#the time to draw Nightmare has finally come | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahghetti · 2 months

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moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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leqonsluv3r · 25 days

Text

valentine’s day

—leon finally starts to heal after he meets you in a grocery store, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: i’ve had this idea in my head since i went to the LANY concert a month ago and heard this song live. i have not been the same person since, this drabble/blurb is dedicated to this song and leon. it’s a lot longer then i intended and i apologize lol

leon wasn’t one to heal easy.

not from his past, not from the missions when he saw more gore and blood then he wanted to. not when he had gagged every time he saw blood from that point foreword.

he was still healing when he walked into a grocery store about four months after his last mission. he was still healing when he grabbed one of those stupid baskets to carry your groceries in through the store.

he grabbed a couple bottles of alcohol, some snacks and some soap. essentials, things he needs. because sleeping without alcohol now is…it’s a lot harder then it used to be. just nightmares and images of bloodshed — he just says fuck it. he gets what he needs, what he wants and he goes up to the front of the store to pay.

what he doesn’t understand, when he sees you for the first time, is why your working in a grocery store of all places. your too beautiful for that, you should be doing something better, something worthy of your time. he doesn’t know a single thing about you yet and he’s willing to draw that conclusion.

you smile kindly at people from behind your register, your voice is kind and sweet. it draws something within him like a magnet, his heart is pounding, he’s going to explode or something. he used to be so good at talking to women but it’s declined as the years have gone by. he’s gotten tired, he just didn’t care like he used to.

he awkwardly sits his basket down on the conveyor belt of the register, you catch his eye and smile a little and it fucking does something to him. he knows he’s screwed beyond relief at that point. he smiles back, or tries to. he’s out of practice on that to, can’t remember the last time he’s smiled.

“this all for you?” you say softly, your eyes scanning over the bottles of alcohol, the snacks and the bottle of soap. he nods and chuckles a little, low and deep, just like his voice. “yeah, that’s all…” he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket of his jeans.

he wish he could say something better, something more positive and just something to grab your attention. he searches his brain as you tell him the total and he hands you the card. but he doesn’t have to say anything, you speak first.

“leon? that’s…you have a nice name.” you say and it snaps him out of his brain, he blinks those devastating blue eyes. ones that were once full of life, he nods. “my mom gave it to me.” he jokes lamely, or at least he thinks it’s lame until he hears your small little giggle.

he feels his heart beat with more confidence and energy now, like his one effort at making you smile is good enough. making you laugh is worth enough. you hand him his card back and put the receipt in the shopping bag, telling him to have a great day. not a nice day like you did with the others, but a great day. like you could tell he needed to hear that.

he walks out of the grocery store with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face. one that he has been a stranger to for months. he has you to thank for that.

the weeks that followed he came back to the grocery store, once maybe sometimes three times a week if he wasn’t sent off on a mission. he almost can’t help himself, he likes talking to you when your there.

you make him feel something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. it’s almost ridiculous, but he can’t help himself, it’s like an addiction. but it doesn’t involve him waking up with a hangover.

he keeps coming, week after week and buying things from the grocery store just to talk to you, just to see your sweet face. just to give him some kind of ray of sunshine that casts his whole body in a warm glow. making his heart beat faster.

but today was different, he was going to ask you out today. he was going to do it, he couldn’t be scared anymore. he couldn’t let you pass by anymore like something rare and just ignore you.

you were something to him. even if you didn’t even know that yet.

he walked up, carrying the same five things he always grabbed. his heart was pounding wildly, he was so out of practice but he just had to get out there and do it. just give himself something, he would hope you would say yes.

he put the items on the conveyor belt and waited until it was his turn, you finished checking out the customer in front of him and then turned to look at him. “hi stranger, haven’t seen you in awhile.” you say with a small frown, it’s adorable, it makes his heart melt.

he chuckles and shakes his head, “didn’t know you missed me.” he muses as he watches you start scanning his stuff. slowly and methodically almost as if you wanted this interaction to last longer too.

you sigh and shake your head, “of course i did, your my favorite customer.” you say with a small smile, and if he wasn’t looking so intently at you, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle blush on your cheeks.

“i better be. goodness knows i give you guys enough business.” he chuckles playfully and flashes you a grin, almost as bright as the sun. he didn’t know where he was willing this confidence from, maybe it’s because he needed you. he needed you to at least attempt to be with him. you were the first light he has had in his life in a long time.

you scan his last item and he realizes it’s now or never, “26.73” you say as you lay out your hand for the card so he can pay. he reaches into his wallet and gives it to you, your fingers brush against each other. he wills himself to do it, to just do it now.

“uhm, i actually…i have a question for you.” he says with a small tremble of his hands, keeping his eyes on you to gauge your reaction behind the register. you look back up at him, swiping his card. “yeah?” you say and he could swear there’s almost hopefulness in your voice.

he swallows all the nerves down and attempts to keep himself calm enough to get this out, he can’t screw this up. he cannot screw you up, he would never forgive himself if he did.

“do you want to go out with me? like on a date?” he says and it’s so weird, the words feel foreign as they slipped from his mouth. usually women used to flock to him, but they didn’t anymore. his confidence with women had slipped right along with him trying to be sober all the time.

you blinked at him, holding onto his card in your small but intricate fingers. you seem to be thinking it over, weighing your options. he feels like the rejection is going to slip out of your lips at any given moment and he’s preparing himself for it.

then eventually, you respond, “i’d love to.”

now, it’s his turn to gawk and blink at you, almost perplexed that you are actually saying yes, accepting him and accepting this date. he can’t help the smile on his face, it’s almost stupid. you hand him the card and his brain goes on autopilot. you hand him the bag of his stuff, he grabs it and goes to walk away.

until, “wait! you forgot your receipt!” you yell behind him, holding up a slip of paper and waving it. he turns around and walks back to the register, his brows furrowed. you never gave him a receipt, he grabs the slip of paper from your fingers. he reads it over with confusion until he sees your number at the bottom, your hand writing and scribbles drawn with a little heart next to it.

he smiles, another genuine one that only you could conjure onto his face. “text me, we can set up a date.” you say to him, nodding towards the receipt. you look just as giddy as he feels inside. he nods, “absolutely. will do.”

he texts you the minute he gets home. and you respond. the texts keep going between you two until you both eventually settle on a date to go out. your both feeling like love-struck teenagers, so entranced with each other it’s almost borderline disgusting.

the week after you set the date passes and neither of you can hardly wait. you both have your reasons for being nervous, you both have that joy when you see each other but it shines in a different way. especially when he picks you up for your guy’s date.

you look stunning. stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it for him. you look like if heaven was a person, like an angel. that’s good enough reason for him to not let his blue eyes break from you all night.

and they don’t, they don’t ever break. not one second, he keeps his gaze on you at dinner, when your both talking and flirting aimlessly with each other. to leon, it feels good to have that someone; even if they don’t know it yet. that lights up their world and just makes it so much better.

he doesn’t break his gaze when you two walk by the lake, showing him all the birds and where they nest when winter comes closer. he admires the way you talk about small things, things that other people wouldn’t normally talk about or care about for that matter. but you took time, every week, to come feed the ducks and birds at this lake.

and he doesn’t break his gaze when he walks you back to your place, low intimate whispers that turn into slow kisses and touches. it doesn’t turn frantic, it just stays slow and gentle. it’s loving and it almost wants to make leon cry, because you care so much, this kiss just proves it.

because for the first time in a long time, you make him feel cared for. you make him feel wanted and it’s so much to him that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

he wants you forever, he wants you as long as you let him have you. and he’s always going to take care of you, just like you’ve unknowingly taken care of him. taken the sadness away from him by just being in his life.

three months later, you and leon were dating.

you guys were the happiest people, it seemed you brought leon back from the edge. he opened up and you learned all you could about him. he got to learn more about you. and you both loved the idea of having that one confidant in each other.

the one you would have when you were sad, scared, angry, frustrated, etc. everything made sense with the two of you together. and you guys found that one piece that was missing within each of you. you guys were happy, leon was smiling a lot more then he usually did.

he didn’t drink his days away anymore, he didn’t come back from missions to an empty apartment and he didn’t have nightmares. it was still there but you dulled the ache, you filled that dark hole inside of him that had been gone for so long.

you made him happier, you made him recognize the man in the mirror again with your love. your love and everything about you made him better. he was better for you.

you had each other to soothe the gaps and ridges of your guys souls that were jagged. you had that thing that he was searching for, that he’d been missing for so long.

he loved you.

and nothing was ever going to change that.

an: i love you guys sm :,) thank you guys for reading my stuff and engaging. i was so worried when i started writing on tumblr that it wasn’t going to take. that no one would like my writing and i was wrong. you guys have given me so much support in liking my fics. it makes me so happy to have that support. it keeps me going. i love you all, i’ll be posting a one shot soon, keep up on my requests. pls reblog if you enjoyed, you guys know the drill. kisses, xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim (to join the taglist DM me or interact with my link at the beginning)

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honeyhotteoks · 4 months

Text

this night together - chapter thirteen (j.yh + s.mg)

chapter thirteen: all the words you never said

chapter summary: someone's at the door, and everything changes.

warnings: this chapter is still a bit of a pain train, but don't worry we're coming out of that en route to happier times. in the mean time..... warnings for descriptions of violence, injury, and blood. mc has a panic attack / ptsd flashbacks, open descriptions about her trauma, fear, nightmares, etc.

notes: i'm still working on the next chapter, but hopefully that one won't take too long!

pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader

genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory

word count: 8.8k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

You wake the next day to an insistent knocking sound, a fist pounding against the front door of their apartment. Yunho nearly falls out of bed at the noise, shaking his head hard to banish the cobwebs, but Mingi is on his feet in seconds.

“What’s going on?” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face and stretching your tired limbs.

“I got it,” Mingi shakes his head at you, “just stay with Yunho,”

A chill runs over your arms, and with no blankets to drag up over you, you push yourself off the bed and grab for Mingi’s hoodie, pulling it over your head quickly and relaxing into its warmth.

“Coming!” Mingi calls gruffly towards the door, and the knocking stops immediately.

You glance at Yunho and he shrugs, but his eyes quickly flick to the door, able to see all the way down the hall from this vantage point and he waits.

You listen as Mingi turns over the deadbolt and unlocks the chain, swinging the door open, “Oh,” he says, “hyung,”

“Is y/n here?” Seonghwa’s voice sounds a little strained, like he ran up three flights of stairs.

Yunho looks like he’s about to say something, but you smooth your hair back behind your ears and head down the hall for the door.

“Yeah, she’s,” Mingi says, but you move around his side and Seonghwa’s eyes shift to you.

“There you are,” Seonghwa sighs, looking instantly relieved.

“Was I supposed to be somewhere?” Your eyebrows draw together, mind still a little fuzzy with sleep.

Mingi takes a step away, and Seonghwa pushes across the threshold, “You haven’t been answering your phone at all, and when you didn’t show up this morning to practice… I just got worried,”

“Oh, Hwa,” You soften, “I’m fine,”

He hesitates, eyes flicking over you, and then he pulls you into his arms, sighing heavily, “Sorry, of course you are,”

You tuck your face into his warm chest, squeezing him tight, “I’m good, I haven’t looked at my phone though, I was a little out of it last night,”

“Did you just get up?” He pulls back and looks you over.

“Mhm,”

“It’s one o’clock,” He says softly, “you can see why I was worried,”

“It’s one?” You’re shocked at the time, that you were able to sleep for almost twelve hours and so were they, despite your brief and terrifying wake up in the middle.

Seonghwa smiles, “Yeah, but it’s fine, as long as you’re okay,”

There are so many pieces to what happened yesterday you still don’t have answers to, and you’re not sure if now is the right time, but with Seonghwa in front of you things finally feel better. He’s been there for you so much recently that it feels like seeing him now is the clear missing piece to you finally releasing the last bit of tension from last night.

A beat stretches between you and you nod.

Yunho clears his throat softly from next to you both, “I’ll put some coffee on,”

You almost forgot they were right by your side, and as Yunho makes his way to the kitchen, Mingi exhales with another rough noise.

“Hey,” Seonghwa finally properly greets him, looking away from your face, “sorry, how are you holding up?”

“Just woke up,” Mingi shrugs, “not sure yet,”

Seonghwa’s eyes flick to you briefly as he registers that you’ve all just gotten up for the day.

“Mingi,” Yunho calls from the kitchen, “can you help me with something?”

“With what?” Mingi doesn’t draw his eyes away from either of you.

“Coffee,” Yunho replies.

Mingi’s brow furrows and he doesn’t move but turns his head towards the kitchen, “What help do you need with the coffee?”

“Just come here,” Yunho sounds frustrated and you cover your mouth to keep from laughing.

“Fine,” Mingi grumbles, throwing one last look back at Seonghwa before heading towards the kitchen.

With the room clear, you look back to Seonghwa, “Are you okay?”

“Am I?” He looks confused.

“I don’t really know what happened yesterday,” You explain, “I barely saw you after everything, but Yunho said you and San took care of things, and I saw blood,”

“Mm,” He nods, but doesn’t offer anything else.

“What does that mean?” You press him.

His eyes flick away and he shrugs, “It means San and I took care of it until the cops came.”

“Hwa,” You shake your head.

“Look,” He bites his lip and runs a hand through his dark hair, “can we sit down for a minute? I need to talk to you,”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” He admits, “let’s just… can we sit?”

“Yeah,” You step back, gesturing for him to come further into the apartment and he takes a seat on one side of the sectional, gingerly on the edge with his hands clasped in front of him. Your eyes zero in on the bandages immediately.

“Seonghwa!” You reach for him immediately, taking his hands in yours.

“Oh,” He takes his hands back and flexes them, “I’m fine, see?”

“What happened?” Your voice raises a little, and Mingi appears in the doorway of the kitchen, one eyebrow raised.

“This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” He sighs.

“Your hands?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa pulls them further away from you and shakes his head, “I talked to the police last night and there’s something you need to know,”

“The police?” You straighten up.

“Mhm,” Seonghwa’s hand rubs over the back of his damaged knuckles, “they interviewed all of us, I think,”

“I talked to them at the hospital,” You nod.

“Were they alright with you?” Seonghwa asks, eyes flicking to yours.

“Mostly,” You nod, “some of their questions were a little,” you search for the right word.

“Pointed?” Seonghwa fills in.

“Exactly,” You cross your arms unconsciously, remembering the way the detective talked to you, “they kept wanting to know about my cycle,”

“They asked you that?” Seonghwa’s voice spikes a little.

You nod, “I think it was pretty clear what they were trying to ask considering he said he was rutting,”

Seonghwa’s jaw tightens as he exhales, “I’m so sorry,”

“It’s alright,” You know it isn’t, but there isn’t anything to be done, “they took my blood, they’ll see I’m not even in pre-heat, it was nothing like that,”

“We know that,” Seonghwa reaches across to brush his hand over yours, “you know that right?”

“Of course I do,”

“And even if you had been,” His hand flexes around yours, tightening and relaxing.

“I know,” You assure him again, communicating as much as you can with a look.

“Okay,” He sighs, “okay, good.”

He pulls his hand back, and suddenly his face looks familiar. His expression so like that day before the tour in the faraway cafe. He’s working himself up to telling you something, and you can see that he’s scared.

“Seonghwa, what is it?” You push a little, “You can tell me anything,”

He presses his lips together before he says, “Right, so the police,”

Mingi and Yunho choose this moment to file back into the room, both carrying two coffees each and Mingi sets yours down in front of you made up just how you like it before Yunho offers Seonghwa a cup. He accepts it, but lets it sit on the coffee table untouched while they get settled on the opposite side of the couch.

“Just tell me,” You nod, bracing yourself a little.

Seonghwa looks down, eyes on the floor while he gathers himself and his thoughts and then finally says, “I might have hurt your case,”

“My case?” The words don’t quite make sense.

“Going after him like I did,” He says simply, eyes still downcast.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You shift closer to him on the couch, reaching out but not quite touching him, “what happened?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Seonghwa looks up but past you, straight at Yunho.

“What?” You look between them, nothing making sense at all.

“You weren’t here,” Yunho insists, “she was upset last night, I was going to tell her this morning.”

“Can you both stop talking around me and just say it?” Your voice takes a higher pitch, “I’m not a child.”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa shakes his head, reaching for you and taking your hands folded in his own, “let me start over,”

“Please,”

“Minseok,” He says, the name a little uncomfortable in his mouth, “We got him into the hall and when I realized what happened, what he almost did to you,” he flexes his hand again and shakes his head, “I lost it a little,”

“Hwa,” You murmur.

“The police said because he had already been detained and it was no longer in defense or de-escalation it could hurt your ability to have him fully charged,” Seonghwa says in a breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes, “it’ll be possible for him to press his own charges if he wants, and I have reason to believe he’s getting those charges filed today,”

“That’s insane,” You straighten up, “You were just helping me,”

“No,” Seonghwa finally meets your eyes, “they were helping. I was… kicking the shit out of an defenseless man,”

You open your mouth to say something but Mingi cuts in easily, “That’s not what I saw.”

“What?” Seonghwa’s head snaps to the side.

Mingi shrugs, “If you hurt your case then so did I, we all probably did, but if he knows what’s good for him he’ll take the firing on the chin and move on without dragging this to court.”

“You fired him?” Your eyebrows raise.

Yunho’s brows furrow, “Of course he’s fired, he’s not getting within a mile of you ever again,”

Relief floods you and you nod, shifting your eyes back to Seonghwa, “How do you know he’s filing?”

“Woo went to school with someone who works at the hospital in the emergency unit,” Seonghwa explains, “he called this morning just to find out Minseok’s discharge status so we knew when he’d be out,”

That’s a thought that hasn’t occurred to you yet, and you take a steadying breath.

“He’s going to be in for a little while,” Seonghwa assures you, “a week or two at least, but he did tell us that there were police there interviewing him. His family was also present, and it seems as though they have money and more to say,”

“Entitled little prick,” Mingi curses.

Seonghwa’s lip quirks up in a brief smile, but then he nods, “There’s not a scratch on any of us except him,” he points out, “it doesn’t look good,”

You shift closer, “What did you do to him?”

“I don’t,” He shakes his head, eyes softening, “I just lost it, San pulled me off him,”

“Seonghwa,” You murmur.

“He’s got broken ribs,” Seonghwa swallows hard, “and I think I broke his jaw,”

“Jesus,” You breathe.

“I wish I had,” Yunho says calmly, “he deserved it.”

“Not if he can get away with what he did,” Seonghwa returns his hands to yours, “I’m so sorry,”

“Hwa,” You shake your head, moving even closer on the sofa until you’re side to side, knees touching, “you have nothing to apologize for. I’m so grateful you were there,”

His eyes go a little watery, and he cups your cheek, “When I think about the fact that I almost left early,”

“When have you ever left early?” You give him a soft smile.

“Seriously,” He shakes his head and leans closer, “I keep thinking about what would have happened if you were there alone, I keep seeing it,”

“Stop, Hwa, please,” You squeeze his hand, “I’m okay, you were all still there,”

“Yeah,” He breathes, but you can hear the tenor of lingering fear in his voice. He leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead and exhaling over your skin.

You let your eyes slip closed, and for a brief moment you forget about the other two men in the room with you, watching over the moment of intimacy with their breath caught in their chests.

Seonghwa leans back a moment later, eyes clear now, and finally looks you over. He pushes your hair to the side and makes a face at the sight of your swollen, bruised gland, “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” You shake your head, telling him clearly with your eyes not to pry.

“Don’t tell me that’s nothing,” He says softly.

“I promise,” You squeeze his hand, “I’m okay,”

He swallows and then nods once before jerking his head towards Mingi and Yunho, “Did they take care of you okay?”

“Yes, Seonghwa,” You sigh.

You look to them, expecting to see some kind of comedic expression, or bristling annoyance at Seonghwa’s insistent checking, but that’s not what you see at all. Yunho looks like all the air has been let out of him, his eyes soft and unfocused. Mingi’s doing his best to seem relaxed and casual, but you know him well enough to know that he’s anything but, his tightly clenched hands telling you everything.

“Hmm,” Seonghwa’s soft hum draws your eyes back to his, “and is there anything you need?”

“I don’t know,” You confess, “is it silly to say I’m still tired?”

“No,” Seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair again, tucking your hair back to where it was a moment ago, “nothing you wanted would be silly right now.”

“Is everyone else alright?” You murmur.

“They are,” He squeezes your hand, “you just focus on you.”

You manage a nod, and you want to look back to Yunho and Mingi and see why they’re so silent, but Seonghwa continues.

“You don’t have to be okay,” Seonghwa says softly, “but are you?”

You know what he’s asking with his eyes, if being here with them is too much, if you’re able to get what you need in the midst of all the emotional circles you had been dealing with before the studio last night. You love him for it, but you nod, “I am, honestly,”

“Then if you’re okay,” Seonghwa smiles a little, “I’ll leave you be,”

“I’m okay,” You glance back to Yunho and Mingi, and their eyes are holding on to anything but you and Seonghwa.

“I just needed to see you and make sure, and to talk to you about things,” Seonghwa explains, pushing himself up to stand, “I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll do whatever I can to make sure it doesn’t affect you,”

You stand with him and shake your head again, “Whatever happens with Minseok, we’ll deal with it together. Don’t put that on yourself, please,”

He nods, and then you pull him into a hug, a quick squeeze before he steps away.

“That’s it?” Mingi’s voice is incredulous as he stands up, “You’re leaving her?”

You turn, fully confused by the sudden bubbling anger in Mingi, “What?”

“I mean,” Seonghwa looks just as confused, “it seems like you’ve got things covered?”

“Covered?” Mingi’s voice tightens.

“Mingi,” Yunho tugs at his friend’s arm, “sit down,”

“You’re seriously going?” Mingi repeats.

The tension in the room is bizarre, the comforting moment you had with your friend completely undercut and you keep looking to Yunho for clarity but he just won’t look you in the eye, his eyes are set on Mingi.

“I’m seriously confused,” Seonghwa looks between you and them, “y/n?”

Your mouth is open, nothing really making sense for how quick to anger Mingi is in this moment, especially now, and all you can do is look to Mingi for answers, but you find little in his fierce gaze.

“I’m just saying,” Mingi’s jaw sets hard, “if something like this happened to my girlfriend I wouldn’t be so quick for the door,”

“My what?” Seonghwa glances down at you.

The words don’t make sense, “I have no idea,” you manage, “what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Mingi takes a half step back, eyes flicking between you.

There’s a long beat of silence, and finally, finally, someone speaks.

“You’re not together,” Yunho says, not a question but a realization.

Pins slot into place, every little moment over the past few months coming into perfect clarity. You answer him anyways, “No, we’re not,”

“Were you?” He clarifies.

“Not like that,” You shake your head.

“Oh,” Mingi’s hands relax, talking a half step backwards as the realization hits him.

“You thought we were dating?” Seonghwa finally says, gesturing between the two of you.

“Well,” Mingi clears his throat, “yeah,”

“We’re not,” You confirm again and Yunho grins. Your stomach flips.

“I really thought…” Yunho trails off, shaking his head.

“Why would I have come home with you last night if he and I are together?” You trail off.

“Yesterday was insane,” Mingi reasons, “I would have taken you anywhere you wanted to go if it made you feel better, I wasn’t questioning it,”

“Oh,” You soften at that.

“But I guess I was wrong,” Mingi looks a little sheepish when he looks at Seonghwa.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa squeezes your hand and then drops it, “y/n is… great, wonderful even, but it was never like that. I’m in love with someone else.”

Your heart twists, knowing exactly what he means.

“Fuck,” Mingi rubs the back of his neck, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like such an ass,”

“No, no,” Seonghwa waves him off, “I get it,”

“But,” Yunho looks up, and his eyes on yours freezes you to the spot, “I thought you said you had something to tell us?”

“And you thought it was that I’m dating Seonghwa?”

“I thought you were trying to let us down easy,” He blurts out.

“No, that wasn’t…” You can’t fight the smile off your face now, “that’s not it at all,”

His lips part, realization filling his features, “God, we’re idiots,”

“Kind of,”

“I should have just asked you on tour,” Mingi all but blushes and it’s quite possibly the first time you’ve ever seen him be so embarrassed.

The moment is so absurd, so tangibly comical after last night and you can’t help but laugh again, “You thought I was that excited to see you after three months just to tell you that I’m dating one of your best friends?”

“When you say it like that,” Yunho trails off.

“Wow,” You clap a hand over your lips, “Woo is going to have a field day,”

Seonghwa snorts softly, but stays quiet.

“So if you’re not together, and weren’t together,” Mingi starts, lights going off in his brain as he rewrites all the things he thought he knew, his eyes find yours and hold steady.

Butterflies start in your stomach, you feel it in the air like something’s about to shift under your feet and you should be bracing yourself. This is not the moment you imagined, not in the slightest, but there’s something steady about the way he’s looking at you and you want to reach out and grab onto it.

Seonghwa softly clears his throat and takes a step towards the door, “I should go,” he says, “you look like you need some space,”

You do, but you spin quick and catch his hand as he turns, “Wait, Hwa,”

He pauses, glancing up over your shoulder at them before looking down to you again.

“I have to thank you before you go,” You squeeze his hand, “I’m… I don’t know what else to say, but I,”

“Come here,” Seonghwa tucks you into his chest, hugging you close, “I’d do it again in a minute,”

“I know,”

“We may not be dating,” He says, and you can practically see the smile on his mouth, “but you’re one of my best friends and I’d do anything for you, okay?”

“Okay,” You squeeze him tighter.

He sighs, letting you go and pressing a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek, “Call me if you need me, okay?”

“I will,” You nod.

“And text Wooyoung back,” He says, almost an afterthought, “he was flipping out this morning,”

“Tell him I’m fine,” You say, “I’ll message him later,”

“I’m here for anything,” He reiterates, “and I’ll let everyone know you’re doing alright,”

“Thank you, Seonghwa, really,”

He nods, “I’ll let myself out,” he says quietly, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You don’t quite know what’s about to happen when you turn around but the butterflies in your stomach triple. Silence stretches between the three of you, and you know that the conversation you wanted carefully planned is happening now whether you’re emotionally prepared for it or not, no matter what happened yesterday.

You turn back to them and the words slip out as you process everything out loud, “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just ask me,”

“You asked us not to,” Yunho says quietly, “and after what happened before…”

“Yun,” You start, looking between them, but he presses forwards.

“We didn’t listen to you then,” Yunho says, “I wasn’t going to fuck this up again,”

Mingi’s quiet, his eyes downcast as he thinks, and your stomach turns into anxious knots.

“Maybe this isn’t the time,” You murmur, and you’re about to say more but Mingi cuts you off.

“No, please,” Mingi’s head snaps up, “not this time, this time we need to talk.”

“Okay,” You breathe.

“I should have said it in the letter,” Mingi clears his throat and finally holds your gaze for longer than a second, “maybe that would have made this easier, but, I’ll say it now.”

“Mingi,”

“I love you,” He says, letting the words live in the space between you for just a moment before he continues, “I’ve loved you for a long time. You can tell me no, you can go if you want to, but we’ve spent so long not saying anything to each other, so I have to say this.”

“You love me,” Your stomach flutters, heart pounding in your chest.

“Yes,” Mingi nods, no hesitation or wavering, matter of fact, one of the things you’ve always loved about him.

The air feels a little thinner in the room, like the altitude has changed, and you swallow thickly. You need to get your emotions under control, but Yunho’s stayed so quiet you don’t know what to think. When you glance at him, your chest aches. He’s watching you carefully, and you can see the nervous energy in him, the way his hands fidget and clench.

“Yunho,” You manage.

“You know how I feel,” He says, “by now… I know you know,”

“No,” You can’t accept it and you shake your head, “tell me for real.”

Yunho drags a hand over his face and back through his hair, and then finally he meets your eyes again, “I’m,” his voice wavers slightly, “sweetheart, I’m still so in love with you.”

“Still?” You hitch on the word.

“It’s been a long time for me too,” He nods.

You take in their words, stepping back, pacing a little as you process. You don’t really know where you’re going, you just need to move, to take some of the pressure of their eyes off, and you take deep breaths as you do. You can feel their tension, their fear that you’ll bolt again but strangely this time you don’t need to run. You just need a minute.

“And yesterday,” You slow to a stop from your position behind their couch, “this isn’t some… reaction to what Minseok did, it’s not,”

“When I wrote you that letter,” Mingi interrupts your anxieties, “we hadn’t seen each other in weeks. I could have told you I loved you then, this has nothing to do with him. This has to do with us, the three of us.”

Your mind flicks back to your confession to Wooyoung months ago, the way he held you as you cried buckets of tears over them. The sickening realization that your heat with them did mean something, and you had been fighting your own heart ever since. You want to love them now so badly it tugs at your insides, flooding your eyes again with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Yunho’s on his feet the minute he sees your eyes clouding over, “the last thing we want to do is make you cry after everything,”

“It’s fine,” You manage, hastily wiping tears away before they have chance to really wet your cheeks, “it’s just been a very long two days,”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Yunho reaches for you, “come here,”

You take a step back from him and shake your head, swallowing back your emotions and trying to figure out how in the world you’re going to articulate this.

He stops dead, and you watch Mingi’s face fall.

“Our dinner,” You start off, “I had a lot I wanted to say to you both, and after yesterday, I don’t know my head is all twisted up, I’m not going to do this right,”

“Maybe you’re right, we don’t have to do this now,” Mingi shakes his head, and you realize now that he thinks you’re rejecting them, once and for all.

“Mingi, stop,” You cut him off, “I need you to let me get this out,”

He stays silent.

“We’ve been dealing with this for so long,” You start, “there’s been a lot of things said, and I guess unsaid too,”

Yunho nods but keeps any thoughts to himself while you parse through your words.

“I tried for a really long time to move on,” You manage, “and so much has happened but yesterday was,” you shake your head, trying to keep the strain out of your voice and get this out, “you know what it was. But you were both there for me and you took care of me, and I don’t have the words to thank you for something like that.”

“You don’t,” Yunho starts but you shake your head and hold out a hand to stop his words.

You take a deep breath, and then you take the leap, “I was going to apologize to you. This thing between us… I broke it too. I was angry that night at the studio, and I wish I could take so much of it back. I was hurt, but I said things that I’m so, so sorry for.”

“I was planning on telling you that first,” You continue, “and then I was planning on telling you that while you were gone, I thought about you everyday. I thought about us and what you mean to me, about what I wanted, and I need to tell you first that I lied. That weekend, my heat, it meant more to me than I ever understood. It wasn’t just sex, and I’m sorry I said it, I’m sorry for so much,”

“y/n,” Yunho says softly, but you shake your head.

“I’m,” The words bubble up and lodge right in your throat. It should be easy, you love them. They said it first, it should roll right off your tongue, but it just doesn’t. You take a tight, hard swallow and try again, “I don’t, what I’m trying to say is that,”

“Hey, hey,” Mingi’s close the minute he sees you floundering, cupping your cheeks and hushing your panicked little breaths, “you don’t have to say anything, especially not right now.”

“But,” Your throat feels raw, “but I don’t want,”

“Shh, shh,” He shakes his head, smoothing his thumb across your cheekbone, “slow down, go easy,”

It all feels like it’s opening inside you, the tense knot from yesterday, your feelings for them wrapped up inside it, the way your omega keeps clinging to them as yours. The way you almost lost them. Tears spill over your cheeks again and you choke out a weak cry, “I’m sorry,”

Mingi shifts forwards, scooping you up in his arms to cradle you against his chest just like yesterday, “You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing at all.”

“I want to tell you,” You confess into his shoulder, “I have to tell you,”

“Baby, please,” Mingi soothes, “just take a deep breath,”

“Mingi,” Yunho murmurs low, having moved closer to the two of you, “let’s sit, come here,”

You keep your head pressed against his skin, your body feeling ragged and exhausted, memories from yesterday flooding up and the scent of your alphas making you dizzy, and you think if you cry any more it might make you sick but you just don’t know how to stop.

Mingi moves with you, settling down onto the couch and you can hear Yunho shifting around the room, but you don’t know what he’s doing until a familiar soft blanket wraps around your body.

“Breathe, baby,” Mingi prompts you again, “we’re right here.”

“Yunho?” You blink hard as you lift your head from Mingi’s neck, reaching to search for him.

“Right here,” Yunho is tucked close to you and Mingi, and he takes your hand in his, drawing your eyes to his, “I’m right here with you,”

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, tears finally subsiding just enough, “I d-don’t know what’s wrong,”

It feels so familiar, this moment, like the overloading torrent of emotion that came after your broken heat so many months ago, only this time the sick pit in your stomach is worse. The stakes feel so much higher, and the echo of hands on your hips and teeth at your throat keep flickering through your mind.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Yunho squeezes your hand, sliding closer still and brushing his hand over the back of your head, “but it will pass, and we’re not going anywhere,”

“But I need to explain,” Your throat feels like it’s closing.

“You don’t,” Mingi eases you back from his chest so that you’re perched on his lap, and he guides your face up to his so he can meet your eyes, “right now you just need to breathe,”

He’s right, the hysteria working its way through your system will only grow unless you start to get your arms around it. You grip Yunho’s hand tighter and start to try and regulate your breath, letting your eyes slip closed as you focus, the little shuddering starts melting into deeper and steadier inhales and exhales the longer you work at it.

You start to focus on things you can feel in your mind, things you know are real. Mingi’s warm body under yours, the cool metal of Yunho’s ring against your finger, a weighty hand on your right hip, the distant sound of a voice in the apartment next door. You’re home, you’re safe.

When your eyes open they’re not looking at you but looking at each other, worried little creases in their brows as they communicate silently with their eyes.

“Hey,” Your voice is small when you first speak, weak from exhaustion.

“Hey,” Yunho smiles when he sees your eyes open, squeezing your hand again.

“Feeling a little better?” Mingi murmurs, hand stroking your back.

You shrug and wet your lips, “Not really,”

“Then I think we should talk about this another time,” Mingi maintains, “do you want to try and get some more sleep, or,”

You shake your head and press a palm to the center of his chest, “No, I need to say this,”

“It can wait,”

“Not for me,” You insist, “I’ll just keep thinking about it,”

“Alright,” Yunho smooths your hair over your shoulder and keeps a steady palm against your back.

With a deep breath you steady your mind, get your words right, and then finally try again. “I don’t want the first time I tell you I love you to be mixed up in everything that happened yesterday. Everything feels so confusing and overwhelming because of what happened, but I don’t,” Your fingers knot tighter in Mingi’s shirt, “I can’t lose you again, so I just need you to know what I wanted to tell you on Saturday,”

Yunho’s hand stills on your back, and Mingi’s eyes flick down.

Nerves flood you, terrify you to your core, and you flounder again, “I know I should be able to get it together and to say it like you deserve, but I just need a little time, I don’t want to be thinking about him or feeling him when I think about us.”

Yunho shifts forwards, his lips connecting with your forehead softly as he holds you to him, and he lets the warmth of his skin linger on yours. A sharp, wet noise draws your eyes back up and disconnects you and you realize Mingi’s crying, tears tracking down his cheeks and his eyes shining.

“Mingi,” You reach for him, disconnecting Yunho as you cup Mingi’s cheeks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just need a little time,”

He shakes his head, bringing his hands up to hold yours, “It’s not that, I swear to god, it’s not that.”

“Then,”

“I could fucking kill him, I really could,” The edge in his voice sends a chill up your back, and you watch as he swallows hard and takes a deep breath to get his own tears under control.

“Hey, come on,” You try again, “I’m fine, look at me,”

“You’re not fine,” Yunho shakes his head, “you just said so,”

Mingi nods, his eyes opening.

“But I don’t want you to be upset,” You smooth the tears away from Mingi’s cheeks.

“I’m not upset because of you,” Mingi turns his face, pressing a kiss to your palm, “I’m upset because someone almost took you from us,”

The air in the room feels thin at the truth of it, and Yunho looks down at his words, his hand tightening on your hip.

Mingi curls his hands around yours and draws them away from his cheeks, entwining your fingers and resting your combined hands on his chest, “He almost took you from yourself,” he says softly, “that’s why I’m upset.”

“He didn’t,” You soothe him, “I’m right here,”

“You don’t have to make us feel better right now,” Yunho shakes his head, finally looking up, “You should feel whatever you want, and if you need time, we can give that to you.”

Mingi nods, “He’s right, I’m angry, but that’s not for you to fix.”

“We don’t need anything right now,” Yunho murmurs, his hand stroking up and down the length of your back slowly, “just tell us if we’re not doing something you need,”

“That’s not fair,” You smile softly, “you went through something too,”

Mingi hums, disconnecting your hands so he can rub any evidence of his tears away before he sighs, “Remember when I told you it was our job to provide for you?”

You remember how those words made you feel then, so safe in a moment of such confusion and emotion. Your shoulders drop, muscles relaxing as you try this time to listen to him, and you nod at his words.

“It’s our job always,” His hands return to yours, “and right now you have to trust us to hear you and do better by you,”

“But I made mistakes too,” You start to interject but he shakes his head.

“Babe,” He sighs, “none of it matters, not anymore.”

You were supposed to do this differently, to tell them your story and how you felt, and get all the things they didn’t know on the table, you were supposed to let them make an informed choice, but your voice just won’t come the way you need it to, “I just don’t want to lose you,”

“You won’t,” Yunho says firmly, “why do you think that’s going to happen?”

“There’s more to tell you,” You confess, “and last time I should have been honest, but I wasn’t and look where that got us,”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me now that would make me not love you,” Yunho says, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone, “and we’re being honest now, that’s enough for me.”

“How do you know that?” You scrub away tears that threaten to fall.

“Because I missed you everyday,” He says simply, “and because I didn’t feel home again until I saw you at the party, and yesterday when I thought you were hurt I couldn’t breathe. I’m not going anywhere this time, all I want is us. All three of us.”

“Me too,” Mingi clears his throat to get rid of the resurgence of emotion, “it feels right when it’s us, I’m not willing to lose that.”

Your shoulders drop, all the tension you’ve been carrying for months falling away. They love you, they want you, even still. You collapse against them, pulling them both tight to you and resting on their touching shoulders. “Are you sure you can wait?” You whisper into Mingi’s sleeve.

“Yes,” Yunho reiterates, “of course we can,”

You nod against them, letting their arms fold around you and keep you tucked close.

Mingi strokes your hair, his wide palm cradling the back of your head when he asks, “Does it bother you if we say it? If we tell you how we feel? Or should we give you some time?”

“You can always tell me,” You can’t go backwards now, “I’m done not telling each other things,”

Mingi presses his lips to your head, “Then I really fucking love you,” he murmurs soft in your ear, “and I don’t know what we’re doing, but as long as we’re together we’re going to be okay.”

Tears well in your eyes, the truth of is words cocooning around you, “I believe you,”

The day takes time to pass, and short of Mingi fixing you something to eat for dinner, you all spend it cuddled close on the couch together. Movies play on the television, fingers card softly through your hair, and no one talks anymore about what happened or what it all means.

Your original plan on Saturday would have been so much easier than this, you wouldn’t feel flayed open and raw and terrified to close your eyes or step into a room where you can’t see them in your eyeline, but you won’t lie and say you aren’t still grateful to be here and in their arms. You’re so sick of taking the hard road to get to them, but maybe together it can be different.

Later, at night and in bed again, you sink into that feeling of gratitude. You missed this, the feeling of them next to you, the weight of their hands and the warmth of their chests. Any fear or hesitation you might have felt about your future with these two alphas is dissipating with every passing minute. They made mistakes and so did you, but when things got hard, really and truly hard, they’ve been everything.

From your position curled against Mingi, you stretch and press a warm kiss to his neck, taking a comforting inhale of his rich scent, letting it work through your body and keep you warm. He sighs pleasantly at the feeling, and you wriggle up in their combined hold until you can find Mingi’s lips.

He’s hesitant at first, letting you set the pace this time. His mouth is comfortingly familiar and you ease into each other, sharing a quiet breath and nuzzling his nose between gentle close lipped kisses. He sighs against you, his hand tightening on your side, and you flash back in your mind to the last kiss with him in the studio room.

Flickers of the studio make your pulse quicken and your palms clammy, and you break your lips away from Mingi for a second of fresh air and to stop the sudden nerves sparking up the back of your brain.

Twisting in their arms you turn to face Yunho, keeping Mingi still close at your back while you find Yunho’s cheek and tug him down to your mouth. He makes a soft, surprised noise, and you realize that you’ve never kissed him outside of your heat before. He’s so warm, so instantly responsive to your touch and you pull him a little closer still, letting your legs tangle together under the sheet.

“Baby,” He whispers, fingers running over your hip and down your thigh.

Your lips part, his tongue catching on yours as it dips into your mouth, deepening the kiss and your heart picks up again. You shift your hand, fingers catching under the edge of his t-shirt, just a little more skin on precious skin. Mingi’s hand drops from your hip to your stomach as he edges closer behind you, his wide palm stretching across the expanse of your belly. You shiver, a breathy sound from your lips you can’t catch.

Yunho hums softly, pleasantly, kissing along your jaw the way he knows you love.

You let your eyes slip closed, the sensation of them filling every space around you.

Yunho kisses to the hollow of your ear and then travels lower, shifting to press his lips over the smooth column of your throat, but you feel the tense knot form again in the pit of your stomach. You feel hands on your hips where they shouldn’t be, you see a snapshot of your face in the practice room mirror, the ghost of a tug of your hair.

At the first soft touch of Yunho’s tongue against your tender gland you jerk back and shake your head, eyes fluttering open, “I can’t, I’m sorry I can’t,”

He pulls away immediately, hands off you as you press back into Mingi’s chest, “That’s okay,”

Mingi wraps his arms around you to soothe you, “Your heart’s racing,” he murmurs, “babe, you’re safe, you’re with us,”

“I know,” You nod, taking a deep steadying breath.

Yunho cups your cheek, “I didn’t mean to scare you,”

“It’s not you,” You assure him, “I just think I need some time before we do anything again,”

He nods, “Anything you want,”

“I just,” You try to explain, “for a second I thought I was back in the studio,”

“You’re not,” Mingi reminds you, “and you don’t ever even have to go back in that room if you don’t want to,”

“That’s not very practical,” You smile, kissing his forearm where his arm crosses over your chest as your racing pulse starts to slow.

“I’m being serious,” He says.

“I know you are,” You nod, “but I’m alright, I just think I need a few days away.”

“That’s a good idea,” Yunho eases closer now that he can sense your heightened spike of panic is calming, “I’ll join you.”

“Same,” Mingi rests his head on yours.

“You don’t have to skip work for me,”

“Honestly,” Yunho says, “it would make me feel better to stay with you, I’d be useless at the studio right now,”

Mingi nods in quiet agreement.

“Can I be honest?” You murmur in the dark.

“Always,” Yunho nods.

You find Yunho’s hand to hold and confess a little more to them, “I want you to stay, I feel like you’re both the only thing keeping me present right now, I keep worrying that I’ll slip back there,”

Mingi shifts behind you so he can properly see your face in the deep blue light, “Into headspace?”

You nod, the echo of it in your mind, “It was so awful,”

“I don’t think that can happen,” Mingi shakes his head, “you can’t just fall into it without someone putting you there.”

You remember the distinct way you felt pulled under, the sudden tug downwards and the way you felt so insulated and trapped inside your own mind. You swallow hard and meet his eyes, “I’ve heard of it happening, omegas getting stuck, I don’t want to feel that ever again, I can’t feel that ever again,”

“Hey, hey,” Yunho presses his hand over your heart and strokes your gland softly with the pad of his thumb, “that’s not going to happen,”

“He’s right,” Mingi kisses your forehead softly, “stories like that are rare, those omegas went through years of abuse and that’s awful, but it’s not you. No one is ever, ever, getting the chance to do that to you again.”

“No one,” Yunho reiterates, still soothing your sore gland, “not us, not anyone.”

“I just,” You sigh, “I keep feeling it when I close my eyes,”

Yunho reaches out and brushes back your hair, his fingers smoothing against your temple, “Is that what your nightmare was about?”

You nod.

“You were there again?” He clarifies.

“Yeah,”

“What was it like?” Mingi murmurs his question, keeping it soft. Not a demand or a need, but an opening. Yunho’s eyes flick away from yours to his, but he waits to see if you’ll answer.

Your mouth feels a little dry and you wet your lips as you think about how to describe it. You let their hands tether you as your eyes slip closed, “You know that feeling when your ears are full of water? The way everything sounds like you’re hearing it through a wall?”

“Mhm,” Mingi murmurs.

“It’s like that,” You explain, “like I was at the bottom of a lake or a pool and I knew something was happening around me, but I couldn’t tell what.”

“Do you remember anything?” Yunho asks.

You shake your head, “Yes and no,” but you can see it in your minds eye, “I remember you both looked so scared and I remember wanting to ask you what was wrong, but I couldn’t,”

They’re quiet now, only the thready sounds of their breath and yours as they listen.

“He told me not to move,” You explain, “and to keep my mouth shut,”

Mingi’s hand finds yours in the dark.

“He said, ‘don’t move an inch’,” You feel Minseok’s words against your throat, the final push that sent you over the edge, “and I couldn’t, even when you were there and not him,”

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand.

“I remember you telling me to come up,” You continue, “I’ve never heard you sound like that before,”

“You’ll never hear me sound like that again,” He says, his voice tight, “I just didn’t know what else to do,”

“It worked,” You let your eyes open again, “that’s all that matters.”

“Maybe,” He murmurs, and even though he doesn’t say more you can tell that he’s still a little shaken about using his own alpha tone on you at that moment.

Yunho shifts in the covers, “Jagiya,” he says, “I think you should talk to someone about this,”

“I’ll be alright,” You shake your head, “it’s just fresh and I need more sleep,”

“Just think about it,” he says, “you can always talk to us, always, but we’re not professionals,”

He’s not wrong, but the idea of opening up more than you already have makes something twist a little in your gut. You nod anyways, “I’ll think about it,”

They stay quiet for a little while, and you take a minute to come back to your senses completely after letting the idea and the feeling of headspace occupy your mind for even just a few minutes. When you do, you realize that while Mingi is still cuddled up to your back, there’s at least a foot of space between you and Yunho, despite the way his long arms afford him the ability to still stroke your hair from this angle.

“Come back over here,” You say suddenly, tugging on his t-shirt.

“You sure?” He checks as he eases across the mattress.

“Mhm,” You nod, letting his arms settle around you too.

Confessions bubble up in your chest, the sudden need to keep being honest flooding you.

In the dark, things are always easier.

“I need to tell you something,” You murmur into Yunho’s shoulder.

“Anything,” Mingi says quickly, his body still behind yours.

You say it as plainly as you can, “My last heat was more complicated than I told you before,”

“Okay,” Yunho murmurs, his voice a little hesitant as he waits for you to say more.

“I called Seonghwa, but he was with Wooyoung at the time,” You explain, “and Woo has a whole little heat sanctuary at his apartment, so I spent my heat there with them,”

“Is that what you’ve been so scared to tell us?” Mingi murmurs, his breath tickling your cheek.

“San came to find his friends because they weren’t answering their phones,” You just have to get it all out, “but he stayed, I asked him to stay too.”

“Oh,” Yunho trails off for a moment and Mingi’s steady breath stops.

You brace yourself for the worst of it, your eyes closing tight, but then Yunho says, “San and Seonghwa usually spend Wooyoung’s heats together, right?”

“Yeah,” Your eyes open again in the darkness.

“And they took care of you okay?” He asks.

“They did,”

“And you…” Yunho struggles to find the right words, “you wanted everything? They didn’t push you or,”

“No,” You assure him, “it was all my choice,”

“Okay,”

“You’re not angry?” You expected more of a fight, especially after how betrayed they looked after Seonghwa.

Mingi sighs and you feel his head shake against yours, “You’re here with us now,” he says, “and you said it back then, we weren’t dating, no one cheated,”

“Oh,” Your tight fists unfurl.

“y/n,” Mingi cups your hip and shifts behind you, “I think I already know the answer, but I’ve been wrong about what’s been going on for months, so can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” You repeat his words back to him.

“Was it just heat? Or do you want them too?”

“Just heat,” You assure him immediately, finding his hand and interlocking your fingers, “I promise you, it was just heat.”

“Okay,” He nods.

“Honestly,” You add quietly, “I don’t think I let myself understand what being with you both had meant until I experienced something different. I’ve never felt the way I felt with you both, before or after,”

Mingi nods again, and Yunho’s lips connect gently with your forehead.

“I understand if this is too much,” You start to say, but Yunho pulls back with a sharp intake of breath.

“No, y/n,” he cups your cheek, “it was hard to see things clearly in the moment that day, we were worried about you and I’ll admit I was jealous too, but you didn’t do anything wrong and we handled it more than poorly,”

“You’re friends with them,” You point out softly, still waiting for the moment they let your words sink in.

“So are you,” Mingi says easily.

Yunho runs his hand along your arm, “If you wanted to be with someone else, would you be here?”

“No,” You answer immediately.

“That’s enough for me,”

“Me too,” Mingi adds, “I just want to move forward,”

“Exactly,” Yunho finds your clasped hands in the dark and holds them both.

“Hearing you say you and Hwa aren’t together,” Mingi presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong about something, this changes nothing, babe,”

Your body unknots in their hands, “Okay,”

“Is that everything you wanted to tell us?” Yunho squeezes you softly.

“That’s everything,”

The room feels lighter with nothing between you.

“Well,” Yunho shifts closer and presses another kiss to your forehead, “I love you,”

Mingi’s nuzzles another kiss to your shoulder, “I love you too,”

Relief spreads through your body, and you tug them closer until you’re sandwiched perfectly between them once again. The weight sitting on your chest is suddenly gone.

There’s nothing more to say tonight, nothing more to do, but held between them with your legs all tangled together under the sheet you feel safe. You’re tired, exhausted even, but for a little while you can’t close your eyes. You listen to the way their breath evens out as they drop into sleep, gentle, rhythmic sighs as their bodies relax into yours. You listen to the city outside, the hum of the forced air unit, the distant click of a door shutting in the adjacent apartment. You focus on all the things you can feel, all the things you can hear. They way you’re here, present in your body.

Yunho shifts, rolling away just enough that you dip forwards with him and you end up against his chest. His heart thumps low and slow against your cheek. Mingi makes a soft sound at being disturbed, his body attaching back onto you like a magnet as he reaches over and hitches up his leg, cuddling you both.

You didn’t know it was possible to miss a person this much, let alone two.

Your throat tightens up, a feeling deep in your chest and you press your eyes closed. You whisper soft against their skin, practicing the words on your lips, “I love you,”

In the dark, you make them this little promise.

#this night together fic #tnt fic #honeyhotteoks fic #honeyhotteoks updates #yungi ff #yungi fic #yungi smut #ateez ff #ateez series #ateez fic #yunho series #yunho ff #yunho fic #yunho x reader #mingi fic #mingi ff #mingi series #mingi x reader #honeyhotteoks fics

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sentientfunfetti · 6 months

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killer!wally/reader hcs

(killer wally and his au were made by @itskorrychang on tumblr and twitter! go support their work!)

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

CW// THEMES OF DEATH, POSSESSIVENESS, ABANDONMENT AND LONELINESS.

when you two first meet, he’s wary of you and a lot more aggressive. that is until you show that you’re not a threat. it takes a while, but when he finally does fall for you he’s head over heels. to the point you can’t leave his sight. he follows you everywhere.

due to the fear of you abandoning him, and him being all alone again, it’s only natural that he takes steps to make sure that just won’t happen. let it be locking doors, hiding keys, not answering questions. he hates lying, but if it makes you stay the he’s all for it. some things are better kept secret, after all.

speaking of questions: he loves both asking and answering them…but everyone has their limits. unfortunately for you, you tend to reach that limit very easily. if you ask too many too much, he’ll just…stare at you. eyes wide. pupils dilated. lips pressed into a thin line. silent…then carry on as if nothing happened! try not to push his buttons too much. he’s not above putting his pallet knife to use…

can’t imagine a world without you. you’re the kindest neighbor ever, after all!

loves everything about you. especially your eyes. eye contact was a bit hard for him after he lost one of his own, but after you showed up and showed you were accepting of that fact, oh boy did he love that. he loves your eyes, the color, the way they widen when your surprised…the fact you have both of them…

paints you religiously. he doesn’t even need you to model anymore. it seems like every time you turn around theres a new piece, or doodle of you somewhere.

more than anything, he just loves having you around. you brighten his day, make him smile, ease the pain of loneliness. you’re just so sweet. you make him feel warm and fuzzy. he can’t get enough of you.

as soon as you break down his walls, he’d do anything for you. anything. draw blood, trash all of his paintings, take his other eye. anything. all he wants to do is make you smile. make you stay. make you want him. he still doesn’t fully understand romance, or love, but all he knows is that you make him feel something new. something good.

if you two fight, he immediately comes to you apologizing. he’d break into sobs if you didn’t forgive him, and immediately beg you to stay. don’t leave him. if you refuse…well…

in short, he would make you stay if he needed to. he can’t have his favorite neighbor leaving so soon! he’d tie you up to a chair, and feed you everyday. he’d take good care of you. he’d let you out one day if you promise not to try and leave again. if not, then, it’s back to the chair! womp womp!

also loves the fact you’re taller than him. loves when you pick him up and move him around, the fact you have to look down at him, the fact you can cradle him so easily in your arms, he loves sleeping with you, and watching you sleep. you look so peaceful…

speaking of sleep. he’s plagued by nightmares and night terrors (yes those two things are separate things and conditions). you wake up to him screaming and kicking frequently, begging for his late neighbors to stay, for them to stop. at first, you were to afraid to comfort him, or wake him up, but after a bit you began to hold him close, whispering that it was just a dream in his ear as you watch his body relax.

he loves watching you sleep. when he wakes up from nightmares in the middle of the night and you aren’t woken up by his tossing and turning, he just sits up and watches over you. he feels nice knowing that you and him are safe there, together. you’re safe with him. always.

sometimes, he enjoys taking care of you too. he’ll sing to you as you fall asleep, tell you stories, teach you how to draw, anything that puts a smile on your face and makes your day.

when you two aren’t painting or overall just hanging out together, one of his favorite things to do is cuddle you. he loves feeling your body against his (not like that calm down), and he loves looking into your eyes while you two cuddle. more than anything, he loves listening to your heartbeat. it’s something he lacks, and he’s fascinated by it.

he’s fascinated about everything biological with you. one thing he can’t seem to grasp is the fact you can eat…like actually eat. with your mouth. he gasped when he first saw you bite into one of the apples he gave you. he also loves how squishy you are. the feeling of your skin is different than his fuzzy skin. he lets you ask your questions about his anatomy too…as long as you don’t ask too much.

has frequent hallucinations, and episodes where he becomes frantic, irritated and paranoid. sometimes he accuses you of hurting his friends, and taking them away. as scary as it is, you take the time to calm him down, get the knife away from him, and remind him that you’re here for him. that you care. be appreciates this, and most times takes a nap afterwards having spent all his energy tearing the studio apart looking for his friends.

wants to introduce you to Barnaby one day…or at least what’s left of him. doesn’t allow you into the other neighbors houses AT ALL. “neighbor…it’s rude to go into other peoples houses without knocking…naughty naughty…!”

at the end of the day, he’s harmless. as long as you stick around and make sure he’s in high spirits, this can only end well!

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

just wanted to do some killer wally hcs. i absolutely love this little guy! such a silly little fellow! wahoo!

anyway, i have a few requests to do and some more of my own hcs i wanna do. if you have any requests, don’t be afraid to request them! until then :3

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n0tamused · 14 days

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A/N: This is based off of this post I saw on tiktok theorizing that BootHill must've died a brutal death for only his head to remain.

Content: angst, scramble drabble, she/her, female reader, BootHill needs comfort and he gets it, BootHill written prior to his release

“-Hey, hey, BootHill, breathe, my love-” Warm and cautious hands cup the cheeks of her loved one who sat shaking on the very corner of her bed. Hair messy and some fallen in small clumps from the struggle with his artificial body. “Shh, you’re with me.. there’s no one around, just me” she tries to soothe him again, worry rising like a bubble in her throat at her partner’s distress.

BootHill’s eyes flickered between red and gray, jumping around the room but once they were on her, they looked at something past her, through her. Even with half of his human body gone he wasn’t spared of the terrible memories and dreams. Every once in a while they’d come back to haunt him and drag him through all the suffering once again. Like once wasn’t enough. And in his scared stupor he didn’t rise from the bed before tugging his own hair and trashing the bed, even managing to hit her in the pure state of his delirium in attempts to pull off the ropes he felt in his nightmare.

Ragged breaths fan across her hands and she has to call out to him a few more times until she finally gets a response that he’s finally lucid. “Huh-? Huh..what?” He stumbles, hoping to summon strength to feel again, with his hands, Metal wraps itself around her wrist, squeezing then lessening its grip before squeezing again. “It’s okay.. it was just a dream.. See? Just breathe, come on.. do it with me”

Worry is etched deep between her brows and her frown in the dim light of the bedroom, but she manages to calm him down. But with each twitch of his body she regrets the lack of things she could do. She would’ve intertwined their fingers together, would’ve hugged him until he realized he was being held - but what use of it was it when he physically couldn’t feel touch? It was like explaining colors to a blind man. She might as well cry with BootHill.

But she has to stay strong, and patient above all else. She needs to be his rock at this moment. “Come.. let’s rest some more. We can just lay down for now” she leads him to lay down after her, moving his head despite his confused and pained grunt, setting his ear to her chest. Her hands go to his hair and she holds him there, just like that. And she feels his weight fall onto her, no longer resisting. The thump of her heart draws him in until it becomes the center of his world. He sees darkness before his eyes, but hears the light of the heart kept away from him, safe behind her ribs.

It was an anxious thump, fastened with fear and lack of air, before easing into a smoother rhythm. BootHill didn’t realize he was shedding tears until her gentle fingers brushed over the edge of his eyes, prompting them to close. “ ‘m sorry..” he muttered, swallowing a breath before he nuzzles his head against her chest, shuffling so his artificial body followed the long lost habit of his past self in the form of hugging. Mechanical arms practically trap her under him, and she only hugs his head closer. This is the least she could do..

Hearing him cry into her chest broke her heart, feeling how her shirt became damp, and hearing him murmuring apologies for every tear that fell tested her strength too. He felt broken and lost, in hatred of the fate he was forced into and the suffering he had to endure, and he couldn’t give up, for that would mean betraying you. He just had to keep moving.

BootHill can’t betray the only person left that he loves, and that loves him in return.

#-better an arrow than you #angst #BootHill #Boothill honkai star rail #Boothill x reader #Boothill x you #boothill x female reader #boothill x y/n #boothill x afab reader #female reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x female reader #boothill angst #boothill imagine #hsr boothill

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talesofesther · 6 months

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what once was mine | ch 2

Loki x Reader

Series Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: I was kinda putting off writing this chapter because I was forced to write a scene I don't like to relive lol. But anyway, it's here, and I hope you like it. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 1 here

When you lost Loki, you didn't have time to grieve. The whole universe was being threatened, there was no time for tears.

It all had happened so fast. One minute Loki stood between you and Thanos, his hand holding yours and keeping you away from harm; and the next, Thor was dragging you away from the body of the person you loved the most, while you screamed until your throat burned.

And then you lost, again; half of the universe turned to dust. It was only one year later that a strange man came knocking at the compound's door with a solution, a hope. But not for you. After all, Loki wasn't one of the blipped ones, though a part of you wished he had been.

In the end, you won the war, and you brought everyone back; but you lost a piece of yourself.

You felt numb, hollow. Now, looking down at your hands, under the cold running water of the bathroom sink, you could see red even when it wasn't there. It stuck on your skin and under your fingernails. For the tenth time this week, you felt as if there were cotton balls in your throat and you couldn't breathe.

The sight was burned into the back of your mind, returning each night to haunt your nightmares. His bloodshot eyes, bright yet so lifeless; his hand still outstretched on the grounds of New Asgard when he'd last reached for you; dried tear tracks on his cheeks when he realized the inevitable; the crimson red blood dripping from his nose and mouth. That was the last image you had of your Loki, as you screamed—you couldn't even recall what exactly you had been screaming—and thrashed against Thor's strong hold on your body, dragging you away so you wouldn't meet the same fate.

You splashed water onto your face, making it hide your tears even though you could still taste the salt in between your sobs.

It's been over a year, and the pain has yet to subside. You've been living on autopilot since the last battle, helping rebuild and only eating enough to keep you going, barely speaking to anyone. There was a hole in your chest that you couldn't fill, a part of your heart that stopped beating the same day that his did. The year following The Snap had gone by in a blur, with everyone working incessantly trying to find a way to undo what happened, and part of you had a hope that you'd be able to bring Loki back as well; but when the solution was found, and he didn't come back, that last bit of hope was snuffed out like a candle, leaving you in the darkness.

People would look at you funny when you walked the hallways of the Avengers compound, you didn't know if it was because of the evident scar running from your forehead to the beginning of your left eyebrow, or because of the dark circles under your eyes.

You finally reached the kitchen and grabbed a mug with a sigh going past your lips. Steadily, you poured yourself some black coffee. Was it your second, or third mug of the day? You weren't sure.

"You drink a few more of those, it'll soon be running through your veins."

Thor's voice made you close your eyes, your back still turned to him. Despite loving the guy, you really didn't feel like talking right now. You brought the mug to your lips and took a generous sip before facing him.

"Here's hoping." You tried smiling, but it came more like a grimace.

A strong hand found your shoulder and squeezed. "Tony says he's worried about you... everyone is," Thor said quietly, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes with his own.

You bit onto your lower lip, nearly drawing blood. When you looked up at Thor, you could see a reflection of your own pain in his kind eyes. "I just wish I could see him again. Just one last time." You shrugged weakly, watching as your vision turned blurry yet again.

In the same beat, Thor pulled you to him. His chin came to rest on top of your head as he hugged you tightly. "Yeah, me too," he whispered. "Me too."

It was on this same night that you woke up yet again covered in cold sweat and with a scream lingering on your tongue. Each beating of your heart against your ribs was a punch. The last image you had of him burned behind your eyes.

You got up and walked to your bedroom door, hands shaking when you turned the knob and when you filled a glass with water.

When you lost Loki, there was no time for a goodbye, there was no time for you to lay a last kiss on his forehead and promise to find him again in another lifetime. He was taken from you—abruptly, and without remorse—leaving behind a gash on your heart; an open wound that still bled.

Maybe that's why, on this same night, you made your way to Tony's lab, grabbed one of the few remaining pym particles, and pulled yourself through time.

Just one last time. You had to see him just one last time. You had to say goodbye, and make a promise.

The TVA found you before you found Loki. You never got back to your timeline.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 3 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @justaproudslytherpuff @justanotherkpopstanlol @chronicallybubbly @chaoticqueen33 @7minutes-tomidnight @uncle-eggy @oliviaewl @dd122004dd @tani725 @lokihaha34 @levanneisdumb @innebulae @mochminnie @mayemperess @alyeskathewave @buginktsworld @cremebruleequeen @wyvernthekriger @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avengersfan25 @mischief2sarawr @yokolesbianism @arunabrak @athenasproverbs @h-l-vlovesvintage

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #what once was mine #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

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steddietogo · 1 year

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Eddie finds Steve’s green sweatshirt one day after getting surprise dunked in the pool at Casa Harrington by his own sheep. It’s soft and worn like it was once Steve’s favorite thing to wear but now it lays forgotten at the back of his closet.

Eddie doesn’t think much about it, just picks it up and pulls it on. Its just him and Steve in the kitchen when he gets back. The others are arguing about which movie to put on while Steve heated up dinner for all of them like a dutiful housewife. The thought makes him laugh.

Steve turns around at the sound of his voice. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just. You pretend to get mad when the kids call you mom but here you are, being all—” He waves his hands about trying to convey his point but Steve is already distracted.

“That sweatshirt,” Steve has a frown on his face, but it’s not exactly a bad one. Eddie wonders when he learned to read Steve like that.

He gives Steve a twirl. “Do I look good in it?” Steve smiles, doesn’t deny it.

“You know, I fought my first demogorgan in it,”

“Woah,” Eddie looks down at it, feeling something akin to wonder when he smooths his palms over the fabric.

“Yeah,”

“God, Harrington,” Eddie looks up grinning. “You gotta keep a priceless artefact like this safe,” Steve rolls his eyes and goes to pull the pizza out of the oven. He’s still smiling though.

Eddie follows, then plants his butt on the counter so he can see Steve’s face. “Is that why you don’t wear it anymore?”

Steve’s cheeks puff out like a chipmunk when he sighs heavily. Eddie has the sudden urge to pinch them.

“Kinda, at first,” He doesn’t look at Eddie when he speaks. “I don’t even know why I kept it, you know? I kinda just wanted to burn every evidence of that night,”

Eddie nods and goes to gather plates for everyone. He should say it. Steve trusted him enough to share, Eddie should too right? He hasn’t said it out loud. Not to Wayne, not to the upside down scientists approved therapist. But he could tell Steve. Steve gets it. And Eddie so badly wants to talk about it, maybe cry a little. Because out of all the things that had happened, this one really breaks his heart.

Eddie startles when a hand softly presses into the small of his back. “You okay there?” Steve has his head tilted to the side to see Eddie better and this time the frown on his face spells worry.

“I can’t play my guitar,” he blurts out. And the words rush out of him all at once. “I can’t do it, I mean I get nightmares and shit, you know. And sometimes my scars hurt so much at night that I can’t even sleep. But this one really takes the cake, like, I pick her up and my heart starts racing and I can’t breath—” It’s happening again. His chest tightens to the point that he struggles to draw in a breath and his vision blurs out as his eyes fill with tears and— oh god he’s going to die in Steve’s kitchen.

“No, Eddie you’re not going to die, I promise,” says a steady voice firm enough that he almost believes it. Then warm hands pull him into an even warmer body. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, listens to Steve telling him how to breath and slowly, after a long while, the knot starts to loosen and breathing comes easier. Steve doesn’t stop running a soothing hand over his back as Eddie sags into him, suddenly winded. His fists are balled into Steve’s shirt like a scared little kid.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles when he’s gathered enough energy to start feeling embarrassed at how quickly he fell apart.

“Nothing to be sorry about, I swear, happens to the best of us,”

Eddie snorts, “Okay mom,” Steve swats at his arm. Eddie finally pulls away after a while. “Think I really needed that,”

“Hey, if you want, you can come over and trying playing over here?” Steve shrugs. “Maybe a change of location can help, I’ll even hold your hand through it,”

“How am I supposed to play if you’re holding my hand, dummy,” Eddie snarks, hiding his smile behind his hair. “But I’ll think about your offer,” There’s literally nothing to think about, what was he going to say, no? Steve’s answering look tells Eddie he knows too.

And if Eddie leans into Steve when he put his arm around Eddie in the sofa while sharing a blanket, well that’s his business.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #mine #This is the fastest I’ve ever written anything #ever #this is like a rollercoaster of emotions

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lixie-phoria · 8 months

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bf!chan comfort hours

pairing : chan x gn!reader | genre : angst to comfort | warnings : nightmares, reader has a panic attack but not explicitly mentioned | word count : 0.7k

request : hey, can i ask for a comfort/angst one-shot with skz? it could be any member

grief hits at the strangest times, sucking the breath out of your lungs and logical thoughts from your head.

grief was an old friend. grief was a toxic, manipulative, and pernicious old friend you wish you could let go off.

it was early in the morning. you were supposed to be asleep beside chan, snuggled into his side. but you weren't. you were squatted on the cold tiles of your bathroom floor, head tucked between your knees and back pressed against the hard marble. alone.

nightmares were a common occurrence. they would jar you awake almost every night, covered in a cold sweat and gasping for air. chan would help you down from them, always. he knew what to say, what to do, and how to bring you down to reality.

but this time he wasn't there.

the truth hit you like bricks.

you'd had an argument. it was silly, stupid, unnecessary. but it was terrible. he'd stormed off finally to spend the rest of the night at one of the boys' house. how you wish he hadn't. how you wish he was here.

you didn't know how long you spent trying to calm your breathing, but the sun's rays eventually filtered through the small window, and with them came chan.

you didn't hear his car pull into the driveway or the keys turning into the lock. your heart pounded against your ribs, trying to break free.

the poor boy had finally had some sense talked into him from lee know. he wanted to apologize, but he couldn't find you, and he felt his anxiety rising. you weren't in the kitchen. you weren't in your bed. you weren't on the terrace.

it didn't take him long to put two and two together and before you even realized he was home, chan was flinging open the door to the bathroom.

it startled you as you scrambled back, wide eyes staring into the concerned ones of your boyfriend.

"y/n"

the way he said your name: the tenderness, the accent, the softening of his eyes. it melted your heart.

your body acted before your mind did, and you were up in an instant and running into his embrace, the tears you had tried so hard to keep in finally falling.

he was waiting for you with open arms. he always was. he caught you, both literally and metaphorically.

"chan"

"i'm here, babe. i've got you."

it was simple. no explanations demanded. he knew you needed him, and he was more than willing to be there as he gingerly picked you up, your legs wrapping around his torso as he carried you into your shared bedroom.

the sheets were cold, but chan was warm. he was comforting. he was home.

"channie, im so sorry-"

"dont."

"but-"

"no."

his soft hands pushed your hair out of your eyes, gently wiping the tears away and pulling the blanket up to your chin.

"it wasn't your fault."

"it wasn't yours either," he assured, enveloping your trembling hands into his bigger ones.

"i was so scared you wouldn't come back. i thought you left. forever."

"never. i could never."

he slid into the sheets beside you, tucking your face into his chest and wrapping his arms around you.

"i love you, y/n. don't you ever forget that."

"i love you too, chan."

you loved how he smelled. you loved how he held you close. you loved how his chest vibrated as he hummed a tune to calm you down. you loved the kisses he was pressing against your head. you loved the circles he was drawing on your back. you loved him. you would always love him.

"you should sleep," he whispered.

"i can't. not without you."

"i'm right here, love. i will be here when you wake up, too."

"promise?"

"promise."

you snuggled closer. it had barely been one night and you had missed him so much.

"we'll talk about it once we're both well rested, yeah?"

you nodded into his shirt.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

and just like that the grasps of sleep pulled you in. but this time it was comforting. this time you had chan by your side. and you would never have it any other way.

tags : @foxinnie8 @hamburgers101 @starlostlaiba @laylasbunbunny (send an ask to be added/removed)

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shoddynomenclature · 2 months

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Okay some angsty “kidnapped by Orin” thoughts because she has the power to not only torture you physically but fuck you up so bad psychologically. This works really well with the Minthara romance since they already have history, but it works with all romanceable characters.

TW for torture and dark content

Orin can take the physical form of anyone she’s ever seen, so, of course, when it comes to tricking you, she takes the form of your most beloved.

She can’t perfectly mimic their personality though. It’s a slight slip up, maybe just the lack of a pet name or a word they’d never use. Whatever her mistake, you realize it’s not them.

You turn to run, or maybe draw your weapon to fight. But Orin doesn’t change. She keeps the form of your lover until she’s overpowered you. You struggle in her arms, in their arms. But you can’t break free.

She doesn’t break form. Not even when you’re in the depths of temple of Bhaal. She forces you to watch as your own lover tortures you, peeling away skin from bone. Maybe she takes on something more personal, biting you with the fangs of Astarion or burning you with the flames of Karlach. But it’s not them. You have to keep reminding yourself it’s not them.

You wake up each day in their arms, wanting to cry to them about this awful dream, only to realize it’s a nightmare become reality as your lover becomes into your captor once more. No matter how long you’re there you nearly fall for it every time.

Finally your lover rushes into the temple, covered in blood, so relieved to have finally found you, to see that you’re okay. You cry out in relief, clinging to your savior before they break out into hideous laughter. It was all another trick. No one is coming to save you.

In the end, when you’re finally saved by your actual real partner, you find yourself to scared to even touch them. You can’t cling to them in desperate hope and relief. You can only shake and crawl away from them with the terror of your torturer.

Even once you’ve arrived home, you remain constantly wary of them. Orin has broken you. You’re unable to find comfort in any attempt they make to soothe you. At times it’s unbearable to even look at them.

You wake up in their arms only to be met with the horror of what you think to be another trick. You want to jump out of the bed and curl up in the nearest corner. It’s really them this time. They promise, they’re not going to hurt you. But you don’t believe them. You can’t.

You may never feel so safe with them as you did before. It will be a long time before you will feel peace in their embrace again.

#this one’s kinda fucked up #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 x Tav #bg3 lae'zel #bg3 gale #bg3 halsin #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 wyll #bg3 astarion #bg3 minthara #bg3 karlach #bg3 spoilers #bg3 fanfiction

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callsignseagull · 10 months

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all you had to do was stay ✪ part 7

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Six years ago Jake hit your life like a hurricane. In and out in a matter of weeks. You thought after you get over the disappointment of him leaving without saying a word you’d never think of him again. But then two pink lines change your life forever. Now he’s back and still has no idea that the little girl by your side is his daughter.

Words: 2k

Warnings: fluff, angst, me not knowing how the navy works lmao

A/N: Here’s part seven!! enjoy

feedback is always appreciated <3

series masterlist || masterlist

I love you, daddy.

The words have been repeating in Jake’s head ever since Josie uttered them. They’re what’s been keeping him going while mission training gets more intense. He spends every free moment with you and Josie, and he feels like you’re becoming a real family. He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his life. Not his first time flying a fighter jet, not when he graduated from the academy, not when he got to Top Gun the first time. This, being with you and Josie, makes him happy, gives him purpose. He didn’t know if he’d ever have kids. He’s thought about it when his first niece was born, but he didn’t have a partner, didn’t even date, so it seemed out of reach. And he thought maybe it was for the best. Little did he know he was already a father. When his eldest niece was born Josie was already a year old. And he had no idea.

So now he wants to make up for lost time. And it’s starting to take its toll. He doesn’t get much sleep, but that’s the price he’s willing to pay to spend time with his daughter. And with you.

He’s still focused at work, but it takes a lot more energy than usual.

Coming back to Top Gun and finding out about Josie has changed Jake’s life in a way he never expected it to. And it didn’t only change his plans for the future but his priorities, too. Josie’s nightmare and almost kissing you the other night was an eye opener for him. He wants to spend as much time as possible with the two of you. Wants to be a real family. And now he feels like maybe he’s got a chance. That maybe you finally trust him again and that there are still at least some feelings for him left. He’ll do everything to make you his. He’ll wait forever if he needs to.

He knows that his job will put a strain on things, that he won’t always be there when you need him. And he hates that. If it were up to him he’d never leave you and Josie out of his sight. Okay, that sounds a little creepy, but he doesn’t mean it in an overbearing way. He just doesn’t want to be without you.

He’s certain it won’t be easy for him to get the future he wants, to get the best of both worlds, but he’ll do everything in his power to make it happen. He’s already got the ball rolling on some changes. But he doesn’t know if it’ll work out.

He’s got a long day of training ahead of him, the mission drawing closer quicker than he would like to, especially because he didn’t know where he was headed when he came back. If he came back.

He shakes his head, that’s no way to think about it. This is the most dangerous mission he’ll ever fly and there’s so much at stake. And he needs to get back to you and Josie. He needs to see Josie grow up.

“Let’s go, Hangman.” Coyote’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he finally manages to get into his work mindset. He can’t afford to be distracted at work.

✩̿✪̿✩̿

When Jake checks his phone after a day of training the most difficult maneuver he’s ever had to do, he’s got about thirty missed calls from you. His heart drops. Something must’ve happened. You rarely call him. Let alone thirty times.

He calls you back immediately but he only reaches your voice mail. He tries again and again and again.

Nothing.

He’s beyond worried, his thoughts are filled with worst case scenarios as he messily grabs his stuff, doesn’t even change into his regular clothes and bolts out the door. The rest of his squad are eyeing him with confused expressions but he doesn’t even notice them. All he can think about is that he needs to get to you.

Since you’re still not picking up your phone he decides his best bet is driving to your house. See if you’re home.

You’re not.

Your car isn’t in the drive way and when he rings the doorbell no-one opens. All the lights are off and his only option is to wait. He keeps calling but you don’t pick up. He doesn’t know if you’re missing his calls because you don’t notice him calling or if you’re purposely not picking up the phone.

He’s a mess.

It’s almost two hours later when your car finally pulls into your driveway.

✩̿✪̿✩̿

Turns out that Josie broke her arm when she fell from the monkey bars. She doesn’t have to get surgery but they put a cast on her arm that needs to stay on for six weeks. Luckily, Josie is at that age where having a cast is cool and she wants all her friends to sign it. The whole thing might’ve been more traumatising for you than for her. Especially because of your anger towards Jake. He’s tried calling, but you were too stubborn to pick up. You wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, show him what it’s like. Is it the most healthy thing to do? Definitely not. But you were a mess.

When you turn onto your street you can see Jake sitting on your porch steps. He’s still in his flight suit and his hair looks like he’s run his hand through it at least a million times. He must’ve sat there for a while. It makes you feel bad for a second but then you remember what you’ve gone through the past couple hours and you’re angry again.

“I called you about a hundred times!” Jake says as you step out of the car. He’s walking towards you now, his eyes scanning over your body as if he’s looking for injuries.

“Well, so did I.” You open Josie’s door and help her out of the car. When she sees Jake her eyes light up.

“Daddy, look! I’ve got a cast! They made it my favourite colour!” She shows off the green cast that’s covering her forearm. “Will you sign it?”

“Of course, I’ll sign it.” He forces a smile. “What happened?”

“I fell from the monkey bars on the playground. It hurt a lot but it’s all better now!”

“C’mon, honey let’s go inside.” You gently push against her back. Jake follows you but halts his steps before walking through the door. He looks uncertain.

“Will you stand out there all evening?” Your voice sounds irritated even to your own ears. And you are. There’s so much you wanna say to him right now but you can’t while Josie is around. Jake finally enters your house and closes the front door.

You spend so much time at the hospital that it’s already past Josie’s bedtime, so that’s what you focus on first. You go through the motions, aware that Jake is always close by, watching as you help Josie brush her teeth and read her a bedtime story.

“Now it’s time for you to sleep, honey.” You put the book on her nightstand and watch as her eyelids get heavier by the second. Seems like the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Will you sign my cast now, daddy?” She yawns and even though you’re not looking at him you know there’s a small smile on his face.

“Of course.” Then you hear Jake moving through the room to get a pen from her desk. Josie reaches out her arm and when Jake crouches down next to you. He’s entirely too close, so you get up and take three steps back.

Once he’s done he caps the pen, gives Josie a kiss on the forehead and tells her good night one more time. Then the two of you leave the room.

You can feel the tension rising as you make your way to the living room. You’re too wired up to sit down so you just stand there in the middle of the room, looking at him.

“I was worried sick!” Jake presses out. “You call me thirty times and then don’t pick up? Are you serious?”

“Well, you weren’t picking up your phone either.” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I was at work and I didn’t have my phone with me.”

You shrug your shoulders. For some reason you wanna be mad at him. You want to channel all your frustrations and nerves and let it out on him. Maybe because you’re mad at yourself for wishing he’d been there with you. Or maybe because he’s the only person here right now. You’re full of emotions that you don’t know how to deal with.

“And I was at the hospital with your daughter while she was in pain!” You feel tears brimming your eyes. “And you weren’t there! You weren’t there and I wanted you there and I hate it! I hate it, Jake! You came waltzing into our lives out of nowhere and now I need you to be there? It’s unfair! We were fine before you came along.”

You can see the hurt in his eyes and it makes you want to shove the words back into your mouth. But that’s not how it works.

“You don’t need me, sweetheart. I know that. You’re the strongest person I know. Raising our girl on your own … And as much as I wanna be there for you every second of every day, I can’t.”

He’s speaking with so much honesty, it makes you deflate. He cares so much about Josie, he didn’t answer his phone because he couldn’t not because he didn’t want to.

“You should’ve heard her scream, Jake. It was horrible.” The tears you’ve been holding in finally roll down your cheeks and within seconds Jake is there, wrapping his arms around you, soothingly rubbing your back.

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you I know you didn’t have a choice. But I was just—“

“It’s okay. C’mere.” He holds you closer and you let yourself relax against his strong body. It’s been so long since you just let go. So that’s what you do, not caring what he thinks while you’re sobbing, no doubt leaving wet stains on his flight suit.

“Why can’t you have a regular office job?” You murmur against his chest and Jake chuckles softly.

“But then we would’ve never met.”

“True.” You let out a sigh. “Still sucks though.”

It’s quiet for a couple moments while Jake softly sways you from side to side. You’ve never felt so safe. Then he clears his throat.

“I’m leaving for the mission soon.” That makes you look at him. “I can’t tell you anything about it, but … it’s dangerous.”

You stiffen, “How dangerous?”

Jake presses his lips together, looking at the ceiling before his eyes find yours again. “The most dangerous I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Jake …”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You know I’m the best.” The shakiness in his voice betrays his words but you choose to ignore it.

“How much longer until you leave?”

“I can’t really say. But I’ll come over to say goodbye before I leave… I wouldn’t leave without seeing you guys one more time.” There was so much meaning in him saying one more time, but you choose to ignore that as well. “And then when I’m back … I applied for an instructor position at Top Gun. It’s not an office job but I won’t be deployed as much and I’d be close to you guys.”

“What?” This is the first time you’re hearing about him even thinking about choosing a different career path.

“If everything goes to plan I’ll be moving to San Diego soon.” The corners of his mouth tick up.

“But… but you love flying.”

“I love Josie more. And I’ll still be flying, just not for the same reasons. And I’m not going to lie and tell you this is a completely safe position. It’s still dangerous and things happen. But I don’t wanna miss any more than I’ve already missed when it comes to Josie’s life. I wanna be there for all the important milestones.”

Now you’re crying again but for a whole different reason.

“Jake.”

“When you told me about her my priorities just shifted. For a really long time flying was the only thing I had. The only thing that gave me purpose. But now that I know about Josie … she’s biggest and most important purpose of all.”

You really don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything and just hold him closer and rest your head against his shoulder.

___

only a few parts left!!

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