains. “Or anything reflective really. Reflections lets us communicate with each other more efficiently when we’re not in sync. It’s a bit hard to explain, but it’s almost like having a window to the outside, yeah? Sort of a visual aid for whoever’s fronting to speak to the other. I’m not sure why that is but it’s worked for us so far.”

You're still a little bit confused, but you think you understand the gist of what he means. So you nod, and that little nod seems to be enough reassurance for Steven who turns back around, facing the mirror to finish what he started. 

From the sofa, all you see is Steven taking deep calming breaths, staring intensely at his own reflection in the mirror. It reminds you a bit of those youtube videos of cute puppies who are staring at their mirror reflection thinking there’s another puppy in there. 

Before long, Steven is vaguely gesturing towards the mirror with a small awkward waving motion and his reflection self mirrors the greeting. 

“Hiya. So I know you might be a bit knackered from the trip and trying to catch a snooze, but if you want to come out and have a chat, now would be a good time.”

There’s a small, silent pause during which the line of Steven’s mouth purses to one side almost like a small pout, and then he tries again. “Any minute now, Marc.”

More silence. If anything is happening, then you’re not privy to it. But judging from the exasperated expression on Steven’s face. He isn’t privy to any changes either.

Another moment goes by, then another. Then Steven is grabbing the sides of the mirror, leaning in closer as if for privacy as he loudly whispers to his reflection in an agitated tone. "Stop being a child. You're embarrassing yourself. Embarrassing both of us, in fact. Making me look like a right knob, you are!"

Steven's mouth drops open, eyes narrowing like he's hearing something you aren’t. After several long moments, his shoulders stoop. He takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes briefly in resignation before he turns back to you with a small frown. 

"Marc is... Uhm... He doesn't want– He's being uncooperative at the moment." 

"Oh..." 

You don't know what else to say. It feels like there was a balloon in your chest and someone walked up with a needle, pricking it. You let out a long breath you didn't know you were holding as the whole of your chest cage deflates with it. 

Disappointment. That's what you feel, you realise. You hadn’t realised quite how much you were looking forward to seeing Marc again. 

"That's– That's alright,” you say, trying to convince yourself, “He must be tired after everything. We can talk later. It's not like he's avoiding me or anything, right?" 

Steven's eyes flicker away from yours, down to the floor and it stops you short. 

"I'm… not exactly sure," he says bluntly, honest as ever. "He's resisting me. Refusing to take the body, which he hasn't really done before." 

"Oh," you repeat again because you don't know what word can adequately convey the sudden pang you feel in your ribs out of seemingly nowhere. 

You don't understand why Marc wouldn’t want to talk to you. Is he mad at you? 

No that can't be. He left you on good terms. Holding you, comforting you when you were in shambles. You still remember the weight of his arms wrapped around you, when you were crying your heart out. The warm tone in his words as he comforted you and told you he was going to 'fix everything'. 

Oh. Oh fuck.That bloody wanker!! 

He wouldn't. 

Except you know that idiot, and he definitely would.

Your fingers tighten around the cold brass of the music box, and you realise they’re trembling slightly. 

"Steven, did Marc say anything to you before you came here last night?" 

Steven tilts his head to the side, like a confused golden retriever. "Uhm... I don't know what you mean–"

"You said Marc was going to leave us alone last night. Did he tell you that? What exactly did he say?"  

"Uhm..." Steven glances at the mirror, then darts his eyes back towards you. "He just said he wanted to give us some alone time. Wanted to let you and me talk properly and that he didn’t want to be in the way." 

That seems innocuous enough, but if your intuition is right... If you know Marc well enough... 

"Steven, what were his exact words?" 

Steven shifts on his feet, staring up at the ceiling as if he's trying to replay the memory in his head. Whatever he's remembering is causing his forehead to crease. 

“He said… he was going to give you and me time alone together. That he…” Steven's mouth presses firmly together until it’s compressed into a thin line as he starts to frown. “Wasn’t going to interfere anymore.”

Your stomach sinks. 

It might seem innocuous. 

But you know Marc. Know him too well now, to not know what exactly he is planning. 

He was going to 'fix everything' by removing what the considers to be the problem from yours and Steven's relationship. Remove the 'interference' that he believes himself to be. 

For fuck’s sake, Marc. 

"Is everything okay, love?" Steven asks gently. 

You shake your head, and there's a sharp sting that prickles behind your eyelids as you try to find the words. "I think Marc might not intend to front anymore."

"He wouldn’t,” Steven huffs, “that’s silly!” He shakes his head, but his expression bleeds into one of worry. 

 You let go of the music box, as you continue. 

"He thinks that by avoiding me, giving us time alone together then everyone will be happier that way," you say, settling your hands on your knees as you grip tight enough that it hurts. "Because he thinks that he's interfering with our relationship. I think that's what he meant last night."

“But surely, he just meant for the night. That he wanted us to be able to catch up because we’d been away from each other for so long. I don’t think he…” Steven’s sentence trails off, and his gaze drops from your face before he turns back to the mirrored reflection. 

“I don’t think he means permanently? That would be ridiculous wouldn’t it?” He looks at the silvered surface and his own form in it, almost accusatory, as he speaks. 

“What– Is he just supposed to hide from us for the rest of our lives? That’d be absurd. We share the same body. He can’t seriously think that’s possible to keep up. Or that it would make us happy, would he?”

Except this is Marc the two of you are talking about. The same man whose grand plan was to hide from Steven for the rest of his life to ensure his happiness, and they share the same body. It is definitely something that Marc would seriously consider possible to keep up.

Steven lets out a disbelieving laugh then his eyes widen with concern, the laughter dying in his throat. 

“Oh god,” Steven says. “He means it permanently. Marc is going to hide from us, permanently.”

~ Continue ~

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Mine (Swiss Ghoul x Fem!OC)

Summary: After escaping her toxic ex-boyfriend Y/n runs to the only place that had ever made her feel safe. As a long-term friend of Copia and his ghouls she swears that she is destined to be alone forever because of her poor taste in men; what happens though wen one of her best friends disagrees and confesses something very important that may alter the relationship between them?

Fandom: Ghost (Swedish Band)

Pairing: Swiss x Fem!Reader

Triggers: Cussing, innuendos, mention of mental and physical abuse

Auth. Note: The portrayal of Ghouls and Papa is from a fandom base and imagination alone; the personas of the band do not have anything to do with the real people behind the masks. I am a fan of their music and respect their privacy so their stage persona is separate from the real-life individuals in my works.

My Workshop

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and her teeth sank into the plush of her bottom lip as her skin sparked with fire that made it tingle. She could image the torn skin bubbling around the edges as the antiseptic killed any germs or debris that may have managed to get into her wound. She did not whimper though - she could at least take pride in that. She did not utter a sound to express the pain. It's not like the worst has come yet. A rough padded thumb pressed against her mouth gently but insistent as it pulled her lip from between her teeth as a hum broke the silence in the dimly lit room.

The lamp on the desk was their only source of light; the darkness that did not reach its border seemed foreboding and cold in the dead of night. A quick glance at the old circular clock on the wall by the door read it as nearly 2:00 a.m. in the morning causing a new sensation of guilt to tug at her heart; distracting her from the pain on her face.

"Mi cara, you should have told me sooner." his voice was soft and tinged with the readiness for sleep.

Y/n's eyes shifted from the clock to the man in front of her. Her vision was aided only by the yellowed light of the lamp beside them casting wary shadows along the man's unpainted face and the dark circles beneath his eyes causing him to take on the appearance of a human panda. His hair with brushed back but only by natural force instead of the hair gel she was used to and in this light, it looked a little greyer than usual - the black hair dye must have faded since the last time she saw him.

But instead of answering him, she reached out to playful swipe at the hair above his lips. "This is new. I don't know if I like it yet or not." she teased but the man's lips only curved downwards further causing her to sigh and drop her head a little - dislodging the attempts of cleaning the cuts along her face.

"What would you have done Copia? Whisked me away to hide me in the Abbey like a long lost remnant of the past? I'm not a little girl anymore, I can't always be relying on you to protect me like before." Y/n's voice sounded pessimistically fed up and tired.

Copia huffed out a breath and waved his hands. "Of course, I would have taken you away! You are no lost remnant of the past, principessa. You are a treasure and one of my closest friends. No... you are famiglia! Why do you insist on returning to him when you know he will only hurt you again? Won't you say yes and stay here?" the man's words ended almost pleading as his mismatched eyes stared at the younger woman in front of him with sadness in his eyes and anger in his blood.

Y/n had been such a great friend for the last several years. Before he had ever been chosen to be the next Papa, Copia was nothing but a Cardinal and in most eyes not as important as a papa but Y/n had always treated him with kindness and with humanity - treated him like a lost long friend from the get-go. He met her through his brother Terzo who was papa before him. She had been a good friend to Terzo and often visited the Abbey; making friends with the Clergy and Ghouls alike with her sunshine spirit, unique humor, and infectious smiles. Despite never joining the Clergy officially everyone who had known her during that time thought her part of the family. She just...stopped coming around after Terzo's death except on the rare occasion like tonight when she'd slink back in for safety with her tail between her legs covered in cuts and bruises because of her new boyfriend of a few months. He did not deserve her and Copia could never find it in himself to force her to stay in the safety of those she knew would never lift a finger unlike the stupid boy she dated - a boy not worthy enough to be called a man.

"I'll just...I just needed to clear my head Copia and-"

the door to papa's office burst open and a figure bent over with hands on their knees panting. Nostrils flared and hair askew from sleep stumbled in the pack with eyes filled with a frenzy. Y/n hadn't seen the ghouls often without their masks and the sight was always a wonder more than a fright to see them unglamoured with their ashen skin, claws, fangs, and extra appendages.

"Oh for satanas-" Copia threw the blooded cotton ball he had been using to clean Y/n's cuts with on the table and began to stand up but a deep growl that sounded near feral vibrated within the office and the man halted mid-motion.

Ghouls were not always as dangerous as most people would like to think. Well, not to Y/n who knew how to handle them. They were rather domesticated as they lived lives as mostly humans despite being creatures of Hell. So the woman did not startle when a lithe frame bolted forward and she was jerked forward by her shoulders. An unmasked face buried itself into her neck and she felt the puffs of exhaled warm breath along the skin of her neck as she craned it to the side submissively allowing the ghoul to take in her scent.

There was another growl of disapproval and anger as the creature pulled back and Y/n was faced with the fierce glare of the Multi Ghoul Swiss as he assessed the damage to her face.

"Tell me." his voice was pitched much lower and deeper than the usual light-hearted bantering tone she was used to. "Tell me who did this to you." he demanded

Y/n swallowed unable to look away from his piercing stare and somewhere behind the ghoul Aether's familiar tone pitched in with an apologetic look on his face.

"We smelled the blood as soon as you came into the abbey. We were worried..."

Y/n's lips curled slightly into a reassuring smile as she raised her hands to grab at the strong forearms bare and warm beneath her touch in hopes to soothe the agitated ghoul.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you guys...I forgot you guys could smell that far...I-I thought if I just came to Copia and get patched up I'd be gone by the morning and you wouldn't have to see me like this..." she trailed off.

The ghouls were always so protective and sweet with her but she and Swiss had a special bond - he was like her best friend and easy banter and flirtiness were their love language. Never had she seen him look so..so upset and feral before. Casting her gaze away from Swiss she looked over his shoulder to find Aether standing by the door watching a very irritated fire ghoul pace in front of them while Rain leaned against Mountain who was guarding the door watching with worried green and blue eyes alike. Dew was pacing back and forth; clawed hands flexing while every once in a while he'd look her way only to growl every so often under the watchful gaze of Aether. the scent of blood must be getting to him; Dewdrop was always the most sensitive when it came to blood and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had been the one to smell her first and alert the others. Ghouls were just like that but if one of their own was injured the entire pack was on high alert.

"W-well now that you've been found out I suppose there is no use running away now hmm?" Copia sighed rising to his feet and rubbing a hand through his hair. "All of you off to bed now. Mi care you can stay-"

Swiss didn't allow Copia to finish and instead, his arms wrapped around the girl and hoisted her up so quickly she squeaked and wrapped around him like a koala. Thighs and arms holding on tightly as he braced her against his lean body and pushed past his pack mates to walk down the halls towards the Ghouls den.

"Swiss." Y/n grumbled feeling her cheeks flush in the darkness but due to the amazing night vision of these creatures, she knew he probably saw it anyway.

"Mountain can fix you up and then you're coming to bed with me." the multi-ghoul snapped back causing Y/n to wince at his tone.

He did not let go or say anything until they were safely back in the Ghoul's common rooms. She was directed into Swiss' familiar room filled to the brim with music posters, music sheets, instruments, and more shapes within the darkness Y/n was not able to make out as she was plopped on the large bed big enough for more than just two. Her back was pulled flush to Swiss' chest as he yanked her by her waist to him; curling around her from behind like some kind of inhumane ghoul cape causing warmth to spread through her as she heard the subtle sniffing and the almost inaudible growl the multi ghoul let out; it was almost so silent that she felt it against her back more than hearing it.

Mountain kneeled in front of the pair with a jar in his hand filled with some kind of creamy gel inside tinted a sickly green and when he opened it the scent of earth, pine, and something almost spicy invaded her nose making her cough when it got inhaled too deeply into her lungs. The tall ghoul gave a slight rumble of amusement before his attention was drawn toward the ghoul draped over her back.

"May I?" he asked quietly and Y/n's mouth turned into a confused frown as she glanced between the pair.

Why was Mountain asking Swiss' permission? She was the one that was injured but the way her best friend tensed against her back for a moment had her ignoring the silent question in her mind and reaching up to grab at the toned forearm wrapped around her chest and gave it a few soothing strokes with her fingers. That seemed to do the trick as she felt his body slacken against her again and Mountain made a soothing noise as if in thanks to the other before dipping his fingers into the sticky mess in the jar.

He reached out towards her face and the cold substance felt almost tingly against her skin as he carefully smeared it along the bruise on her cheekbone and then returned with a new dap of whatever cream it was to the cut on her other cheek causing her to hiss out in pain as the minty tingly feeling invaded the open cut with more potency than the antiseptic crap Copia had dabbed it with earlier. The sound of pain slipping from her caused Swiss to snarl startling her and lurch forward toward Mountain nearly tumbling her along with him but Mountain seemed to have already predicted it and jerked backward just as Rain who had by this point gone unnoticed grabbed Swiss by his shoulders from where he had been perched in the bed beside them silent as a mouse to tug him back against his smaller frame; a chittering noise coming from him as he tried to soothe the other.

Y/n half turned to look at the pair with wide eyes and a hand instinctively placing it on the heaving chest behind her. "Hey there big boy, it's okay! Calm down Swiss. Mountain didn't hurt me...it's okay." she tried to soothe with a fake smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Swiss bared his fangs again and struggled but despite the smaller frame of Rain at his back, the little ghoul was rather strong; strong enough to keep the other at bay.

"Mine!"

Y/n blinked and she inhaled sharply at the proclamation. Something in side of her seemed to click into place as she stared at how feral Swiss seemed to be and she reached out to test the theory as she rested her hand on Mountain's large shoulder only to have Swiss struggling anew and causing Rain to grunt when an elbow jabbed him in the stomach.

"Okay! Okay! Swiss hey! Look at me!" Y/n's hand yanked back and she flapped it at the other two quickly. "GO! I can handle this. You're just making him more agitated-"

"But Y/n-" Rain piped up and she shook her head once sharply.

"I think you know what's going on....and Swiss and I have to talk. But we can't talk if he's riled up right now...please just..." she sighed rubbing her forehead. "It's been a long night."

A long night that was not yet over as Mountain gave a brief nod and recapped the jar. Helping Rain off of Swiss so that the pair could slip from the room. As soon as Y/n and Swiss were alone the lanky male pulled the girl to him. Sprawling her unceremoniously on top of him as he held her almost too tightly while burying his face into her neck.

"Oof!" Y/n pushed at his stomach to get leverage but it only caused the other to tighten his hold.

So Y/n waited while Swiss calmed down enough for her to shift into a more comfortable position. Her face lifted to meet his in the dimly lit room.

"I'm going to kill him."

"You can't kill Mountain, Swiss."

The other snorted and pressed his nose against her hair; inhaling her scent like it was the last thing on earth. "I'm talking about the bastard that hurt you."

Y/n went silent. She didn't need to ask how he knew who it was; the ghoul's scent was inhuman - that was already proven when the pack barged into Copia's office earlier.

"He is my boyfriend...well I mean, ex-boyfriend now I guess." Y/n found herself relaxing with her head resting against her best friend's shoulder while she tucked herself into his body.

"He usually doesn't go this far...But, he said that I was cheating on him with my co-worker because he saw me eating lunch with him. It was a meeting to discuss a project we were working on together as a team...Ironically, my co-worker is actually gay so. Jokes on him."

"Is this the same guy....you said you met on that dating app a few months ago? Is that why you haven't been coming by as often?" Swiss' voice finally spoke into the darkness

She shrugged slightly and played with the fabric of his sleep shirt. "Yeah...I guess. I'd like to say it was because of work but...I think we both knew it wasn't. I'm sorry...for not telling you sooner. I usually called Copia to meet me outside so my scent wouldn't get to you guys..." She felt her eyes sting with tears.

"I've been so fucking stupid. I'm sorry Swiss...I'm so fucking sorry." her body trembled with her tears and the ghoul felt his heart tighten as did his arms around her to hold her still against him.

"Aw sweets, you didn't have to hold it from me...you're my best friend...me and the pack...for satanas sake Y/n we'd have pulled you out of there sooner, baby." he closed his eyes tightly and hugged her for his own comfort as much as hers.

They held each other; taking comfort for the turmoil that resided in both of their hearts due to tonight's endeavor. But it was Y/n that finally calmed down enough to speak; her voice suddenly shy as she sniffed back the rest of her tears.

"Hey Swiss..." she asked tentatively. When she received a lulling hum that vibrated into her chest from his she continued. "W-what did you mean earlier?...."

"Hmm?"

"You told Mountain..." she swallowed. "You called me yours."

Swiss' body still unnaturally so beneath her and she feared she'd said something wrong. They were best friends...it wasn't as if they hadn't talked about such things before. Well, perhaps more sexual innuendos before but that was teasing jokes and jabs. The question seemed too personal and yet a delicate matter.

"What do you know about ghouls, Y/n?" Swiss finally asked and she blinked at the soft question.

"Well, I mean you're demons...you got abilities... you're packing animals in a way and a little animalistic at times since you're not human...And you were summoned here for a reason. Why?" she tilted her head up to find that surprisingly Swiss' ashen skin was tinged with blush and he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"What comes with being a pack animal?" he insisted licking his lips

Y/n frowned thoughtfully but when she didn't reply Swiss continued. "Every creature has a partner...some animals have homosexual partnerships and others normal; some when are in close pack dynamics there is more than one partner they spend the rest of their lives with...but to continue the species every animal must have a significant other...have you ever noticed how Rain and Mountain seem close? Closer than the usual familial pack dynamics? O-Or how Dew and I are close in the same way..."

He watched slowly as the information dawned on her and Y/n pushed herself up with a pinched brow. "Are you telling me Mountain and Rain are life partners and you and Dew too?" she blinked at him. "I mean no judgment from me obviously but damn. That's news." she laughed a bit and sat up to sit crisis cross on his bed.

Swiss looked a bit frustrated as he too sat up. "Sweetheart you aren't understanding...Mates are overly protective of each other and have a stronger bond that goes deeper than a pack dynamic bond. The way Dew was acting when we barged in tonight at Copia's office...h-how I acted earlier...and nearly tore Mountain's throat out?" his eyes were insistent as he leaned closer scanning her face.

Realization dawned slowly like the sun rising over the horizon during sunrise and Swiss felt his heart constrict with nerves. "Swiss are you...."

His breath came out like a balloon popping and his head dropped to his head. "Shit baby. Dew doesn't even realize it yet...I had figured it out during your last visit before Tero's death but I didn't want to say anything because I was scared to scare you off..I didn't realize that I had almost lost you and when I saw you tonight I just- the blood...the knowledge..the fact that I hadn't seen you in such a long time I just-"

Y/n's hands gripped the front of his shirt and she was yanking him in before he could finish his ramblings. His mouth tasted too damn good as she pressed her lips to his. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she took in the sensation of kissing her best friend - it was so natural and made her feel whole...loved in a way she hadn't in such a long time. It was nothing like kissing her ex-boyfriend and a small part of her brain stupidly smacked her for being so blind to have seen the signs earlier.

When the air became too thin within the confinements of their lungs they parted with panting breaths but Swiss kept her close with a firm hold on her face; pressing his forehead to hers and crowding her against the mattress where she lay flat on her back staring up at him with wide eyes as she searched his face.

"You didn't lose me." her words came shaky as her hands loosened in his shirt only to slide up his back to hold him closer to her. "I'm sorry I was so blind...I didn't realize," she whispered feeling her throat constrict thinking that she'd isolated herself for so long because of her ex-boyfriend she missed out on finding the man she really wanted all along was right in front of her.

"Shh..." Swiss' lips pecked hers again before drawing her into another deep kiss - this time it was sweet and lingering. "I would have waited...shit, I would have been happy just to be near you even if you never knew..."

"I wouldn't have...I would have missed you and the others...the abbey and the papas too much to stay arm's length away from you guys. You guys are my home." her eyes sparkled looking up at him and Swiss shot her a toothy grin.

"So...you gonna stay?"

"Do I have a choice?" she teased rubbing her nose against his and was rewarded with a chittering sound as the multi-ghoul lowered himself fully on her and rested his head against her chest; listening to her heartbeat.

"Not anymore." his hands gripped her sides to hold her as he nuzzled at her collarbone.

Y/n laughed and sank her fingers into his curls and scraped at his scalp like she knew he liked it. "I'm all yours Swiss." she promised.

"Uh...well actually.." Swiss tilted his head up with a tentative smile.

She linked at him. "Dew doesn't know does he?"

"Well...no."

"Oh, I'm so telling him!"

"You are not!" fingers pressed to her sides causing her to shriek in laughter and wiggle beneath his hold.

When she couldn't breathe anymore Swiss stole whatever breath she did have left in her lungs with a kiss before pulling away to stare down at her. His hand came up to stroke along the side of her face and he gave her a softened smile as he rested their foreheads together again.

"Well, I suppose I can get used to my boyfriend having a boyfriend..." Y/n finally conceded with an airy but playful tone. "However will I handle two boyfriends to love me?"

Swiss grinned "Oh...I have a few ideas...." his grin turned a little more seductive and Y/n felt her heat flush.

"No...Swiss hey...no! Bad ghoul!" she scrambled from beneath him - a feat she knew he allowed while she scampered across the room and flung open the door with a wail of excited panic.

"Dew!!!"

Swiss gave a toothy grin that nearly split his face before he was launching himself down the hall full force into a chase.

Auth. Note: This is my first Ghost Band one shot so I hope it's not too bad and is entertaining at best for you guys! I love this band so much that it's unhealthy. More to come if people are interested! I have a full list of one-shots for this fandom <3

[eyelessfog]

The weird thing about Sausage, Joel thinks, is that he doesn’t love him.

Well, no. That was terrible phrasing, actually, and- no. No, that in itself was not strange at all. Joel can’t actually think of anyone he’s in love with. So Sausage is by no means strange in that right.

No, the weird thing about Sausage is that they have a child together, and Joel doesn’t love him.

See, the thing about children made of magic is that they have, historically (And you know you can trust Joel on this, because Joel has seen those historical moments), been made out of either love or spite.

Children made of love are the fun ones. They’re the children in those happy ending legends, where everything works out. They’re wanted by their parents, either because they’re the personification of their parents’ love or because their parents asked for them and knew how to work with the consequences.

On the other hand, there are the children made of spite. Usually, it’s the fault of those tricky fairies, or a particularly mean witch. (Joel has lived long enough to know that few witches are really as terrible as people expect them to be. The girl from the Evermoore is certainly a good one, if a little worse at magic than any other witch he’s seen.) The children made from spite generally carry this foreboding aura with them - caused entirely by their parents’ fear that would be forced upon them from the moment they were born. These ones were always nervous, always afraid that they might be taken or used against those they were close to. Because these children, while requested by the parents out of love, were created for the sole purpose of having a little bit of terrible fun with mortals.

Joel wouldn’t pretend that he’d never done something like that. He got bored sometimes too.

But still, these were the only two ways Joel had ever (ever) seen a child be made magically. Out of either pure, unfiltered love and magic, or from the desire for a child and someone who made it happen on purpose. He’s not sure what it means that this one was made out of neither love nor purpose.

He found himself scared to know what fate it left for the kid.

The kid. How uncaring a way to refer to them. Their name is Hermes - his idea and their excited agreement - and he loved them.

They don’t particularly look like either him or Sausage, with blond hair instead of some shade of brown, black eyes that looked purple under direct light, and they’re paler than either of them.

But they are undoubtedly their child.

They had a creativity that Joel recognized as his own - preferring a single colour palette but a million styles - and a mischievousness and love for pranks that feels so like Sausage. They fly with the grace of someone born with wings, but had been gifted them the same way Sausage had been. They’re just... such a perfect mix of them.

So. Hermes is a wonderful kid. An anomaly, by all means, but no less real, no less loved, and no less Joel’s child.

They sit on his knee now, in fact, perfectly content to colour a page as their father thinks. It’s a fairly often occurrence - Joel zoning out - and Hermes has mentioned that they don’t mind the silence, so long as their father is nearby. They’re perfectly capable of grabbing his attention if they want it (slapping him on the arm works quite well, they’ve found), though they’re so invested in their work that it’s unnecessary.

He rubs a hand through their hair, and they huff, batting at his fingers.

He’s present again, thinking about the things around him instead of stuck in his own head, but still, he can’t help but think that Hermes acts like a child made from love. The joyful ones. The ones with happy endings.

(Joel hopes they get a happy ending.)

He watches them swap out their blue crayon for a purple one, and notice that they’re drawing the eye of Stratos. “That looks good, kiddo,” he tells them. He keeps quiet for a couple seconds more, then: “Do you feel loved?”

Hermes pauses, purple crayon halfway done colouring in the circle. They look up at him, almost comedically slow, and lock eyes. (Joel is quite sure he’s doing this because Eddie, their grandfather, has a habit of doing it to Sausage when he says something nonsensical, but Hermes’ small size and big eyes make it lose it’s disappointment factor.)

“Daddy?” Hermes asks.

“I just wanted to know, kiddo,” he says. “If you don’t, then I’ll have to work a little harder on that, right?”

Hermes tilts their head to the side, squinting at him. “You and daddy Sausage are super different. But you still love me a lot.” They squint harder at him, and- he’s pretty sure their eyes are just closed now, actually. “I like daddy Sausage better though.”

Joel frowns. “Well, that makes sense, but also... why?”

Hermes turns around, shifting in their spot on his leg, so that looking up at him is easier. He’s pretty sure the whole interaction would be better if he was just... lying down. “Well, cuz daddy Sausage would have laughed at that. And also he’s more fun.” They grab his hand and move it onto their lap so they can place their own hand against his palm.

They’re so small.

“But I like that you give me gifts. And sit with me when I say I want you to sit with me. I know that that’s how you tell me you love me.” They’re kicking their feet, and they’re not looking at him, and he’s pretty sure it’s because they’re embarrassed.

Giving gifts meant he loved someone? He’s not too sure about that. He only really gives gifts to Hermes and-

Ah.

Ah.

Because that was love too, wasn’t it?

Joel felt a little embarrassed too, now. The only two loves he really remembered were eros and storge - romantic and sexual love, and then familial love - because they were the two that he’d seen most often from up high. But there are five in total, aren’t there?

And perhaps he’d been looking at the wrong kind of love being used to magically create a child. He’d always assumed that the love it took was eros. Eros to create storge. But perhaps it could be philia too. The love between friends and equals - perhaps that was enough to create a living being. Sausage is magically powerful in his own right (though Joel is pretty sure he doesn’t actually know this. He always says that the magic of Sanctuary did everything, as if he and Sanctuary weren’t linked to the core, as if the magic of Sanctuary didn’t belong to him just as much as it belonged to the land), and Joel was quite literally a god.

So maybe. Maybe with enough magic combined between the two of them, philia was enough. Maybe Hermes was one of those children of love. And they’d get that happy ending.

Maybe loving them, and loving Sausage would be enough.

He moved his hand from Hermes’ lap and picked up the purple crayon that had been discarded. “Okay, kiddo,” he says. “Let’s finish working on this eye.”

Hermes moves over, grabbing the crayon from their father, and continues drawing in the purple of the eye of Stratos. Joel is more mentally present now, and he tries colouring in the sky for them, asking what colours go where.

They’re a proper little family, at the table in Hermes’ house in Stratos, sharing crayons and little jokes. And that’s a happy ending in this story, don’t you think?

[chaotic-orphan]

Sooo… I finally wrote it. And let me warn you in advance that it is the absolute worst thing I’ve ever written in my entire life. LIke what in the wattpad fic is this?? What in the c.ai is this??? 

But also, I catered to that one infamous choking anon—look, I tried my best, okay? Also, I do love me a little choking 💀😭

The story may feel disjointed and rushed at parts, but that’s because it is— it has no real plot whatsoever. I guess I was just going for the general vibe rather than a fully fleshed out story? But then again, it is a fanfic, sooo…

Anyways, hope y’all enjoy my pathetic attempt at an Intoxicating Fear fic. Love y’alls lots, and you too, @chaotic-orphan!

xx

-~-~-~-~-~-

The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.

Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.

Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.

"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.

"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.

Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."

Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.

"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.

"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.

In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.

"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.

Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.

Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"

"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.

As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."

The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."

Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"

Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."

Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.

Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.

"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.

"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.

Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.

"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."

As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.

Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.

Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."

Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"

The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.

"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."

Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."

"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."

Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."

Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."

"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.

With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.

Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."

Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"

Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.

This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.

OSKIT SHIPPERS!!!!

CALLING OSKIT SHIPPERS!!!

WHAT IS THIS MASTERPIECE?!?!! OMG I LOVED IT, THE TENSION THE SUSPENSE!!!! ✨THE CHOKING✨ THE DESCRIPTIONS ARE SO GOOD!!! THE SETTING THE EMOTION, ALL MWAH MWAH MWAH!!!! Not only Oskit Shippers but Judkar too!!!!! THIS WAS SUCH A DELIGHTFUL READ!!!!

PLEASE PUBLISH IT IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE WITH IT!!! And if not that’s okay too, but fuck this was so enjoyable, if you’re a writer (which you MUST be, even in your spare time) send me a DM or something so I can follow your account if you write ((or you think you ever will)) because fuuuuccckk me your description is IMMACULATE and I want more!!!!

Sorry for fangirling and absolutely no pressure on my part, I just loved that, even if you’re thinking of continuing this, just wow!!! You have an immediate fan

LIKE THAT OPENING PARAGRAPH IS SO GOOD AND THEN IT JUST HOOKS YOU LIKE OMG!!!! This was incredible and the little mystery of the next morning, Kit’s disorientation of last night so good!!!! Just a fucking delight Anon, wow.

Even the dynamics of Kit and Ambrose you caught perfectly, and Ambrose’s need to control Kit🫡 CHEF’S KISS!!! Fuck I will rant more if I don’t stop, I just wow!!!! WOW!!!!! HAH HAH!!!! That was great, thank you for writing it and sharing it wow!!!!! Brilliant!!!!

[knightprincess]

Scars (Commander Wolffe x Jedi Reader) Part 4

Warning: Mentions of anxiety, self-doubt, and references to borderline torture and injuries (Clone Force 99). Words: 2.6k Pronouns Used: She/Her - Use of Y/N.

The sterile halls of Tipoca City did little to comfort (Y/N). A foreboding sense of dread attacked her when she stepped off her shuttle. At first, she'd brushed it off, reminded herself she was a Jedi Knight, sent there for a reason. Still, despite her best efforts, the anxious feelings only seemed to grow the more she walked the tangled halls of the city. The bright white lights, lack of color besides black and white, and the constant echoing of footsteps only seemed to remind them of the past events she wished to forget, erase from her mind completely.

Shaak Ti, the mother of clones, noticed something was off immediately. With little hesitation, she identified the problem, choosing to offer both comfort and distraction in the form of a tour of the facility and speaking of the cadets set to be part of the enhanced commando unit. Together, they walked across the bridges through the nearly empty mess hall and the large lab holding all the tubies as they grew. Their final stop was a training facility that had been locked and sealed off to others. 

"I made all the preparations for your return," announced Shaak Ti, briefly glancing at her datapad. The smallest of grins flashed across her lips the second she looked at the device, although it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. "The cadets are waiting for you in their barracks," she added before handing the datapad over. The motherly Jedi Master placed a comforting hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder before leaving. Allowing the Dathomirian time to think before committing to her next step. 

"Clone Force 99," voiced (Y/N), her voice echoing around the small control room. Her attention briefly turned to the expansive training facility before blinking a few times and scanning the large area. She could have sworn she had seen something moving between the gun towers, a shadow wisping past. However, the moment she allowed herself to focus and silence the intruding thoughts of the past, she was met with emptiness and the sound of the constant rain pelting the sloped roofs of the city structures. 

Quietly (Y/N) left the training facility, regretting it the minute the blind white walls and shiny onyx tiles assaulted her eyes. Once again, she recalled the memories of the past. The hurt that still lingered in the back of her mind, the hurt that never truly healed, instead forming the mental scars that haunted her. The same scars she tried so hard to hide from others, if only so another wouldn't exploit the hidden pain. 

As she walked down the sterile halls, (Y/N) began to think, allowing her mind to wander, even when she acted like she was reading the profiles of the cadets she was charged with training—the profiles of the Commandos already out in the field, or at least what was left of them after the first Battle of Geonosis. Despite her best efforts to push away the fear, it only seemed to grow in power, even more so when she felt so out of place.

She was a Dathomirian with no home among her people, a Jedi outcasted by so many, a knight without a Padawan, a general without a legion. Once again, she began to doubt herself, her abilities, and her worth to those around her. She began questioning who she was, if not a magnet for pain and the princess of the galactic underworld. The war raging across the galaxy almost seemed ironic to her, a physical manifestation of the war she was so often battling with herself, only with real consequences and lives at risk. 

"They don't have names," whispered (Y/N) with sadness upon reading the files of the four cadets properly. Only identification numbers were given, 9901 to 9904. They had no individual name personal to them or a name to call their own, as the commandos did—the same commandoes who fought in the cruelest battles across the galaxy. More sadness seemed to shimmer in her eyes; Shaaki Ti had personally made the files; she had done so with so much care but hadn't given the four names. Was (Y/N) expected to do that? Couldn't they choose their own names, as regular troopers like Fives, Rex, and Cutup had done in the past like Commander Wolffe had done long before stepping foot on the grueling battlefields? 

As soon as she stepped foot into her quarters, an exhausted sigh escaped her. The bright lights only seemed to aggravate the head injury she suffered during her long fall. The constant rain seemed to play havoc with the broken bones she was slowly healing from, the effect often throwing jabbing shots of pain. Almost as if the constant suffering wanted to remind her it still remained, to force away the sprinkle of peace when she was lucky enough to grasp it. Returning her attention to the datapad, she glanced at the thick wall decorated with a single line of onyx tiles to her immediate left; on the opposite side of it were the barracks of the cadets she was there to train or complete the training. 

Just seconds later, she returned her attention to the handheld device, reading over the training each had already received. The regular squad training was listed every other day from noon to late at night. (Y/N) took note that the Kaminoans seemed to be far harsher with the four cadets than others. In addition to squad training, they had individual training and tests that could be classed as inhumane for three of them. 

With little thought, (Y/N) began to type out a list of things that would be changing now that she was in command of the four cadets. The first of which was to find a name that suited each, allowing them to be more individuals and carve out their own paths. Another way to find out what the purpose of the barbaric tests each was put through was, as well, to find and interrogate the bounty hunter previously charged with CT-9903's training. 

(Y/N) didn't need to be a Jedi to see these boys were special. They were created to be different. It hadn't been an accident when Nala Se had made them physically different from regular clones when she singled out their abilities and neutered them in her lab. Yet their treatment went far beyond being products. The bounty hunters seemed to hate their existence, as other Kaminoans seemed to see them as imperfect and far less human than others. The four were different; perhaps the force and Shaaki Ti had a reason for bringing them together. 

With another sigh, (Y/N) left her quarters, making the short journey to the barracks next door, where the four unique cadets awaited her arrival. With every step, a feeling foreign to her bubbled within her and encircled her heart: hope. Hope that (Y/N) didn't understand, but seemed to light a fire she hadn't had since she was a child. She found herself with the need to hold on to it, to fan the sparks until they ignited into the uncontrollable fire she was once so proud to process, the fire that her father had neutered. 

When the door to the barracks slid open, (Y/N) couldn't help but grin. The blinding white had long since been painted over with grey; the lights dimmed, and even the bleach smell had been erased. The cadets didn't notice her at first. CT-9901 seemed to be reading something, comfortable in his bunk, with his feet thrown over the footlocker to the side. 9902 was content fiddling with the many things scattered across the large table in the center of the room, while 9904 was spread out across the long sofas near the window that spanned the entirety of the back wall—offering a view of the landing pads and other domed city structures. 

CT-9903, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight. Just as the concern began to bubble, the larger cadet waltzed through the door, almost knocking her off her feet. His smile faltered ever so slightly as he reached out to grab her before she tumbled. The moment he realized she was an intruder, the smile disappeared completely, just as the remaining three forgot what they were doing to focus their attention on the commotion and (Y/N). 

"Please don't let me bother you," she started (Y/N), struggling to find her words. The anxiety she felt was different from what she was used to. It was clear to her: They knew who she was, and the recognition sparkling in their golden eyes told her as much. "I wish to get to know you, both as individuals and as a unit," she added, seeing the confusion appear, even more so when she spoke to them as if they were actual living beings rather than products that could be tossed about without care. Only Shaak Ti seemed to have shown them any care or affection, or at least (Y/N) thought she did. 

"You're earlier than we expected, General," spoke CT-9902 from the center of the room. Taking note when (Y/N) didn't immediately reprimand his brother for not being present when she arrived or any of them for not greeting her as their commanding officer. Instead, she spoke with care, her movements and actions nervous as she seemed unsure of herself, plagued even by something no one else could see. 

With a sudden burst of confidence, (Y/N) motioned for them to gather around the large table. She wanted to know them so that they could see her as more than just their commanding Jedi; she wanted to be seen as a friend. Someone they could trust and rely on when they needed something. Carefully, she examined each, noticing the scars adorning CT-9903's head and the cybernetic eye, something that made her question what torment he'd already been put through. She took notice when 9902 squinted as if he couldn't quite see properly. How protective both 9901 and 9904 were, as if they expected her attitude to change and she'd act cruelly after casting judgment upon them. 

"I noticed neither of you have names of your own. Is there anything you want to be called outside your numbers?" asked (Y/N), removing her lightsabers and placing them on the table before her as if surrendering to them. Almost instantly, the stiffness in their shoulders and back seemed to melt a little, surprise painted on their features, as it became evident they hadn't expected someone to show them kindness or even care what they wanted or desired. 

"We..." started CT-9901, stopping momentarily to try to find the right words to express his thoughts. "We never gave it any thought. The bounty hunters never seemed to care," he added, finding his honesty wasn't met with punishment as it had been before but with understanding and shimmers of sadness. 

"It seems we've found our first task," politely responded (Y/N), once again noticing 9902 squinting. This time, however, she apparently wasn't as subtle as she had been before. 

"His sight hasn't been right for a while," started 9904, gently turning 9902 to face the right directly, guiding him with care. "We don't know if it was the tests the Kaminoans put him through or the punishment he suffered from failing training months ago," he admitted, giving into the little voice telling him he could trust the Jedi Knight. She, too, was different. 

"I'll look into getting something to help," commented (Y/N), already suspecting there would be few glasses or goggles lying around the facility. "Wait ... CT-9903, it said you were training as the demolition expert," she stated, finding herself with hope bestowing each with an individual name to replace the numbers would be easier than expected. She wanted them to feel comfortable with the names given rather than feeling as if it was another burden they would have to bear. "Wrecker." 

"Me," called the much taller cadet, shying away as if unsure how to react or even how to word the excitement bubbling up inside. Nerves began to take over when (Y/N) nodded, and his brother's attention reverted to him. It was as if they wanted to hear his thoughts on the possible name while also trying to think of possible ideas for themselves. "I LIKE IT!" yelled Wrecker, his words louder than intended, although (Y/N) soon realized why, despite her concern for their overall health, she beamed nonetheless. 

"Mistress Shaaki Ti mentioned you are Dathomirian," voiced 9902, his features lighting up as a child's would on Life Day morning. "May I request a name native to Dathomir?" questioned the intelligent clone, confidence ringing through his voice. "If I may ask, what do we call you?" he added with little thought. Although it was drilled into all troopers, they had to refer to their commanding Jedi by Sir, General, or Commander; it was becoming increasingly obvious the normal would not apply to the Knight before them. 

"My name, (Y/N)," she replied. "Or, if you wish, you can follow in Commander Wolffe's footsteps and come up with something you are comfortable with." (Y/N) added, finally allowing herself to accept the commander's sudden change in attitude. He'd gone from calling her Night Sister with so much spite and hatred to referring to her by Cat'ra with what could be described as uneasy sincerity. "I will think of Dathomirian names for you, but your input would be greatly appreciated or valued." 

"Do we still have to attend our normal individual tests and training?" asked 9901, uncertainty and fear evident in his voice as he rushed to push the words past his lips. Shortly thereafter, he reached to play with his growing hair, flicking the bangs from his face before scooping it all behind his ears. 

"No" replied (Y/N), recalling Shaak Ti, informing her the tests and individual training had been put on hold for now. At least until she, as their commanding Jedi, assessed and made the necessary changes. "Until I have gone over everything, only unit training. Although 9902 will retain his access to the firing range," she added, seeing relief wash over their features; no more tests for the foreseeable future. "Shaak Ti made a note about you going to the range when stressed." 

"What do we do when we are not training?" asked 9904, as if the idea of downtime was foreign to him—to all of them. 

"Think of names for yourselves, personalizing your barracks, begin thinking of strategic plans and communication methods," listed (Y/N), wishing to prepare them for what was to come and to fan the flames of individuality each had. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, it's chow time. Get something to eat, then meet me in my quarters. We'll get started on the armor and names," she added, sending the four on their way, being sure to help guide 9902 when he reached his hands out and carefully kicked around him to find the stairs. 

Once she was sure the four could find their way to the mess hall in one piece, (Y/N) retrieved her datapad. Adding tasks for herself to complete. Little things to help the four cadets. Find something for 9901 to tie his hair back, build goggles to help improve 9902's vision, and help them personalize their area and bunks. 

"Sky-guy, I love you sometimes," whispered (Y/N), finding the small kit of tools he'd long since hidden among her things. As she grabbed hold of them, she remembered some of her memories of times gone by, like when she and Anakin trained together, how she'd help with his dueling, and in return, he taught her to build things. Plo and Obi-wan encouraged their friendship, occasionally planning training sessions together to help the blossoming friendship bloom further. 

"Techinium," (Y/N) called out, thinking of the rare metal only found on Dathomir. It was a silvery/grey metal that was just as durable as Beskar and heat resistant. It was a rare versatile metal that could be used for almost anything, from weaponry to armor, ships to decorative items. She carried some with her everywhere she went, as the metal had been incorporated into her lightsaber hilts and the bracelet she wore as a reminder of where she'd come from. 

Series Masterlist

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Burn the Witch

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Soap x Shadow!Reader x Ghost Light Graves x Reader

This is your first operation away from Shadow Company, as your skills as an undercover operative will be put to the test on your hunt for Hassan Zyani. With help from the 141, things should go smoothly. You could only hope...

Word Count: 2.2k

Tags: Foreshadowing Future Action, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Tension, Light Romantic Tension, Canon-Compliant, Foreboding, Probably Military Inaccuracies, Reader has hidden agendas, part one of two for these next two chapters basically

Masterlist

Let me start by saying I HATE this chapter with a burning passion. It took me a month to try and brainstorm every possible way I could convey the plot how I wanted without it being boring. But alas, I've said fuck it, because it's been over a month and we've gotta keep it pushin'.

The chapter's slow, obviously meant to be the prologue to the next chapter. Once again, I'm sorry I made you all wait so long for this. However, with this mundaneness out of the way, I hope the next chapter improves.

Please enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-One - Burn the Witch

What does it mean to be ready for the inevitable? You've pondered that a lot lately, though it sparks in your mind more so once the trucks have parked and your team has offloaded onto an airstrip swirling with chaos and urgency.

Helicopters raged above you, convoys and other armored vehicles driving to their designated areas, ready to ship you all into battle. All the while, the night sky sits plainly above you. An empty sea of black set fit to remind you of the uncertainty which lies ahead of you.

In five minutes you would be heading out.

By now air support has most likely already started bombing the AQ bordering your LZ, meaning the firefight starts the second your flight touches the ground. The rest of the details involving your mission came to you as hectic as the night had already been. Comm chatter blistered on every channel, new information getting spoon-fed to you by every half-hour mark.

There had been no time for any other thoughts, in fear of missing something crucial. But one detail had been an especially hard pill to swallow, all things considered.

They're splitting everyone into two teams, both tasked with sweeping separate areas for Hassan. Once each building has been neutralized, the teams will regroup, with Hassan either dead or alive in your custody.

A sound strategy as any you've heard before, though you would have preferred to stay placed on the same team as 141, had you any say.

Instead, you were to lead Team Alpha in there stead, as Ghost and Soap lead Team Bravo.

Your placement had been deliberate, to say the least. Shepherd always had a way of pulling the strings to his advantage in the background, and you had just become his latest puppet.

Your real briefing came to you via a quick, virtual meeting, having had to wait for the others to break off and start loading up their gear before you could slip off somewhere secluded to meet. From there, you'd gotten the video up and prepared yourself to be greeted by your two-faced general.

But instead of some old, bald man appearing before you on your screen, you had been greeted by a pair of steel blue eyes, sharp, and consumed in all sorts of stress and business.

Your commander.

It took your breath away to see him again, still with his authoritative look and short, blond hair he's spent the last few minutes combing his fingers through, you're sure. Even through the screen, you could have sworn you might have seen the light come back in his eyes. Then, you're reminded of how you two left things off, and the radio silence that had fallen soon after.

He hadn't changed a bit, you'd say.

You frown, not wanting to reward the man with any expression beyond mild irreverence, even as he smiled at you like nothing changed. You knew a mask when you saw one, and frankly, it was getting old.

You have more important things to worry yourself to death over.

"You're lookin' good," he compliments.

You pause, taking another second to look over your commander again. What you can see is the small joy he feels, having caught you doing so. But before you've allowed him to speak, you've made his mind up for him.

"The briefing? Commander?"

Graves cleared his throat, straightening himself up on the other end. He hadn't expected to still be so taken aback seeing you after what felt like over a month now. "Right then," he begins. "Your mission..."

Graves did his best to give you the highlighted version of whatever it was Shepherd told him about your orders. While the clarifications had made things more clear, it didn't make tonight any easier.

With you separated from 141, the General's hopes had been for you to investigate what you can about the missiles and "take care" of Hassan. With no suspicion or incident. It only figures that regardless of what the AQ General knew about his missiles, Shepherd would want him dead. And if he wanted him dead, then that's just what you had to do.

Anything to put an end to this.

"Get this done, and we're one step closer to being home free," he feels the need to remind you again. Only lately you've wondered what that even means anymore. It didn't help that trapped sensation you'd been unable to shake all night.

"I've heard that before," you roll your eyes.

"Don't make it any less true," he says. And then he pauses, hesitant from the looks. Silent. You knew what often came after that.

"Are you... Have you been doin' alright?"

His question doesn't come as a surprise to you, however, you admit you're unsure how to answer him. You wish he had asked you weeks ago.

But he hadn't.

"I'm fine."

Graves opens his mouth to say more, however, something stops him. Perhaps the look he sees in your eyes, or the lack thereof. He knows bridges have been damaged between you two, if not burned. He's not an idiot. He's also only human.

"Don't get yourself killed, OK?"

Though it made you feel rather pathetic, his words felt more riveting than you had wanted them to be. And you had missed it.

"No promises, Commander." You wink.

You tap your leg against the metal floor below you, feeling it shift and sway as the heli races through the dark skies of Al Mazrah.

Two minutes now and you would be separated from the 141. Alone and on a mission of your own. One only you were aware of. Your mind needed to be right.

You take a look around at the soldiers gathered around. They had everyone crammed into the heli like sardines, your rifles hugged to your chest and your eyes forward. Awaiting the sound of gunfire.

"No songs to whistle?"

Ghost's gruff voice from across the heli brings your eyes back from the row of dark boots your eyes had been glued to. They had been all down there all night, doing whatever possible to ignore the eyes of Ghost's on you all flight long.

Your behavior tonight had been a stark contrast to the last op he'd run with you, where there you'd been jovial and nigh overconfident, chatty in most instances. Tonight, you had been completely quiet, eyes razor-focused, and mind everywhere and nowhere all at once. It gave the man a rough feeling about tonight, and watching you tap your leg finally drew him to a point of speaking, it seems.

You look up at the lieutenant, more wide-eyed than intended. Everything needing to be done tonight had been buzzing through your mind so much this past hour, it hadn't even crossed your mind to calm yourself to a tune.

"I can't think of one," you admit. "But I take request."

Ghost holds his gaze with you for a moment, his eyes so dark in this interior that he almost appeared inhuman, the large shadow that he was sitting across from you. Meanwhile, he wondered if there'd ever be a day you weren't trying to delve in a subtle way and hear his music taste.

Perhaps you've finally worn him down. Ghost looked as though he were about to actually answer you for once.

And then, the comms cut in.

"Approaching the LZ."

All casual conversing had now just ended.

Bombs and gunfire grow louder outside the heli, replacing the rumble of the spiraling blades and the vibrations of its metal. Like a song drumming you into battle, you hear it beckon you all near.

"Bravo Team offloads here." Ghost stood from his seat to address both teams now, his entire aura changing from endearing to brutish in the blink of an eye. "Alpha Team stays onboard to land downrange. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill."

You watch as Bravo Team stands from their seats, gathering near the end of the heli to exit. Your eyes track Soap, who passes by your peripheral briefly until he's paused right before you.

With all his gear on, helmet strapped tight, and weapon loaded and ready, he looked a man ready for anything. He always seemed to be in most cases.

You'd been aware of Soap's watchful gaze since boarding together. He had smiled every time you looked his way, giving you an assuring nod, and sharing a comment when a thought would come, but you see the worry he held for you in his eyes. He had just wanted you to be OK.

His positivity alone hadn't been enough to ease your troubles, even as the man desperately wanted it to be. He only feared not having more to offer you beyond a smile and promise to keep you safe. He'll keep making that same promise 'til he's blue in the face if he has to.

Soap raises a fist to you gently, giving you a warm smile.

You tell him, "Try not to have too much fun."

Soap had wanted to say more, by the way his lips parted and the glint in his eyes twinkled, even beneath the red lighting. But he holds his tongue, knowing he must prioritize the mission. Duty above all else.

"Aye, aye lil' bird."

Soap gives you a parting wink, and then joins Ghost and the others at the front of the heli. You watch him the entire way, until the doors open, and a gust of wind barges into the heli, whipping through the fabric of your uniforms. This didn't feel real until now.

From where you still sat, you watch the lieutenant give him a scolding look, the men preparing to exit. "Keep up, Soap," he says.

The heli doors shut behind them, leaving you in a metal coffin shared between other marines you knew no better than the men you were about to fire on. With Ghost and Soap no longer around, it now leaves you to lead this team through thick and thin.

Gravity feels a lot heavier all of a sudden.

You hear the pilot speak into the comms, "Razor-1, all Bravo deployed. Moving to secondary HLZ."

The heli shift to the side, and you feel yourselves soar through the night sky, the sounds of gunfire increasing at every second.

"Alright," you call out to your men. "It'll be hot once we've landed. Check your gear and weapons now while you can. The faster we get this done, the faster we can call it a fucking night."

The marines all give you an affirming cheer of agreement, and for the first time all night you start to feel more positive about how things will go.

Yeah, you told yourself. This mission's like no other you haven't done in the past. Find your target, neutralize the situation, and get out. Simple.

You adjust your grip on your rifle and straighten up, your leg tapping even faster than your heartbeat. No word from Ghost or Soap on the comms yet. That had to be a good sign.

The helicopter dives to the right suddenly, sending you all back into your seats, before the chaos outside is instead drowned out by the sound of blaring alarms from inside the heli.

"All stations- Razor-1 is bracketed," the pilot chimes in. "We're getting lit! Incoming- Flares! Flares!"

Your heart sinks, your insides shifting and moving like waves in the ocean at every quick sway and dive the helicopter took in its evasive actions. Helplessly, you sit, not even able to see the enemies that fired upon you, bitter to not even of had the chance to step foot on the ground yet before this happened.

You all grab hold of your seats, doing what you can to remain stable. The heli sways, the sounds of flares deploying outside ripping through the rocket fire. The flight settles and a few seconds go by. It isn't until the warning alarms have been silenced that you finally release a breath of relief.

A narrow dodge.

But then, it shifts again, only this time you're not so lucky.

There's a loud crashing noise, followed by the erupting pop of an explosion, as it twist the metal of your helicopter, tearing it open.

"Razor 1 going down!" The pilot shouts. "We're going down!"

You watch in horror as one of the marines is sucked out of the hole, screaming the entire way out as they're eaten alive by the flames of your crashing coffin. You see the dark world outside painted in the passing glare of gunfire, spinning around you, your helicopter falling from the sky.

You clutch onto the straps to your seat and brace yourself for impact. Closing your eyes, you hold your breath and simply await the inevitable, doing your best to be ready. Just as you've been trying all night.

Metal and fire twists around you in a loud hurricane of booms and clashes, before all sense of the world around you became nothing but a cold, quiet air.

Dark.

An endless void.

You're not sure why, but the first thing that came to mind was Soap. You hadn't wanted to think of the horror he must be experiencing having just watched you get shot out of the sky. What flurry of emotions now twisted in him because of you.

So instead, you thought of him as he was before. Of his smiles, his eyes, the warmth of his embrace and the safety you felt with his words, even if he promised the impossible. You'd give anything to have John by your side now.

You still needed to tell him your name.

To Be Continued...

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

“You don’t have to do this.”

"You don't have to do this."

Demeter's voice comes from somewhere behind Alonzo's shoulder, thin and reedy but heavy with intent. She is frighteningly calm, all things in considered, though Mungojerrie can hear the tail edge of something foreign tightening each syllable.

The decided emphasis of the statement gives Alonzo a solid beat of pause; he's hearing what Demeter is saying, but, more importantly this time around, he's deliberating it. It's gotten through to him. Mungojerrie sees every millimeter of muscle beneath his eye twitch and shift. He holds his breath.

The speed at which Mungojerrie had been off his paws and slammed back against the wall was - admittedly - startling, knocking the wind and words clean out of him. He'd been midsentence, explanatory excuse just on the tip of his tongue, attempting to keep pace with the cats walking with him, but every time he caught up front, they continued on. Alonzo wouldn't even look at him - that should have been his first warning.

They'd been silent amongst themselves when he'd made his meager attempt at explanation. Even Teazer was frighteningly quiet, trailing hesitantly behind Demeter, in the way that suggested whatever she'd seen back in that room hadn't been good. The silence had been deafening and uncomfortable, tension thick and wounded like a noose set to decorate a neck, and every nervous bone in Mungojerrie's body screamed to fill it, interrupt it - say something that would diffuse everything and stitch them back together instead of feeling like he'd been trapped behind glass, screaming and screaming with no one around to make it mean anything.

He'd said the wrong thing; he could feel it the moment it whistled through his teeth. He'd said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, pissed off the wrong cats. Or just one of the wrong cat; the most important of wrong cats. And they'd all surely pay for that slip up down the line. But it could be smoothed over; surely everything could.

The last thing he had heard before being suspended was a sharp, flat exhale - a decisive, frustrated kind of noise that, perhaps if he were paying more attention to his surroundings instead of his fear, Mungojerrie would have recognized as something foreboding.

Now, he was face-to-face with a very angry looking tomcat, and struggling a solid few inches off the ground, every instinct in his body screaming at him to escape, lash out and yowl like his tail was on fire, do something, but he was completely frozen. Alonzo held onto the scruff of his chest firmly, shoving his nose into Mungojerrie's muzzle and the rest of him bodily into his space so he couldn't look away from him even if he tried. There were bright coals of anger burning in Alonzo's eyes, fanned to life with an undercurrent of fear. Danger. A reminder - Mungojerrie thought distantly as his attempts at squirming free from an iron grip slowed to a trickle, then an icy stop - of how he'd gotten to be where he was in the first place. It was easy to forget; easy to pretend they were playing one long hauled game. Alonzo was grumpy and aloof, but never dangerous. Never any real threat.

There is a scar running through his lip and up into his nose, deep and pulled taught against his snarl. Mungojerrie wonders where he got it. He'd never asked.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" the larger tomcat growled, low, menacing, cold, shaking him for emphasis. "What is the matter with you?"

Send me a sentence and I’ll fill at least five more in after it for a little mini-fic.