#the real difference is that THIS time she was gone long enough that she is fully out
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Bleeding heart dove
pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.
genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.
warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story donât represent the idols in real life.
word count: 25.7k.
You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where heâd let you. Where youâd let yourself.
It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.
a.n: sheâs finally here!!!! i havenât written for chris in such a long time and iâm so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties thatâs why itâs so long now LMAO but i hope youâll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but iâm slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all đ€ thank you for waiting for me
They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesnât graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.
No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.
You smell rust.
Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharpâlike blood smeared on your tongue against your will.
As everything in your life has ever been.
Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.
It was a cruel smell at thatâ the scent of things stolenâ childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.
You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?
That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.
And you were only ten.
But Seungmin was only six.
Your brother didnât understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.
Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm himânot even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungminâs resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.
You didnât know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. Youâd give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.
The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggageâtagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.
The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. Thatâs what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.
They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within youâa burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.
Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.
Seungmin didnât understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. Thatâs when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.
By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungminâs grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.
You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.
âIâm Winter,â she said, her voice soft.
You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanageâs doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didnât pass from pneumonia.
Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didnât bother to do so for her.
You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.
âIâm Y/n, and this is Seungmin,â you replied, gripping your brotherâs clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasnât to be touched.
But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.
Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Yearâs. You always gave yours to Seungminâ the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.
But rust remained.
It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.
Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.
Perhaps it was your mindâs way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelidsâ even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parentsâ airy laughter calling you to dinnerâ this was not home.
It never could be.
âY/n?â
Hanâs voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.
Heâs the first one out of the stylistâs room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.
âHey, Han,â you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.
His grin is as easy as everâwarm and full of mischief. âLike the makeup?â
âItâs perfect,â you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.
âThe boys are still getting ready,â he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.
âFigured.â
Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.
Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.
âYou seemed far away just now,â Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.
You exhale slowly. âThe vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. Thatâs a lawsuit waiting to happen.â
Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. âWhy is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like Iâm about to be sued?â
You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.
âHeyââ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.
âI should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,â you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.
âOkay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didnât I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.â
You do.
It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.
âThere she is! Youâre smiling,â Han says, poking your cheek.
âJust remembering our trip.â
He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. âBest summer ever. Next time, the vacationâs on me. Pinky promise.â
Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.
Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.
âYouâre here,â Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Hanâs arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.
âI finished up the case early,â you explain.
Seungminâs gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.
âAnd why are you so dressed up?â
âCanât a sister look nice for her favorite brotherâs first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?â you tease, clasping your hands.
Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.
âIâm your only brother, and we both know youâre lying,â Seungmin deadpans.
Itâs endearingâthe way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasnât spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.
Itâs foolish tooâ as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.
âFine. I have a date after the show.â
âWith who?â Hyunjinâs voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.
You smile. âJaehyun.â
Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. âYou know I donât love him.â
âAnd who said I do?â you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.
âThen why do you still meet up with him?â
âBecause heâs fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.â
Changbin leans in, grinning wide. âIâm fun too. Why not date me?â
He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.
âAlright, alright, stop the flirting,â you laugh, shaking your head. âI fear youâll end up killing my brother.â
Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. âLook at you, performing in such a big arena,â the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. âYou know that Iâm proud of you, right?â
You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.
âYeah,â he breathes. âThank you for coming. I really wanted you here.â
You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. âIâll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.â
âYouâll do great,â you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.
His voice follows you down the hall. âWeâre still talking about this date later, though!â
âSeungmin loves acting as if she isnât older than himââ Swat.
â
There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brotherâs concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvasâ soaking your heart in wildflower hues.
You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.
It is Seungminâs turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesnât cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.
But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.
He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.
Deep down you already know the answer to this.
âMy sister is here tonight,â he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. âIf Iâm here today itâs all thanks to her, so Iâ I hope youâre proud of me,â he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. âYou know, I⊠I donât believe in foreverââ his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. âBut just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, Iâ I want to believe in eternity with you.â
The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.
But youâre not here anymore.
Youâre somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.
Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.
â
He was eight.
His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.
You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didnât quite reach his toes. He didnât mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.
âDid you make a wish?â you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretendingâ that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.
How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?
Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.
âI said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.â
The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.
You forced on a smile anyway. âYou will,â you promised, voice soft but unsteady. âSoon.â
He paused, blinking slowly.
âWhatâs forever?â
The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a haltâ Seungminâs innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.
âWhy do you ask?â
âI told Gyuvin Iâll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.â
Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streakâsharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.
Still.
âHeâs joking, Seungminnie,â you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. âForever just means something that doesnât end. Like numbers. Numbers donât end, right?â
He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.
âWould you like to believe in forever?â you asked, teasing gently.
âNo,â he said quietly, âBecause then Iâll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.â
Oh.
Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awakeâlong enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.
Seungmin was only nine.
But you were only thirteen.
And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.
You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down oneâ rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished heâd carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe youâd be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.
You thought of what itâd be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldnât feel anything anymore. You couldnât bear it. You couldnât bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.
â
âYah, Y/n why arenât you smiling?â Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.
You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forwardâ âBecause! Youâre all sweaty and pressing onto me,â you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at onceâ âthis is the sweat of hard workâ, âbut our sweat smells nice though!â, a groan, âthatâs just you Hyunjin.â
Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felixâs, pulling into the middle for a group hug.
âStop, your sweat will rub off of me!â Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.
You donât give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungminâs cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. âYou all did well! Iâll have to go now! My date is waiting!â
You donât leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.
You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.
Youâre almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.
âSeungmin, I told you Iâmââ you turn around expecting to see your little brotherâs gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chanâs worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chanâs frown only deepens further.
âIââ you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.
Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyunâs name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.
âWhatâs wrong?â he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. âAnd donât say youâre just feeling emotional because we made it so far.â
You chuckle faintly. You know itâs no use lying to Chan, of all people. âJaehyun is calling again,â you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.
âCancel your date,â he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, âyou know you have the most fun hanging out with meâ.
âAlright, Mr. Cocky,â your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if youâre forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? âI'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.â
âI won't,â his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. âWe'll go on a drive okay, like old times?â
What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.
That is what being next to Chan is like to you.
âFine,â you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. âI donât want Seungmin to know though.â
âDonât worry,â he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. âIâll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.â
â
It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.
He didnât know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.
Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flawâ Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.
His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chanâs small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didnât mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joyâone that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.
It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.
It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldnât bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?
See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed thatâthe syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heartâevery vein, every moleculeâtainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.
Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it hereâif he closed his eyes long enough heâd pretend the salty air was Australiaâs breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his fatherâs grilled meat, his motherâs lemonade, his sisterâs shenanigans. He missed his dog.
Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?
It had.
The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?
Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of burstingâ an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.
What is wrong with me? Heâs been asking himself the same question ever since.
It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.
He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.
Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didnât quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.
Because Chan wasnât alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.
And then Seungmin.
It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.
You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You canât cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.
Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.
âDo you still pick at your nails?â Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. âCanât give up bad habits?â
âYouâre the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.â
âTouchĂ©,â he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.
The seasons passed, and Chanâs fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together againânot to its original form. That would be a foolâs hope. People noticed the external changesâthe different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with timeâbut they couldnât see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.
Because pain doesnât pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.
The heart Chan carries isnât his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.
And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.
And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyoneâs hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.
âIs this about Seungmin?â Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.
âNo, yesâI⊠I donât know,â you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.
You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boysâ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.
Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.
Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.
He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesnât feel like a thunderboltâa surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.
âIt will bleed, and then youâll come whining because it hurts,â he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.
âWhen did I do that?â you exclaim, but you donât pull your hand away.
Your hand is in his.
Your hand is in his.
Your hand is in his.
âBesides,â you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, âYou know Iâm the last person to ever whine.â
Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.
âYeah, you should do that more often, actually,â he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.
It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. âYou heard Seungminâs speech,â you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.
Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.
âHard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,â he jokes, and you finally giggleâa real laugh, not the artificial ones youâve been giving him. It feels like Australiaâs breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.
âYou know,â you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, âIt reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.â A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. âSeungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You shouldâve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.â
Chanâs hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.
âI remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didnât quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.â
âHe did,â you smile. Itâs a bit different from all your grins. Youâre always different when it comes to Seungminâsofter, bursting with pride.
âAndâŠâ Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. âI remember you.â
âOh, please, no,â you hide your face in your palms. âThatâs so embarrassing.â
Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many thingsâbeautiful, brave, human. âEmbarrassingâ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.
He remembers.
âHere,â Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadnât known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.
You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.
âThank you,â you said tentatively. âSomething got into my eye.â You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.
âI figured. Thereâs a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,â He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.
âIâm Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.â
You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.
âAlright, Christopher Actually Chan,â you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed youâd account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.
âAnd I know you, actually,â you continued.
His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much heâd make a fool out of himself if he needed to. âIâm not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. Heâs my brother.â
âRight,â Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkwardâsocial prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.
âIâm Y/n, by the way,â you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.
Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.
A cherry lollipop.
âAs a thank you,â you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. âAh, and, you better debut with my brother!â
You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your faceâone so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didnât quite know what to do with it.
Chanâs fate was sealed right then and thereâhe would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.
For one would ask, whatâs a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherriesâ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if itâs you.
Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. âYou were brave, Cherry. You still are.â
âYou think too highly of me,â you snort.
âI think of you just right, actually.â
You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. âWhat if I told you Iâm terrified?â The words rush out, as though you are afraid theyâd die in your throat before they could reach him.
Chanâs heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you whoâs like a Russian dollâlayer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.
âWhy?â he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.
âI didnât want to tell Seungmin,â you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. âHeâd be heartbroken... I know him, Iââ you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. âMy new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaireâs investment, with pools and golf courses.â
âSun Corporation,â you explain, âitâs owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdingsâ CEO. Theyâve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. Itâs a mess, Chan.â youâre angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.
âThe city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but thatâs bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?â you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. âI told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. Theyâre offering compensation but Iâve dealt with those kinds of people. Theyâre greedy. Theyâre corrupt.â
âI couldnât turn my back on it,â you whisper. âI had to take the case. Those kids⊠theyâll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.â
Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fractureâlike a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.
Chanâs palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. âYouâre worried theyâll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?â
âYeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I canât stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.â
âThey wonât. youâll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?â he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.
âYou will, okay? I have no doubt you will,â he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.
âI will.â
â
Chan: you up?
Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.
Y/n: What a fuck boyish text
Chan: akldkdkd so youâre definitely up
Y/n: Iâm working on the case :(
Chan: open up!! i have snacks
You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. Heâs wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still donât understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.
âWhat are you doing here?â you ask, crossing your arms.
âI got bored alone in the studio,â he shrugs casually. âSo I thought Iâd drop by.â
âDrop by?â you repeat, laughing softly. âYour studio is on the other side of town.â
âOkay, I guess you donât want fish cake and tteokbokkiââ
âCome back,â you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.
âItâs a mess, Iâm sorry,â you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.
âNeed me to tidy up again?â he teases, grinning as he steps inside.
You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. âYou did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.â
âI donât mind, Cherry,â he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. âIâd do it even if you werenât sick, you know.â
Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrumâone long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when heâs near.
You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.
âAny updates on the case?â he asks.
You nod, running a hand through your hair. âI filed for an injunction,â you say, sighing deeply. âTrying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like itâs nothing.â
Chanâs eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what youâve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?
âIâm trying to figure out whoâs behind those apartment deals. Jaehyunâs helping me track it down.â
Chanâs eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesnât realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you donât notice.
âJaehyun⊠are you guys together yet?â Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. âHm? No. Weâre just friends.â you say between bites.
âYou go on dates with your friends?â he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes donât morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.
âYou know, weâre just messing around, or whatever,â you quickly say.
âRight.â
Chan remembers the moment with striking clarityâwhen you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.
You had said his name casually, A journalist youâd met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, youâd said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of himâsomething new, something soft and fond that made Chanâs chest tighten.
âAnyways, heâs friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,â you continue, voice tinged with frustration. âSo heâs been trying to convince him to help us out.â
âAn insider,â Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. Heâs thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chanâs been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all heâd glimpse is you.
What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?
You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. âItâs tiring, Chan,â you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside himâa peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. Itâs very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.
âDo you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?â he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesnât stop caressing your back. You donât wish for it to.
âWhat is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?â you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.
âEveryone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.â He recounts the memory as if you werenât there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. âAnd then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadnât slept in days. You asked me, âIs it true? Are you debuting soon?ââ
You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding youâhow raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.
âYou were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungminâs vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,â his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You canât speak even if you wish to.
âI said yes and you started crying. and I hadnât seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.â You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.
âSeungmin,â you heaved, âplease protect him, Chan, Iâ please, you have to protect him, please.â
âWhatâs wrong?â He panicked. âTalk to me Cherry, hm?â
âWhat if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out heâs an orphan and use that against him? He doesnât like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if heâs hurt and he canât tell me?â
His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasnât crafted to handle it?
âThen when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.â
Chanâs heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.
His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. âYou are the strongest person I know,â he says, his voice soft, âThe most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. Itâs that passion that makes you the best at what you do. Youâll win this case, and every case after it, because youâre the one handling them.â
His thumb brushes against your skin. âAnd you believed in me when I said Iâd protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.â
You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, heâs frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you inâyour shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.
âThank you, Channie,â you whisper against his shoulder.
He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. âYouâre welcome, Cherry.â
For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesnât love you? Chan doesnât know. He doesnât really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldnât be a waste if itâs spent loving you.
â
âThree penthouses are already registered under different names,â Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. Youâre seated in a small cafĂ© near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyunânames of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.
âPark Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,â you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, whoâs already smirking.
âPark YunaâŠâ you pause, âisnât she the wife of the city council president?â
âBingo!â he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.
âOh gosh,â you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. âThis isnât an action movie stop it.â
Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.
âAnyway, youâre right. Sheâs his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.â
âThey didnât even register them under their names. Subtle,â you mutter, shaking your head.
âYeah, I bet they werenât even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.â
You sigh, leaning back in your chair. âThey think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They donât get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.â
The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongueâthe bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over othersâ lives.
âWeâll gather more evidence of their corruption,â Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. âAnd when we do, weâll confront them. They wonât risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.â
You nod. âYouâre right.â
He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. âBy the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?â
The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.
âChan came over,â you admit.
Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
âChan,â he says, drawing out the name.
âMhm,â you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.
âThe man who calls you Cherry.â
âYeah. Why are you looking at me like that?â
âBecause youâre so oblivious.â
âAgreed,â a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.
You groan, burying your face in your hands. âThis isnât the subject of discussion,â you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.
Youâre momentarily distracted by Winterâs appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Sheâs poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.
âThat man likes her,â Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.
You glare at her. âNo, he doesnât. Heâs my friend.â
Winter raises an eyebrow at you. âHe always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.â
Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last nightâto how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.
âWhatâs the point of him liking me if I canât like him back?â you murmur, voice barely audible. âMy heart isnât made for this.â
âHave you ever given yourself a chance?â Jaehyun asks and you scoff.
âA chance for what? To hurt someone?â you reply, shaking your head. âI donât know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,â you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.
This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ thatâs too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.
âAnyway,â you say, forcing your voice to steady, âCan you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and heâs the only one who can help us. Iâd like to talk to him alone.â
âYeah, Iâll try to convince him,â Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.
There are things youâve always wished to escapeâdark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still havenât. Perhaps, you will never.
Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of anotherâs touch.
You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of griefâs favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all youâve ever known.
â
Your motherâs fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.
You canât see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that youâd forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldnât forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.
You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.
You loved singing, for the three years before your parentsâ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds⊠They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.
You were then forced to learn that there isnât just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.
You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.
It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.
Youâd told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.
Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfumeâsoft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice⊠Even your brotherâs group when he debuted.
You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.
It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.
âYou were brave, you still are, Cherry.â Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.
Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long youâve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chanâs and Jeonginâs place.
It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.
You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.
Y/n: Are you home?
You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.
Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungminâs
A heartbeat.
Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?
You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.
You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.
âIâm okay,â you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.
âItâs 1 a.m.,â he replies, concern etched into his features.
âI can read the clock,â you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. Heâs beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.
âIâm just anxious about the next few days,â you admit.
âWhatâs happening?â he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.
âIâm meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. Heâs called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporationâs corruption for our case.â
Chanâs worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.
âDonât look at me like that,â you murmur. âI didnât come here to worry you. I just⊠I wanted your company.â
Chanâs demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.
âI think I feel less anxious around you,â you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winterâs words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.
âOh, IâŠâ His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if theyâre debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.
âSo do I, Cherry,â he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. âAnd I could come with you to meet San, if youâd like.â
âReally, youâd do that for me?â his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.
âOf course, you donât even need to ask.â
You see it thenâvisions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chanâs neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.
Perhaps this is the most violent act of allâto have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.
âWere you working?â you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. âYeah, working on some new songs. But Iâll take a break now.â
âThe mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,â you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.
âShould we have a drink?â he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. âYes, Iâd like that.â
Itâs easy to recall with Chanâto relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.
The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you donât feel tired. Youâre tipsy, the wine warming your stomachâa bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.
Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. Youâre close to all the boysâyou care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.
âI was thinking on my drive home of this⊠melody my mom used to sing,â you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chanâs. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.
âShe used to hum it to the ocean, to me when Iâm about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,â you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. âIâve been trying to replicate it on the piano but Iâve never managed to.â
You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.
âCan I hear it?â
You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.
You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. âThank you for sharing,â he says.
âThank you for listening,â you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.
You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: youâre in Chanâs room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you canât help but wonder if he too felt itâ the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.
You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.
âIâve made you breakfast, itâs in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but Iâll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)â
You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You canât help but inhale their scentâtraces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.
You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where heâd let you. Where youâd let yourself.
It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.
â
You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almostâbecause you canât help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.
âI think weâll scare the poor boy away,â you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.
âDo you want me gone? Itâs fine, I can leave,â he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. âItâs not like I made all this effort to come hereââ
âOh my god, youâre still a whiny baby at your big age,â you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the cafĂ©.
You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.
San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.
Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee youâve yet to sip. âThank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,â you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.
âLook, Miss Kim,â he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. âI gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what youâre asking of me now... itâs dangerous.â He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. âTheyâre not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.â
âI do,â you say firmly, leaning forward. âI know exactly how high it goes. Thatâs why Iâm here. And thatâs why I need your help.â
San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.
You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. âLook, Iâm not asking you to go public,â you murmur, lowering your voice. âI just need the truth. Documents, emails⊠anything that proves thereâs a corrupt force behind this decision. Iâll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.â
âI want to help you, I do,â he says, his Adamâs apple bobbing nervously. âBut they will find out, and Iâll lose everything,â he pauses, shoulders slumping, âIâm the sole caregiver for my mom⊠Sheâs in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?â
Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. Heâs still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.
âSan,â you start gently, âI once lived in Promise Orphanage too.â you admit and his eyes slightly widen. âBefore that, I was in two other orphanages in the cityâŠâ You pause, looking for the right words. âI still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.â Your voice cracks, and Chanâs warm hand finds your knee.
âItâs hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. Theyâre happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But theyâre well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They donât deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.â
San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?â
âYouâre here,â you reply, âyouâre afraid, but you also believe in what weâre fighting for. Otherwise, you wouldâve rejected this meeting.â You sigh, your voice softening. âYouâre a good person, San. Donât let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.â
âI do,â he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.
âLook, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I canât prove intent. What we need is whatâs inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I canât do this without you, San. I mean it.â
San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. âThere are emails,â he admits quietly. âSome from the CEO, discussing how to âincentivizeâ council members. And Iâve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as âconsulting fees.â Itâs not hard to connect the dots.â
Your heart leaps in your throat. âThatâs exactly what we need. Can you get copies?â
âI think so,â he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, âI lost my father too, you know.â Thereâs a rawness in his voice that only those whoâve been burdened by grief can understand. âIâll find a way. For those kids.â
You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. âThank you,â you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.
-
âShould we celebrate?â Chan asks, his voice light, once youâre settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. Youâve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like youâve closed this case without needing a trial. Thatâs something worth celebrating.
âYou know what? Hell yeah,â you giggle, and Chanâs face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. âGreat! Because I already planned for us to!â His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.
âCherry! youâre free tomorrow, right?â he shouts over the music, and you recognize the songâNo. 1 Party Anthem.
So youâre on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or notâŠ
âHmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnappedâŠâ you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. âLooks like I am!â
âPerfect! Letâs go on a trip, then!â
Sunglasses in doors are par for the courseâŠ
âWhere to?â you laugh, and he simply winks in response, âYouâll see.â
âFine, you be mysterious, and IâllâŠâ You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, âIâll be your passenger princess.â
It doesnât escape himâ how readily youâve let go, how much youâve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts wonât catch up with the two of you.
Her eyes invite you to approachâŠ
You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coastâone Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.
Youâre served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongueâsavory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. Theyâre buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chanâs gaze.
Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.
And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that youâve just swallowed have got you goingâŠ
You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard youâre laughing. But then, in the mirrorâs reflection, you catch his gazeâsoft, unguarded, and filled with something you donât dare name. Your breath falters. Youâve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.
Come on, come on, come onâŠ
The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmerâs market along the road. You donât question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You donât question why youâre suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray itâs the latter.
Number one party anthemâŠ
âWelcome to Gangneung,â he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the housesâpainted in pastel blues and greensâclimb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.
âYou remembered,â you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.
âIâd like to go to Gangneung one day,â you had once told him during a late-night walk. âI heard itâs a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isnât that sweet? Iâd love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.â
âI didnât tell anyone,â he says, giggling. âWell, except Winterâso she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldnât worry. But I didnât tell them where weâreââ
You donât let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.
The look of love, the rush of bloodâŠ
âThank you, Channie,â you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.
Come on, come on, come onâŠ
Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. Youâre the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.
Number one party anthemâŠ
âHere,â he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. Heâs got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. âCome on,â he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.
He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. Youâre lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You havenât sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurfaceâ to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you wonât resurface again.
But you havenât felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.
âI made you something.â Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. Youâve seen Chan in many statesâ happy, angry, weeping. But you havenât seen him this nervous before.
âWhat is it?â you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.
He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. âIâm sorry if this is too much, but I couldnât stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?â
He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and thenâoh god.
âChan, Iââ you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. Itâs her. Itâs your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. Itâs as though heâs handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood backâher hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.
You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. Itâs a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.
âShould we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.â You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.
âWeâll get sick,â he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.
âWe havenât been kids in so longâ, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.
âWait, not like this!â you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But itâs no useâheâs already running and the next thing you know, youâre plunging into the cold water.
He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesnât matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.
Youâre both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your wayââonly one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.â
Oh.
When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. âThereâs only one room left,â he stammers. âThe other one has a water leak. But itâs okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might beââ
âChristopher, Iâm fucking freezing,â you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. âIâll let you shower first, then.â
The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.
âGo ahead,â he says, âIâll wait.â
You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.
Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?
Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?
Y/n: Yes, and weâre sharing one room đ«Ł
Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing
Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?
Winter: Of course i foresaw this
You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.
Y/n: Iâll kill you once Iâm back!!!
Winter: you love me đ youâll have to tell me everything when you come back
Y/n: I will â€ïž Heâs very sweet⊠and confusing
Winter: Just trust your gut
Trust your gut? Youâre quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.
You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. Heâll carry it with him, you thinkâa faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.
Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You donât remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.
âChan?â you whisper into the quiet.
He hums instantly. He hasnât slept.
âArenât you cold?â
âI am.â
âShould we move closer? Body heat and all,â you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.
Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.
âGood?â he asks, voice rough, and you nod. âYeah, good.â
You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.
âChannie?â you whisper.
âYes, Cherry?â
âHow different do you think weâd be, if we hadnât gone through the things we did?â
You donât know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paperâuncrumpled, untainted, left to be.
He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.
âI think I would open my heart more,â he finally says, voice soft. âIâd be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. Iâd stop chasing perfection. Iâd just... exist.â
You nod against him. âYou should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.â
It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.
âYeah, Cherry,â he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. âAnd you?â
âIâd allow myself to love. Without fear. Iâd be someone worthy of being loved.â
A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.
âIâve dated people,â you say quietly, âit drives Seungminâs crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,â you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.
âHeâs a good brother.â
âHe is,â you smile, before sighing. âBut I donât know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what theyâre getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... thatâs all I have to give. Iâm afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. Iâm hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest canât beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.â
His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Donât love me. Donât hurt yourself.
â
Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesnât feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yetâhe still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.
â
You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporationâs headquarters.
From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretaryâs protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.
Fun!
The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.
âMiss, you canât go in there,â she says, chest slightly heaving. âThis is a private meeting.â
You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. âPrivate? How convenient! It seems like theyâve kept their corruption private too!â
Her face pales, and she stammers. âI⊠Iâm sorry, but Iâll need you to wait. Mr. Choi isââ
âExpecting me,â you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.
With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. Heâs young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.
Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. âWho let you in here?â
âApologies for the interruption,â you say, though thereâs not a shred of remorse in your voice. âIâm here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.â
Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. âI donât recall scheduling a meeting with you.â
âNo, you didnât,â you reply coolly. âBut I thought Iâd save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply canât wait. Surely you understand.â
An executive to Choiâs right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. âThis is a private meeting. You canât just barge inââ
âOh, but I can,â you curtly cut him off, âAnd I have. Now, if youâd prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought youâd appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.â
Choiâs mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
âSit,â he says curtly.
You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. âNo need for pleasantries. Letâs cut to the chase. I have evidence that the cityâs approval for your demolition project didnât come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.â
A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choiâs smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.
âI could sue you for defamation, you know,â he says, leaning forward. Heâs beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.
âIs it defamation if itâs supported by your own emails?â
From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.
âThese emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as âconsulting fees.â Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldnât you agree?â
Your grin widens as you add, âAll of it obtained lawfully, of course.â You know theyâre infuriated by you. Youâve learned over the years that men like these donât fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.
âThere is nothing illegal about consulting fees,âa voice quips from your right, âitâs standard practice.â
âStandard practice,â you repeat, tilting your head. âHow fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isnât your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddyâs approval?â
Choiâs fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You donât flinch.
âHow dare you speak to me like this?â
âAnd how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!â you fire back, your voice rising. âYOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.â
The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.
âYou have two choices,â you say, straightening. âWithdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives youâre willing to destroy, or Iâll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, itâll all be public knowledge. Letâs see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.â
Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. âSo let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who wonât tolerate interference.â
You pick up your bag, winking. âThen I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!â
Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if sheâs just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.
Now that was fun.
Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. âFuck you were so badass!â she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.
âI can and I have,â she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.
âGod winter you shouldâve seen his face,â you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, âhe looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!â
âAh I think this is over, right?â she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, âtheyâll yield or else youâll drag their reputation through the mud.â
âI think so,â you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. âIf theyâre any smart theyâll know that the general public will always empathize with children. Weâll wait and see,â you grin, pinching her cheeks. âEither way, Iâm not letting them take away the orphanage from us.â
âNever doubted you will,â she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, âgirls night then? Itâs been so long.â
âYeah, letâs do it!â
You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. Youâve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when sheâs the warmest person you knowâ sheâs the saccharine taste of honey, sheâs the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. Sheâs too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungminâs lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.
âI love you,â you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. âYah save this for the sleepover.â
The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesnât hurt as much to remember these days.
âSo, will you tell me about Chan?â she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.
She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. âCome on. How was your getaway?â
It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. âIt was the happiest Iâve been in a long while, Winter.â
âYou donât sound happy about it,â she observes, and you nod.
âIâm terrified, because heâs confusing me.â
Sheâs silent, and you gather your memoriesâthe ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you canât say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.
âHe remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winterâ you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.
âHe took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,â you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your motherâs piano piece secret. You feel as if youâd desecrate it by speaking of it, like itâs a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. âAnd then⊠since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.â
You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.
âHow did you feel?â
You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.
âI felt safe. Like I could let go, and heâd be there to catch me.â
âI donât think he would hurt you. I donât think he could, even if you hurt him.â
You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.
âI donât want to hurt him, Winter. Thatâs my issue. And I know I will.â
âWhy would youââ
âIâm a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,â you cut her off, resigned. âYou know that. I didnât choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.â
âWhat I know,â she says, taking your hands in her own, âis that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. Thatâs something not everyone can say.â
You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.
âWinter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. Youâd change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? Itâll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.â
Your voice cracks, and the tears youâve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. Sheâs quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe youâve imagined this whole conversation. But thenâ
âWhat if that flowerâs only wish is to be loved?â
Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding whatâs left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.
Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.
Except it isnât.
Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for Sanâs hospital bills.
You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.
Y/n: What???
Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurseâs description) paid for all his motherâs expenses.
Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaultsâthrobbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like heâs made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.
Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?
Somehow, itâs 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You canât stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.
You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press âCallâ.
âCherry?â Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.
âHi, Channie,â you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.
âAre you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?â His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.
âNo, no. I just⊠I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.â
âOh, who told you?â he sounds sheepish, timid. âI thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.â
âWell, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.â The words slip out before you can stop them. You donât hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?
âWell, itâs the least I could do.â
âNo, you didnât have to do that. You didnât have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didnât have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?â you ask, breathless.
He sighs softly. âDoes it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?â
âYes.â
âThen you have your answer.â
Oh.
The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.
âThank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.â You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you wonât let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.
â
Seungminâs earliest memories have always been of you.
There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didnât know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. Theyâd been taken too soon, he didnât have much to hold on to.
So it was always you and him.
He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didnât understand why the world was so cruelâto him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldnât everyone else see you the way he did?
By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didnât know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.
Seungmin started piecing together truths he didnât yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didnât want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.
He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.
And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldnât be burned by him. So you wouldnât cry when looking at him asleep.
Joy was scarce in Seungminâs life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that heâd have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.
Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpectedâa gift. A cheat code. âYouâve got a beautiful singing voice,â Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didnât like singing in front of other people. He feared youâd be punished for it too. âHave you ever thought of becoming a singer?â
The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.
So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didnât feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. âI want to be a singer.â
You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasnât stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.
âWill you help me?â he asked, voice burning with resolve. âIt pays well. I promise Iâll debut, and Iâll make you proud. And Iâll repay you, for all of it, I swear.â
âWhatâs this talk of you repaying me?â you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. âAll of me is for you, Seungminnie.â
Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.
It was then he named itâthe poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throatâthe guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He shouldâve asked what your dream was. He shouldâve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.
Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphsâhim ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.
He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels youâve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guiltâ gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.
He understood after a while that you werenât looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day youâd fall for someone whoâs still looking for fun, who wouldnât care for your heart like it was your own.
His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldnât help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.
He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. Youâd laughed, and heâd felt sheepish under your gaze. âI told him it was a bad idea,â Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.
âI donât like him,â he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, âwhen do you ever?â
You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.
Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.
He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.
Which brings him to today.
Seungmin hasnât seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasnât their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.
It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.
Was he⊠Jealous?
âThank you honey,â Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.
âShe doesnât like meat cut that way,â Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.
Okay. What?
âIs there somethingââ he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.
âWinter!â you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.
âW-whatâŠ?â you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks. âCherry, whatâs wrong?â so does Chan.
Cherry?
âThe orphanageâŠâ you say, Chan seems to understand what youâre talking about perfectly. You donât finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. âWeâll take my car,â Changbin says.
â
Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you canât break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?
Because there is.
You think youâve reached it now.
Time seems to have slowed down, so much youâre sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, itâs quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.
The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And youâd let it. You donât have the nails to dig yourself out. You donât have the will. You donât have the hope.
You almost feel like laughing. Youâre cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.
Itâs hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And youâre before the orphanage but you donât smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.
The orphanage is burning.
The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staffâ Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.
The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but itâs spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. Itâs eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.
Itâs eating your memories, itâs eating you.
âWhatâsâ whatâs happening?â Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.
Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You donât feel her warmth. You donât feel anything, now that youâre thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?
âCherry,â you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. âWho started it? The fire?â you ask breathlessly.
âWhy?â they ask, cautious, âdo you have reason to believe it was intentional?â
âWho started it?â you repeat.
âItâs too early to tell,â he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. âPreliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since thereâs no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone mustâve sparked it, and now itâs out of control.â He sighs, âWeâll call the police.â
You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.
â
âWould someone tell me whatâs going on?â Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you donât know where to begin. You donât know how this will end.
âMiss Jeeho called,â Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. âThereâs enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.â Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. âIâll drive you,â he says. She nods in reply.
âDo the kids have a place to go tonight?â Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. âNo, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.â
âAlright,â Han says, pulling out his phone. âLet me call the others for help.â
âYou have my card,â Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winterâs hand.
âText me,â you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.
And then there were three.
âWould you please tell me?â Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadnât anticipatedâhurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everythingâ the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fireâ but your voice feels like someone elseâs, void, unfamiliar.
âAnd why didnât you tell me any of this?â he asks once you finish. Thereâs raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.
âI was going to tell you,â you murmur, âonce the permit was withdrawn. I didnât want to burden you with this.â
âBut I want you to burden me!â his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. âI could have helped you. I would have stood by you!â
âSeungmin, please,â you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.
âYou donât always have to carry everything alone. It doesnât make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,â he presses his eyes shut, âI wouldnât have hid something like this from you.â
âWell, youâre not me!â You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like youâve struck him. Youâve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.
There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.
âIâll go help the boys,â he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like youâve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.
âCherryâŠâ Chanâs voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. âNot you too, Chan.â
âWould you talk to me?â His voice is gentle. âYou havenât said a word in over an hour. This isnât healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldnât keep it all inside.â
âI donât have anything to say,â you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.
âJust talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. Iâll listen to you. Itâll feel better if you let it all out.â
âExcept it wonât!â The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. Youâre throwing up thorns, and you canât stop it. âYou donât always know whatâs best for people, alright? You canât always fix people, Chan! And I canât be fixed! Talking about it wonât help, keeping it in wonât help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all Iâve known.â
âCherry, please. You know thatâs not what I meant.â His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.
He still calls you Cherry. Heâs still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.
âOh, come on,â you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. âDonât you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years youâve lost it?â
âIs this how low you think of me?â he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. âI never thought you needed fixing.â
âWell, itâs how I felt around you,â you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. âLike Iâm the poor orphan and youâre the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.â He looks like youâve just slapped him in the face.
Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?
âYou know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.â He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. âYou only have one sin and itâs that you wish to be loved.â
He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.
âAnd I love you. God, Iâve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.â
âWhat?â you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesnât answer. He leaves.
He left.
Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly youâre running after him. âWhat do you mean you love me?â you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Youâre sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesnât matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. âWhat do you mean, Chan?!â
âForget it,â he mutters.
âYou canât say that and ask me to forget it!â you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.
âHas it not been clear? That youâd ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Canât you see that Iâd sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?â
You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?
âNâno, you⊠You shouldnât love me.â
âDo you think I havenât tried?â His voice rises, raw and hoarse. âIâm human too, it kills me to love someone who I know wonât ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like Iâm dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do Iââ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.
Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. Youâll remain a disaster. Youâll ruin him too.
âLook at me.â You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. âPlease, Cherry, look at me. Even if youâll leave me right now, please, Iâ Iâd rather you leave while looking at me.â
You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.
âTell me you donât love me,â he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. âSay it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.â
âI canât say that,â you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. âI canât say that because I wonât mean it.â Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.
You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.
âDo you know what a bleeding heart dove is? Itâs a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.â Your voice cracks like glass, Chanâs eyes soften more than youâve ever thought was possible. âThatâs how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that wonât ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I donât want to taint you with it too.â
âWhat if I want you to taint me?â His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. âWhat if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that Iâm loved by you?â
You smile softly, shaking your head. âThat would be selfish of me.â
âThen love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,â he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to youâ his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.
âYouâre so beautiful, Channie,â you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. âIâd like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.â
He softens. âI waited for you for ten years. Iâd wait for you for an eternity if I have to.â
A knot forms in your throat. âYouâre so sweet, God, Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorry, I know you donât pity me, I shouldnât have said that. Iâm just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I donât know where to even begin now,â you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.
âWould you breathe now?â he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. âI'm not mad, alright? And weâll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.â
Your voice is small as you mumbleâ âSeungmin is mad at me.â
âHeâs not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you donât let him in. You know that.â
You did, of course you do.
You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. Youâll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.
âWill you stay with me, Chan?â
âAlways.â
â
âSo, they burned down the orphanage?â Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.
Your small apartment is packed the day after the fireâWinter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. Youâve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like itâs their own.
âYeah, Iâm sure of it,â you reply. âWe got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.â
âAnd remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,â Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. âThe police are tracing it now.â
You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised heâd tell you first, if anything happened. âYeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us Iâll file a lawsuit against them.â
âBut can you believe the fucking nerve?â Felix scoffs, âI just read their statement: âWe are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditionsâ. Do they think we are stupid?â
âTheyâre lying,â Miss Jeeho says bitterly. âTrying to save face while they can.â
Hyunjinâs face pales. âThis makes me sick,â he whispers. âThe fact that theyâd endanger those kids just for their agendaâŠâ He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.
âThey stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,â San says, his voice tight. âThey mustâve realized someone was leaking information. Now everythingâs confidential.â
He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. âItâs okay. I donât think theyâd be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. Weâll find another way.â
âWhat about the kids? Are they okay?â Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.
âTheyâre doing fine, considering,â Minho answers, nodding toward Han. âYeah,â Han adds with a soft laugh. âWe visited this morning. Theyâre warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we mightâve gone overboard with the toys.â The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Hanâs face before smiling fondly at him.
âBut this is all just temporary,â Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. âWe canât keep them in a rented house forever. Theyâll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.â
âIs there really no other way?â Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winterâs shoulder gently.
âUnless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. Itâs all gone,â Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. Youâve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you canât bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.
âWhat if we rebuild the orphanage?â Seungmin suddenly asks. Itâs the first time youâve heard his voice during the night.
âWe donât have the funds for that, Seungminnieâ you say softly.
âWe do,â Chan interjects firmly, âIf we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?â
You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.
âYou know, itâs not a bad idea,â Jaehyun says, leaning forward. âMedia coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.â
âI can hold a press conference then,â you say, your voice quipping up. âExpose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.â
âAnd me,â Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. âI want to stand by your side. Itâll help us garner more attention too.â
âAre you sure?â you ask gently. âAre you ready to reveal where you grew up?â
âIâm not ashamed of it,â he replies softly. âItâs because of that place that Iâm here today.â
Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. âAlright. Sounds like a solid plan.â
â
Youâve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesnât wear a singular face.
âGood afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.â
Youâve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow youâre unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether youâll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.
âYou are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.â
Youâve known the loneliness that doesnât stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.
âI am here to explain that this isnât due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.â
Youâve known the loneliness that doesnât fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when youâre surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at armâs length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.
But for the first time in years, you donât feel lonely.
Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.
The legal case is airtight. Youâve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proofâpolice reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.
âWe have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity weâll keep anonymous. For now.â
Your eyes meet Sanâs, and he winksâheâs the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.
A journalist raises his hand. âAre you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?â
âThatâs exactly what Iâm saying. But donât take my word for it, of course.â
You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.
The room falls silent.
Then, the recording crackles to life.
âAre you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!â
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.
âYou idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea whatâs at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help meââ
The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.
Journalists erupt all at once.
âWho is that speaking?â
âWas this obtained legally?â
âIs Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?â
You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.
âThe voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,â you confirm. âThis recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.â
You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her nameâJia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sisterâs medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know sheâs watching this at home too.
âThis is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.â
You gesture toward the documents on every table.
âThere is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.â
More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, âAre you pursuing legal action?â
âYes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.â
You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyoneâs view.
âThere is someone Iâd like you to meet now.â
He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.
The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.
âIs thatâŠ?â
âWait, Kim Seungmin?â
âWhat is going on?â
âHello,â he says, voice reverberating around the room. âMy name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.â A pause. âI am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.â
The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewerâs count is rising up rapidly.
âIâve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,â he nods at you, âraised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,â he smiles softly, before sobering up. âWe moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. Sheâs the one who helped me become a singer. Sheâs also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.â
He swallows hard, steadying himself.
âThis crime is not just about corporate greed. Itâs about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.â
His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.
âWe are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.â
âPlease donât let this injustice go unanswered.â
He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.
Itâs done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.
â
Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.
The past six months have been both, somehow.
You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with childrenâs laughter againâ yours, your brotherâs, your friendsâ, the fansâ, the general publicâs too.
And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.
That is until Seungmin talked to you.
âCan I sit?â he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, itâs quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanageâs reopening party.
âThey look happy,â he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.
âThey do.â
âI never apologized for that night,â he suddenly says, turning to look at you. âWhen I got mad because you didnât tell me about the orphanage.â
âIâm the one whoâs sorry,â you sigh. âI knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just⊠didnât want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plateâ you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. âI guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.â
âYou were a child too, protecting me,â he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. âYou donât have to protect me anymore. I promise. Iâd rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.â
Your eyes drift toward Chan. Heâs playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.
âDo you like him?â Seungmin asks softly.
Your breath catches. âWhat?â
âChan. Iâm not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.â
âDoes it bother you?â
âWhy would your happiness ever bother me?â He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.
âThen yes,â you admit, breath hitching. âI like him. So much it terrifies me.â
You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculousâ to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.
âSometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,â he says. âBecause weâre scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because weâve conditioned ourselves to think we donât deserve it.â
Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. âLook at you, saying such wise things.â
âIâm literally twenty-four,â he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. âBut youâll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.â
âAll right, all right.â He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. âBut would you do it? I know youâve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,â you go to interject but he stops you, âPlease. Would you listen to your heart for once?â
It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwaveringâstuck on a single note.
Chan.
Youâve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothingâan emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things youâd like to change in your being, the ones youâd like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.
But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.
But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.
You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?
You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he didâwithout hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.
âYou look different,â Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you donât shy away from his gaze, for once.
âDifferent?â you echo.
âAt peace.â
You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.
âIâve thought a lot about what it means to be human,â you murmur. âTo soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I donât have all the answers. But I found something.â
âWhat is it?â
âI found you,â you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. âI weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where youâd leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means youâd love me for a while, and that Iâd love you too.â
He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.
âA while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.â
âSo you still love me?â you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.
Chan blinks, then deadpans, âAre we sitting by the sea?â
You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see himâyour beautiful Chanâthe faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.
âI havenât listened to my heart in so long,â you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. âBut right now, it only wants one thing.â
âIâm yours,â he breathes, lips slightly parted.
There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.
You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.
You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.
You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heartâs rawest desires.
You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.
âI love you,â you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, âIâm sorry it took me so long to see it.â
âNonsense,â He smiles against your lips. âEven if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.â
â
âSo, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?â Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.
âWait, pause, I canât believe I lost to Chan,â Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.
âSheâs mine,â Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. âGo find yourselves your own partners.â
You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil youâve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.
âWait, but we liked you first!â Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. âGod, I thought I would be free of this torture.â
âI literally liked her before you guys even saw her,â Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.
âSo youâve loved her for ten years now?â Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. âWait this is so romantic.â
âIâm sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,â you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chanâs cheek.
âOh my god guys heâs BLUSHING!â Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. âThis is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,â Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. âWait, Innie pan over to Seungminâs face!â Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.
âWhat? Iâm still not used to⊠this,â Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but thereâs a soft gleam in his eyes. Heâs happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but heâs happy.
âWho wants ice cream?â Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.
âWhat was that?â you ask once you are out of the house.
âNothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,â he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. âYouâre making it a habit to kidnap me,â you tease.
âDo you mind?â
âNot in the slightest.â
âGood,â he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. âAlso, itâs Changbin and Jisung for you,â he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.
âDoes Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?â
âYes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,â he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.
âAre we standing underneathâŠâ you draw out.
âA cherry blossom,â Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.
âThis reminds me⊠Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?â you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.
âYeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,â he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.
âWhat if I hadnât given it to you? What if we hadnât met at all?â
He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. âI wouldâve found you,â he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. âIn the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms⊠I wouldâve found you, my Cherry, and I wouldâve loved you just the same.â
What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didnât come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought youâd walk in.
You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.
You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.
To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.
For you have the sun now.
You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.
#chan x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#skz x you#stray kids x you#skz fluff#stray kids fluff#skz angst#stray kids angst#skz imagines#stray kids imagine#stray kids imagines#skz scenarios#stray kids scenarios#skz au#chan fluff#chan fanfic#chan angst#skz fanfic#bang chan x reader#bang chan x you#bang chan fluff#bang chan angst
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â pairing âžș gojo satoru x reader
â drabble âžș 1.8k, before his final fight with sukuna, gojo reunites with someone he thought had been long gone </3 sorry in advance luvs
đ december 24th, age 28
sheâs standing in front of him.
sheâs standing in front of him.
sheâs standing in front of him.
his mind loops over the thought, unable to process it, unable to accept it. his six eyes tell him itâs realâsheâs realâevery fiber of his being tuned to the cursed energy signature he knows better than his own.
but it canât be.
because he was 23 when he kissed her goodbye for the last time. because he was 23 when he got the call, when he read the report, when he stared at the empty space where her body shouldâve been.
because forever had lasted less than a year.
and yetâ
âsatoru,â she whispers, hesitant, careful.
his name in her voice sends a violent shudder through him.
his infinity is still up. she hasnât touched him. she canât.
but he feels her anyway.
itâs muscle memory, instinct. his body still reacts to her, still leans toward her even as his mind tells him to run.
he doesnât.
but he doesnât move forward, either.
she takes another slow step, like sheâs afraid heâll bolt.
âyou look different,â she says, soft but teasing, a poor attempt at levity.
his throat is too tight to respond.
her gaze drifts over him, and the weight of it makes his skin prickle, makes him aware of how much he has changed.
his hair is shorter now, with the undercut he gave himself one night, after sheâd left. heâs leaner, stronger, his body hardened by war and loss and time.
but sheâshe looks like sheâs lived, like she has known something beyond grief and battle and the never-ending ache of survival.
and it makes him feel sick.
like sheâs had years he wasnât a part of. like she kept going while he stood still.
like the dead had the audacity to age.
âwhere the hell have you been?â his voice comes out strangled, hoarse, barely a whisper.
her expression shifts, guilt flashing across her face before she can hide it.
âsatoruââ
âwhere have you been?â louder, harsher this time.
she flinches.
and it kills him, because sheâs not supposed to flinch at him.
she takes another step forward, cautious, careful.
his infinity is still up.
she stops.
âyouâre not real,â he says flatly, more to himself than to her.
she blinks, startled. âwhat?â
âyouâre not real. youâre a trick. a clone. a shapeshifter. an illusion.â he lists them off mechanically, like if he keeps saying it, itâll become the truth.
but his six eyes donât lie.
and neither does the ache in his chest.
she swallows, and for the first time, he sees the fear in her eyes.
but itâs not fear of him.
itâs fear for him.
he hates it.
he hates that she still looks at him like that. like heâs something fragile, like sheâs worried heâs about to fall apart.
because he is.
he is, and she knows it.
sheâs always known.
âsatoru, itâs me,â she says, voice softer now, and god, it sounds like home.
he shakes his head.
no.
no, no, no, no
this is cruel.
this is so fucking cruel.
âyou died,â he says, as if saying it aloud will make it true again.
her face crumples, and he has to look away, has to stare at the ground because if he meets her eyes, heâs going to break.
âi had to leave,â she whispers.
his jaw clenches.
âyou left,â he repeats, voice hollow.
she hesitates. âiââ
âyou left.â
his infinity flickers.
just for a second.
just long enough for her to step forward, just enough for her to lift a hand to his faceâ
just enough for her fingers to brush against his skin.
he shatters.
the breath rushes out of him like heâs been struck. his legs feel weak. his hands, which have been clenched into fists, loosen, tremble.
her hand is warm, so impossibly warm.
it has been five years since someone has touched him like this.
since she has touched him like this.
he wants to pull away, wants to shove her back and demand why, why, why, why she thought she had the right to do this, to touch him, to stand here in front of him like she hadnât been a ghost for half a decade.
but he doesnât.
he canât.
he leans into it instead, his face tilting into her palm like itâs instinct, like he has no choice in the matter.
and maybe he doesnât
maybe he never has.
âyou left,â he whispers, softer this time, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come.
âiâm sorry.â
itâs so quiet he barely hears it.
but he feels it.
feels the tremor in her hand, the way her thumb brushes against his cheekbone, the way her fingers tighten against his skin like sheâs afraid he might slip away.
like heâs the ghost.
âyou left me,â he repeats, because itâs the only thing he can hold onto, the only thing that makes sense in all of this.
âi know.â
âyouââ his voice breaks, and he hates himself for it, hates the way his shoulders shake, hates the way he canât stop leaning into her.
her forehead rests against his, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his breath coming out shaky and uneven.
âi know,â she whispers again, her voice cracking.
his hands move on their own, gripping her waist, holding her there.
he shouldnât.
he shouldnât.
but he does.
he clutches her like she might disappear again, like she might slip through his fingers if he lets go.
she wraps her arms around him.
and thatâs when he breaks.
a sound leaves himâsomething between a sob and a laugh, something raw and guttural and helplessâand he buries his face in her shoulder, his whole body trembling.
she smells the same.
she feels the same.
but everything else is different.
he is different.
âi thought i was getting better,â he breathes. âi thought iâI thought I was moving on.â
âi know,â she says, holding him tighter.
âi wasnât.â
âi know.â
he swallows, his throat tight, his hands clenching at the fabric of her clothes.
âi still love you,â he admits, and it feels like surrender, like defeat.
she exhales, a shaky, broken thing, and pulls back just enough to cup his face again.
âi still love you too,â she whispers.
itâs unfair.
itâs so fucking unfair.
because sheâs here.
but she wonât be for long.
and heâs about to die.
they stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other, both afraid to let go. he clings to her, hands curled into the fabric at her waist, like if he holds on tight enough, time will stop, and none of this will matter.
but he knows better.
time has never been kind to him.
âyou have to go, donât you?â he murmurs.
she stiffens.
he pulls back just enough to look at her, to search her face for answers, and godâhe hates that she looks guilty.
âtell me,â he says, voice quiet but firm.
she bites her lip, hesitates.
and that alone is enough to set him off.
he pulls back entirely now, hands falling from her like sheâs burned him.
âdonât,â he snaps. âdonât look at me like that. like you already know how this ends.â
âsatoruââ
âdonât.â
she exhales, looks away.
and fuck, itâs happening again, isnât it? sheâs leaving again.
âwhy?â he demands. âwhy now? why show up just toââ he stops himself before he can say it, before he can put words to the fear clawing at his throat.
just to leave me again.
she steps forward again, hesitant, like sheâs unsure if sheâs still allowed.
but his infinity is still down.
he hates himself for it.
âthere are things i canât tell you,â she says finally, and he wants to scream.
âthatâs bullshit.â
her jaw tightens. âitâs the truth.â
he laughs, sharp and humorless, runs a hand through his hair in frustration.
âi spent five years thinking you were dead,â he says, voice low, almost trembling. âfive years, and you come back just toâjust to what? tell me there are things you canât tell me? give me some cryptic half-truths and expect me to accept it?â
âitâs not that simple.â
âit never is with you.â
she winces.
it makes him feel sick.
âdo you think this is easy for me?â she asks, voice cracking.
he stares at her, and for the first time since heâs seen her again, he lets himself really look.
her hair is longer, her face a little older. she carries herself differently now, like someone whoâs had to live a life she never wanted.
it hits him thenâshe didnât want this, either.
but it doesnât make it any easier.
âwhy did you come back?â he asks, quiet now, all the fight drained out of him.
she takes a shaky breath.
âbecause youâre about to fight sukuna,â she says.
his stomach drops.
he had almost forgotten.
almost.
the weight of the truth settles in his chest.
she came back because she knows.
âyou think Iâm going to lose,â he says flatly.
her eyes are glassy, but she doesnât deny it.
his breath catches.
âi donâtââ he swallows, shakes his head. âi donât know how to do this.â
she reaches for him again, and this time, he lets her.
her fingers trail over his cheek, down his jaw, feather-light and devastating.
âneither do i,â she whispers.
and suddenly, he hates her for this.
for coming back, for giving him this sliver of something just to take it away again.
but he canât be angry.
because sheâs here.
sheâs here.
and itâs the cruelest thing the universe has ever done to him.
âstay,â he says, and itâs not a demandâitâs a plea.
she swallows hard, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone.
âi canât.â
his hands tighten on her waist, his chest aching so badly he can hardly stand it.
âplease.â
she shakes her head, her own tears slipping free now.
âi canât,â she says again, and it shatters him.
he presses his forehead to hers, closes his eyes, breathes her in.
because this is all he gets.
a stolen moment before the end.
she holds him just as tightly.
âi love you,â she whispers.
his breath hitches.
âi still love you,â she says, voice breaking. âi never stopped.â
his chest cracks open at that, something deep inside him splintering beyond repair.
his grip tightens, fingers digging into her like he can carve her into his skin, like he can keep her here.
he doesnât say it back.
because itâs never been a question.
because of course he loves her.
of course he does.
he always has.
he always will.
but sheâs already slipping away.
and he lets her go.
#gojo satoru x reader#fic rec#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk#jjk satoru#gojo angst#gojo satoru angst#jjk angst#jujutsu gojo#gojo x y/n
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⥠Rayna's Sister Remembers The First Timeline âĄ
(remember this is in the other country so all references to the royal family are a different one then the one we know and love.)
Your first life hadn't been a very happy one, the illegitimate child of a duke kept for reasons you couldn't even understand. They kept you in the annex while the real heir to the duke, your older legitimate sister Rayna was allowed to shine, which in turn led to a lo of jealously and resentment towards her on your part. In fact your whole childhood you'd resented her and in turn it seemed like she hardly paid you any attention at all. You were sure when she took the title of duke from your mother she would most certainly exile you from the household or execute you for being a drain on resources. You were absolutely sure that's what would have happened until at 22 years old you awakened as a mage, a painful process. She'd been away training on the day it happened which you considered a blessing because you were sure if your mother or her had been at the house that day they would have stopped anyone from coming to help you. It was a mana explosion, your body was too weak to handle the drain your magic was having on you and you needed to bind yourself to a knight who could help share your burden. Even with the duke and heir being away from the manor though, it still took two hours for anyone to bother stepping in leaving you to burn up in the meantime until the knight captain finally stepped up and allowed you to bind to her saving you from a painful death.
You vaguely remember how angry both of them had looked when they returned home, just barely being able to stand and hold yourself together long enough for your mother to announce you had to marry the knight you'd bonded to in order to prevent a scandal and Rayna stomping off to her own personal study mumbling something about finding a way to break a mage bond. You were sure she was furious a knight who showed such promise was now stuck with her illegitimate sister. You passed out for weeks after that and had been unable to participate in the planning of your own wedding, your body struggling to recover from the wounds your own mana had inflicted on you and it didn't help your knight wasn't keen on remaining close to you to speed the healing process, only coming in once a day in order to stop your mana from going haywire without them again. You think someone else had been coming in to treat your wounds and bathe you every day but you'd been unable to open your eyes fully to see who it was who'd taken pity on you. When you finally did come to everything was set in motion and all you had to do was get the wedding dress they'd picked for you altered. It was a heavy thing, you were sure you'd be able to walk in it with how your leg had been fucked up by your own magic but you didn't protest. They'd gone for this to cover all the ugly scars along your body most likely. The veil too was thick to keep anyone from gasping in horror when they saw you walking down the aisle. You were just happy they didn't try to put make up on your facial wounds, they would have surely gotten infected if they had.
So despite having just barely regained conscious, with a leg that ached in agony with the slightest pressure put on it, you walked down the aisle in a thick sweaty wedding dress, in a room full of nobles you saw you as a disgrace and a family who could hardly even look at you on your wedding day. The royal family had attended your wedding and the princess made snide remarks about your parentage the entire time meanwhile your knight lamented being forced to be with you in the corner with the fellow members of their squad. At the end of the day you returned to your dusty little annex bedroom without your now spouse even by your side and that was how your life was daily for the next three years until your sister took the title of duke. That came with a few changes, number one your knight wasn't allowed to just leave the manor like they had before, it looked bad on the duke's family if they left you all by yourself so your knight was forced to actually spend more time with you to stabilize your mana. The bigger change though, something that made you resent your sister more than you ever had thought possible, her engagement to the princess of your country. The same princess who delighted in mocking you for being a bastard child for years at the point and harassed you your whole wedding day. You had known Rayna must have not care for you in the slightest but this felt like she just needed to get in own final betrayal, one last stab in the gut to drive it home that you weren't wanted in your own house. An engagement with the royal family did bring prestige to your house though and that seemed to be all that mattered. You also found out Rayna had still been searching for ways to break the bond you had with your knight something which ate at you. You and her both knew breaking the bond usually meant death for the mage actually in the bond but she still was looking for ways anyways. It was the final nail in the coffin of your relationship and after that you decided it would be best if you never spoke a word out loud to her again.
So you didn't, you didn't utter a word to anyone for five years, didn't even use the magic you'd been given because that would mean you'd need to be stabilized more often and although your spouse was supposed to remain at your side, they were often still nowhere to be found. A mage was a special resource in your kingdom but you were just allowing your gift to just waste away. Then on a winter day you found yourself with no choice but to use it to light the fireplace in your annex bedroom, Rayna had assigned you a maid but you couldn't waste that maids time, despite knowing your spouse wasn't anywhere near you. It was that or freeze to death but it had been what ultimately took your life as you began to trash around and fever. You remember a maid had come to check on you and ran to get Rayna who'd mobilized the entire house knights to try to find your spouse. You think she'd grabbed your hand in your final moments but you'd been too out of it and a day after trying to light a fire in your bedroom, you died. You don't remember much of your death but you know you had to of died considering you were now here, two months before your magic burst trying your best to turn things around so maybe this time you wouldn't have such a shitty fate.
You'd made rules for yourself, things you wanted to make amends for before you died to your magic burst this time. First, you'd stay away from people when your burst happened this time, you didn't want to ruin anyone's promising career so when the day came you'd go hid in the woods where no one was sure to find you. It was better that way. You'd stop yourself from resenting your sister this time, it wasn't her fault you were a smudge on the house and though you'd spent your final years hating her to no end she'd tried her best to find your spouse and had stayed there as you took your final breaths. She could have let you die lonely but in your final day your bedroom was filled with people begging you to hold on because they would surely find your spouse though the servants were more worried what would happen to them if you died because they neglected to keep your spouse from leaving the manor. Perhaps if you had spent more time trying to understand her when you were younger, your relationship wouldn't have became as strained as it was. You wanted to not die with hate in your heart this time. Your mother was a bit trickier to reconcile with but you didn't want to die a useless bastard child so your goal with her was to leave behind knowledge that would benefit the duke's house so they could live prosperous after your death. As for the servants, it couldn't have been easy for them to be assigned to a neglect illegitimate child, you wanted to be nicer to them. With those things in mind you set about your goal of living life to the fullest for your remaining two months. Things were a bit⊠actually much different this time.
The first change you noticed was in Rayna, during the time you had come back to Rayna was out at the capital of your country and was not supposed to return for a week but the day you'd come back to she'd also returned home rather quickly. You would have simply believed you'd misremembered the day she was supposed to return but your mother had even commented on how she arrived really quickly. Something about her was off too, she'd smiled widely and hugged you on her return before setting you down when she saw the confusion on your face. It had been the only time in your memory Rayna had ever smiled at you or hugged you. Baffling. From then on she was attached to you like glue, making it impossible for you to make amends with the other people on your list you had been wanting to talk to. You'd think she'd remember your past life but that was impossible because if she had surely she would have gone to propose to the princess, her fiancé in the last life. Perhaps it had been your own changes that had disturbed things though, you'd been friendly to her when you saw her came in so perhaps the hug was her being excited you'd decide not to harbor a grudge against her anymore. Then a month later she'd challenged your mother to a duel for the dukedom and won. Maybe spending time with you had given her the rest she needed to usurp your mother, something you'd known she'd wanted for a very long time even without your interference. After she won though you were moved out of the annex. In your past life you remained in the annex even after she became duke for your own protection considering the princess hated you and your spouse also had a reason to want you gone. The annex was tightly guarded with only her personal guards to try to keep you and your spouse inside though it didn't stop them from eventually sneaking out and leaving you alone somehow.
You liked your new room well enough though you had protested at first because it was right next to Rayna's room and was much too big and nice for a bastard child. rayna had insisted though, said it was your taste. You weren't sure how she knew your taste but she was right, it was exactly to your liking and the bed had been the most comfortable thing you'd ever laid on, even more comfortable than the mattress she'd given you in your annex in the last life. Your last month was quite honestly filled with joy and so when you snuck out to the forest to let yourself die on the final day, you had no regrets. You'd made up with Rayna, something you never thought possible before and while you hadn't made up with your mother, who was off traveling after being defeated you'd crossed the other two things off your list. Walking towards your death in the forest didn't feel so bad anymore. You went far in, not stopping walking until you were forced to, doubling over in pain with the mana burst finally began. You'd expected to be there for hours considering in the first life it took two hours for anyone to help and you'd still been alive at that point. That's not what happened though, half an hour in and you'd heard a horse fast approaching with Rayna shouting your name, grabbing onto you tightly and searing her face, and body, when she finally found you on the ground. You'd tried to stop it, you couldn't ruin her life by having her bind to you when you'd just barely gotten on positive terms but she'd forced it anyways, your mana beginning to flow into her binding her to you. Most knights didn't stand close to the mage when they did it, it was a process not requiring touch, they just had to accept your mana into their body. Your past spouse hadn't wanted to get hurt so they stood far away but Rayna held onto your tightly until the bond was completed and the burst ended. You almost felt as though you should yell at her, she ruined herself trying to help you, but you'd fallen asleep too quickly.
Rayna herself had been in a panic that night when she couldn't find you, your burst was supposed to begin and this time she wanted to be there to make sure he was the knight bonded to you. She'd spent the whole of your last life trying to figure out how to transfer the bond from your knight to her instead without finding any luck which was why she'd gotten engaged to that disgusting princess to begin with. There was a rumor the royals knew but even that was a dead end. She'd been so close to figuring it out when she'd been told you were dying because your spouse was nowhere to be found. It pissed her off, they'd been blessed enough to have you for a wife yet even on your wedding day they complained and now they'd left you to fend for yourself. At that point you'd long stopped speaking to her and while hearing your voice would have normally been joyous to her, hearing you cry out in pain for hours a you slowly withered away had been agony. You were fevering hard and eventually even the staff had to back up to not get hurt by your unstable mana. She stayed though, she burned up with you and when you finally stopped breathing she ended it all, not wanting to live in a world without her sister, her one true love anymore. It was nothing short of a miracle for her to go back in time to before the bond had happened. She'd rushed home immediately not even carrying that at this point in the timeline your relationship wasn't amicable. She'd been a fool in the past hiding her love in a misguided effort to protect you, first hiding so your mother wouldn't hurt you then hiding so the princess wouldn't hurt you, now though she was strong enough to never have to hide her feelings again. You were a bit of a foolish little sister too though, trying to go into the forest when you were so fragile. You probably hadn't have known you were going to burst, otherwise why would you have gone somewhere hidden from people? Either way that didn't matter, now you were her partner and this time at your wedding it would be an occasion you could remember fondly. It would be hard for her to keep her hands of you while she waited impatiently for your wedding night.
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WIP Weekend WIP Snip Share!
Didn't have time to do any WIP games this weekend, but here's a bit I've written for my Steddie (-Jonathan) fic. Because I thought, "huh, you know what this steddie angst fic needs? A Stobin fight."
Enjoy (or... you know)
~~~
Context: As Robin finally convinced Steve to tell Eddie how he feels, they're shocked when they go back to the party and find Jonathan and Eddie making out on the couch.
âEveryoneâs gone home,â Robin consoles, tone grating against his skin. He doesnât need her pity, or anyone elseâs. Besides, Steve wouldnât even be in this mess if it wasnât for her. Meddling in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesnât understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.
Because why would anyone, let alone someone like Eddie, be interested in dating Steve Harrington, King of Assholes and Jocks. Compared to someone like Jonathan, someone who is so clearly a better match for Eddie, Steve brings nothing to the table.
He laments himself for believing anything she ever said about how Eddie apparently looks at him when his headâs turned, or how he always goes out of his way to make Steve laugh. None of it was real. It was all just lies. Bullshit.
âThen why are you still here?â Itâs colder than he meant. Steve can already feel the crown sliding back into place. Itâs sickening how much he misses it, an old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again.Â
If only it wasnât Robin.
Heavy silence weighs against him. Itâs not the response he expected. People always have a reaction when they meet King Steveâ whether itâs disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy.Â
Steve still hasnât turned around, his back to the door Robin had come through to find him. The inability to read her eats at his nerves. He denies the sharp urge to look at herâ to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyesâ to know what sheâs thinking right now. But that would mean giving her the same opportunity which is something Steve can absolutely not allow her.
The crown is a cold comfort if yet still a bit ill fitting. Itâs been too long since Steveâs had to wield it as a sword and shield to fend off the people closest to him. Heâs forgotten how. It wobbles on his head no matter how hard he clings to it. The heat of shame still stings behind his eyes. Steve hates it. So he clings to the anger, if he canât cling to anything else.
Heâs ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder. Robinâs next to him now, appearing almost out of nowhere. Steve wonders how long the silence lingered, if she said anything to him as he was stuck in the swirl of ruminating thoughts.
âSteve, look at me.â
Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She canât look at him, she canât see him. He canât talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. Itâs all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he canât name or pin down long enough to examine, not that heâd ever want to in the first place. Robin needs to leave before it bursts from him like a monster crawling through a hole in the ceiling, ready to hurt anyone in its path. Like a stupid, bigoted boy willing to throw a punch in an alleyway.
âGet the fuck out of my house.â
#ahhhhh i love making my boy miserable!!#don't worry he doesn't stay mad for long#i love stobin too much for their angst to last any longer than this#but i feel like the world could use more platonic hurt/comfort and whump so... tah-dah!#platonic stobin#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#steve is developing a jonathan byers complex and honestly after what i put him through I can't blame him#queenie's wips
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i had a fleeting thought heres me writing it down hahahahahahahahahaha (im normal!!!) heres a drabble bro!!!! 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!
anton ivanov x reader x grace howard
no beta read we die like nicoles parents, oral sex (face/throatfucking) (male receiving), reader and tonton like eachother for sure grace was the first to notice lol, grace helps reader give a blowjob
you and anton shouldnât be fooling around like this on a job site.
his hand was covering his mouth entirely, holding back any sort of gasp. he couldnât afford to be heard when he should be diligently working, his presence would absolutely go noticed. he was, after all, the crewâs hype man, the go-to when you needed some help.
âŠbut here he was, pants pooled around his ankles, one hand over his mouth and the other on the back of your head. your face was pressed deep into his crotch, lips wrapped around his thick cock. you looked damn good on your knees, mouth full of his dick.
you two had snuck off after one too many suggestive looks, too many bicep flexes and too many lip bites, carelessly hiding behind a temporary break room for the construction crew. the spot was snug enough, the only chance of you two getting caught was if someone actively sought either of you out.
funnily enough, both of you gone at the same time would be too coincidental. itâs obvious when anton is eager to please, and when youâre just a bit on edge. his more perceptive colleagues were positive heâd been seen catching an eyeful of your ass or staring hard at your lips, nothing about him was subtle.
anton let out a squeaky noise, his fingers digging further into the base of your hand, hips sharply thrusting into your warm, inviting mouth. your lips were sealed around him, chin dripping with your saliva. you could taste pre-cum on your tongue, the obscene noises of your sucking ringing out just a bit too loudly. he winced, the pleasure almost overloading his senses entirely, head falling back against the thin sheet of steel covering the exterior of the break roomâ it made a metallic âthunk!â noise.
anton grit his teeth as his eyes rolled back, your tongue unrelenting in its ministrations. he could feel your hands grabbing onto his thighs real tight, your nose pressing deep into his groin, the way you struggled to breathe. your raspy, desperate breaths caused your throat to spasm even harder as you choked on the length and your lack of air, your spit carelessly leaking onto your face and his cock, coating it like a second skin. and that perfect tongue⊠he couldnât get enough of the way your tongue ran along the rigid base of his cock, stiff and desperate for your attention, and when you pulled back greedily for air, yet you wouldnât dare neglect the tip of it either, whereâd you learn this?
you lapped at another leaky bead of pre-cum drooling from his cockhead when you were caught. undeniably, undoubtedly, absolutely caught in the act. by, arguably, the most perceptive of his colleagues. yet, she just shook her head and laughed, mocking him with a soft âtook you two long enough.â
grace was humored by antonâs stunned reaction, both you and him frozen⊠except your dominant hand, which was still stroking him subconsciously. she waltzed over with an air of confidence, pressing her index finger to her lips and playfully chuckling.
she leaned down into a squat, her hand replacing antonâs with a lethally coy, almost artificially sweet smile, her gentle gaze holding yours as she instructed you, âgo on, open wide.â
with her encouragement, you took antonâs cock back into your mouth. grace wasted no time bobbing your head back and forth, antonâs hand smacking loudly on the sheet metal behind him desperately, eyes screwed shut as he whined loudly. the sight was enough to make his knees buckle, watching you suck his cock under graceâs guidance, seeing you obey just like thatâŠ
grace continued to push your head back and forth, twisting your neck at some intervals to lap at his cock at different angles, tongue accepting as much length as possible, âthere you go, sweetie, see how much he likes that?â
you whimpered softly around the shaft of his cock, your breathing ragged and heavy, eyes darting between graceâs gentle, guiding look, her eyes lidded in satisfaction, and antonâs âbarely-holding-onâ grimace. his face was tight with tension, eyes shut desperately, as if his legs would tremble and cum immediately if he opened them.
even with her soft, sweet look, she held no mercy for you, âcome on, hun, doesnât anton taste so good?â she pushed your head deeper into his crotch, strangling you with every inch of his twitching, needy dick. a strangled groan tore from antonâs throat, the sensation making him squirm, hips bucking to meet graceâs forceful movements.
antonâs chest rose and fell rapidly through the tight, black, button-up shirt he wore, buttons threatening to pop any second. his breathing was labored and heavy, gasping and sweating. he groaned loudly, throwing his head back against the thin metal behind him again, thrusting his hips into your face, his hands both meeting graceâs at the back of your head.
with a deep grunt, antonâs brows furrowed, squeezing his eyes further shut as his orgasm washed over him. with a few desperate shakes and heavy pants, he opened his eyes to see you looking up at him with glassy eyes. as he came, the taste of his cum flooded your mouth, leaving you nearly no choice but to swallow it all down like you were starved. your throat tightened around him a few more times before they both let you come up for air, your hold on his thighs your only anchor.
she just got up from her squat with a smirk, musing to herself about âi knew it,â and âadorable.â she knew long before both of you really did.
#mdni#antonventures#anton ivanov#anton#anton ivanov zzz#zzz anton ivanov#anton zzz#zzz anton#anton zzz x reader#zzz anton x reader#anton ivanov x reader#anton x reader#grace#grace howard#grace zzz#zzz grace#grace howard zzz#zzz grace howard#grace x reader#grace howard x reader#zzz grace x reader#grace zzz x reader#zzz#zzzero#zenless zz#zenless zone zero#zzzero x reader#zzz x reader#zenless zz x reader#anton x reader x grace
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Shadowheart will always live in my heart and mind forever and ever. Sheâs been brainwashed by a death cult like eight times because she canât stop loving animals and flowers. She has like three memories and she shares them with you immediately despite secrets being like half of her religion.
Like I just know Shar has got to be pissed that Shadowheart just wonât stop un-brainwashing herself. Sheâs been in that cult for like 40 years and keeps having to get mind wiped because the second shes out of sight she starts enjoying nature and doesnât want to torture people anymore.
#baldurâs gate 3#shadowheart#my absolute favorite thing about her is that if you help her turn away from Shar#is that sheâs actually done it like five times already#the real difference is that THIS time she was gone long enough that she is fully out#and also managed to piss off Shar enough to just kick her ass out
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Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner!Reader - The One Who Pours the Drinks
Pt. 3 (can be read as standalone)
àŒ àŒ àŒ
Summary: After their (very homosexually-charged) estrangement a few weeks ago, Angel tries to bury the sour Sevika left in her heart. Sevika does the same, dismissing any meaning to be found in how she still makes sure to walk by the Five-Copper Furnace at least twice a week.
But one thing remains true: No one threatens the one who pours the drinks.
a/n: i'm a dirty filthy liar, i finished pt. 3 for bar owner reader before i even started my warmup for writing sevika's character LMFAO. will still do that prompt at some point!!
w/c: like 4.3k ish
àŒ àŒ àŒ
The world doesnât stop spinning because of one person.
Itâs a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.
And you had a business to run.
You did your best to count your lucky stars every night, reminding yourself as you wiped down the bar that there were other people. Plenty of women with smokey laughs and eyes like the moon. You were a good-looking bastard, youâd find the next one. You had all the time in the world now, away from the strife that used to follow you like a shadow.
Pay no mind to how you always swiped harder at the bar as you had these thoughts, slamming tumblers and plates into their places beneath the bar with extra vigor. Nor to how Zaun was about as different from Bilgewater as steel to iron.
Sevikaâs men and their presence started to dwindle with hers, albeit more slowly; many of them almost seemed hesitant, apologetic. You caught one of them on your way into the bar to open it for the evening.
âIâm real sorry, Angel,â heâd said.
âIâm sure sheâs got other work for you,â you said, waving him off as if it was- and indeed, it was- nothing personal. You only had problems with one ex-frequent of your bar. You werenât even all that inclined to include the heavy muscle she brought in with her on the last visit.
âAlways other work where the boss is concerned,â he affirmed, âBut⊠this has been one of the better gigs.â You stayed static outside your bar for a moment as he walked away, your key still stuck in the lock.
Itâs not like you needed protection in the first place, you were more than capable. Not that Sevika knew that. You grumbled to yourself as you organized the prep area behind the bar; you hadnât had to give much mind to security the past several months, Sevika handled the matter in its entirety without you so much as having to ask.
Itâs a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.
Youâd have to add that back into your list of tasks. Along with putting all the stools up at closing time. And what were you supposed to do with all these damn cigarillos you had behind the counter? You didnât smoke nearly as much as she did.
You smacked a hand that wasnât yours away from the aforementioned stash, smirking when you heard a small, âOw, jerk!â
âYouâre not old enough to smoke.â
âItâs Zaun, babies would smoke if they could,â the boy, a little tail of yours named Kix, retorted, pouting as he hopped up on the counter. You sighed. âI finished that book you gave me.â
âYeah? How was it?â
âPretty good! And, I think, as a reward for finishing it, I should-â
âYeah, Iâm gonna stop you right there,â you said, stepping away to move the lemons you just sliced into a container. Your tail, of course, followed.
âFine, can I at least finally get a knife?â
âWhen you can wield one of those batons without smacking yourself in the face, yeah. âTil then, hell no.â
âThatâs a bad word!â
âLike you care!â You could only breathe out a laugh. The children of Zaun were sharp, often leaving you deeply amused and incredulous.
âUgh,â he said dramatically, flailing against the bar. You shot one of your patrons an apologetic look at the antics of Stray Wet Cat #1. âBut you have so many, Angel!â He exclaimed, âHowâd you get those anyway? Did you kill somebody?â
I killed a lot of people, you wanted to say, but something told you that wouldnât have been appropriate. âI told you before, Kix,â you started, voice gentle like a teacherâs, âZaun isnât the only place in the world where you need to defend yourself. The world is way bigger.â
âDoesnât feel like it,â he muttered to himself, pushing away from the bar and trudging back to the lounge area connected to the kitchen, where a few of the other kids spent their time. You frowned as you watched him walk away, then looked down at the paring knife in your right hand.
For the children of Zaun, life depended on which end of the knife you found yourself on, and oftentimes nothing more. How much were you really doing for them, giving them sandwiches to eat and rudimentary lessons on how to hold a blade? They all had to leave the bar at the end of each day, stepping back into the streets waiting to swallow them whole on their treks back home.
âDonât be so hard on yaâself, Angâ,â the patron youâd shared a look with earlier interjected. You looked up at him in a daze, quickly putting on a thoughtful smile.
âIâm okay,â you replied simply.
âAnd so are those kids, thanks to you,â he said, âA little bit goes a long way in Zaun. These kids can stretch an inch of kindness, always have been able to.â
You saw eyes like slate in your mind as the gentleman went back to nursing his drink, and your smile faltered.
Werenât these the kids Sevika claimed to be doing her righteous work for? What could she tell them as she chipped away at their safe haven, showing up bi-weekly just to take away a little more? You growled lowly as you swiped a cigarillo from beneath the counter, abiding the thought to linger in your mind- as if you could condition yourself to hate her faster.
You were busy staring down the end of the cigarillo as you lit it, almost too busy to notice how a wave of quiet had washed over the Five-Copper Furnace. Your eyes flicked to the door just in time, though.
Your busy mind halted all thoughts more trivial than the now, a low voice reminding you of the shotgun beneath your bar, the knives in your sleeves, and the preeminent experience in violence that scarred your skin. Four men wearing all manners of weapons, and gleaming belt buckles of meridian silver, stalked into your bar.
đ đ đ
Sevika was, for whatever reason, a woman well-versed in the department of odd and unwanted talents. Being weirdly good with kids was at the forefront.
âOh! Captain-General Metal Arm Lady!â Well, she knew which kid that was*.*
âWhy is my name so long?â She muttered to herself as she stopped anyway, and turned on her heel to face him. The boy, one of Angelâs little henchmen named Kix, skidded to a stop in front of her. âWhat is it, kid?â She asked gruffly.
âWhereâve you been? Are you and Angel having a loverâs quarrel?â
Isnât he like twelve?? Sevika picked her jaw up from the ground as quickly as itâd fallen. âWho the hell even taught you what that is?â She asked incredulously.
âThatâs a bad word. And I read it in a book. Are you coming to the Five-Copper?â
âNo, Iâm busy,â Sevika said flatly. Her brow furrowed at the way his face fell. Not like a child whoâd been told no, but a boy who had something to fear. ââŠWhy?â
âWell, uh⊠m-maybe you could just stop by?â He rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at the bar in question. Heâd caught Sevika so close to the place, he just needed to get her through the door⊠âI think Angel might⊠u-umâŠâ
Sevika sighed. âBefore tomorrow, Kix.â
âI think Angel might need you.â
Sevika scoffed, turning with a small flare of her cloak (drama queen), âSheâs a big girl, she can handle herself just fine, kid. I gotta go.â A small, surprised grunt rose out of her when she felt a tug on her metal arm. She looked down at the boy, shooting him a glare that lacked even an inch of fire.
âPlease, Miss Sevika! A bunch of guys just walked in and I donât know them, a-and they have really ugly, scary faces, and-â
âOkay! Okay. Câmon, letâs go,â Sevika rattled her arm out of Kixâs grasp, sweeping it back beneath her cloak. The boy let out a small cheer as her broad form turned in the direction of the Five-Copper Furnace, and he fell into step under the cover of her shadow. âAnd donât call me âMiss Sevikaâ. Just Sevika is alright,â she made a small, grossed-out sound.
âOkay! Does that mean weâre friends?â
âNo,â she replied, giving his head a small nudge as they walked.
âAck! Bully!â
The smile that began to flicker across her features promptly melted back into her perpetual frown as she watched almost half a dozen patrons leave the Five-Copper in succession. âHow many of them were there, kid?â She asked in a low voice.
âUh, I think four?â
Sevika hummed, stopping beside the entrance. She pulled Kix aside by the collar with her, as even more patrons filed out. âAre your friends in there?â She asked. The boy nodded. âOkay. Go get âem through the back. And go home.â
âBut-!â
âUh-uh. Sheâs already pissed at me enough, canât imagine how mad sheâd be if you brats got hurt once this goes down.â
âSoâŠâ Sevika felt a few grey hairs grow in at the same time Kixâs frown faded into a grin, ââŠit is a loverâs quarrel?â
âKix!â
âOkay, bye Sevika!â He hopped up and down as if to charge himself up before sprinting off. Sevika watched as he nearly tripped over himself when he quickly halted again. âUh⊠you wonât let them hurt Angel, right?â
âSheâll be fine,â Sevika said. She sighed as his feet stayed planted in the ground. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, âYou have my word, kid. Angel will be okay.â He gave her a final grin, before darting off. Sevika cracked her neck as she zeroed back on the entrance to Angelâs bar. âGuess collections is early this month,â she muttered wryly, before pushing the door open.
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âThese people donât even know, do they?â
You breathed out tendrils of smoke from your nose, lowering your voice in line with the bounty hunterâs. His friends had stayed mute, opting to survey your patrons and the bar itself like three angry lighthouses.
You smiled slightly at those who hadnât left yet, whose postures were coiled tightly like metal springs.
âI canât imagine itâd change a thing,â you replied. You picked up the wanted poster (old fashioned, you were aware) heâd thrown on the counter, giving it another flippant once-over. Your likeness had been- rather skillfully- illustrated in the center, with meaningless words like âWantedâ and âapproach with careâ swimming around it.
God, Iâm good-looking, you thought with a smile and a nod.
âAnd yet you have âem call you a different name. Bury your old one with the rest of your money, huh?â
âOh, that isnât buried. Not one bit,â Your face spread into a grin, wolfish teeth crushing the filter of the cigarillo. You saw the hunger that flickered in his eyes, a greed so romantically entwined with the people of Bilgewater that men died for it. Like this one would.
âWell, good to know! Between that and the hundred Golden Krakens on your head, youâll make a fine cashout,â the rancid man said, âAngel.â
Your eyes widened slowly, mockingly. âA hundred Golden Krakens?â You echoed, ââŠCan I turn myself in?â Your eyes flicked casually to the door as you heard it open once again.
âVery funny. NowâŠâ
Whatever the hunter had to say ceased to matter as you watched her walk in. Wide shoulders curved inwards, entering with the same intent your remaining customers all had. Sevika met your eyes immediately.
On one hand, not only was your safety further secured, but a return in a casket to your old city was all but out of the question now. Sevika wouldnât let you die, at the very least, you knew that much.
On the other hand⊠Sevika was in your bar. Your eyes narrowed at her, and you gave her a look that practically screamed âpiss offâ in spite of your other senses relaxing. She shook her head at you, matching your rising agitation with an annoyed curl of her lip.
Kix, she mouthed. Oh, thanks, kid. What a wingman.
You wouldâve found it silly the way she stuck to the walls as she moved through the bar. Trying to get closer to you, you realized. A hand slamming down on the table and another grabbing your collar brought your attention back to more pressing matters.
Sevika felt her heart jump higher in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rush right to you and pluck that manâs head from the rest of him. A firm hand on her shoulder was all that prevented her, and she leveled her gaze with the fool whoâd stepped in her line of view.
âWe called dibs on this job, youâre too late,â the hunter said. Sevika furrowed her brows in brief confusion, but the pieces came together quickly in a mind as sharp as hers.
Bounty hunters? For you?
He gave her shoulder a shove, and Sevika let herself be moved. Some distance to deploy her left armâs blade, good. âGo on,â he growled.
A scream from the bar counter swiveled all heads in that direction.
Sevikaâs eyes widened as your name started to rise in her throat, until she saw the main perpetrator sink like a stone in water⊠his hand left behind in your grasp. You wiped the knife on your apron, throwing your still-burning cigarillo at him as he writhed on the floor.
Sevika threw her cloak to the ground before her sensibilities turned to steel.
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You wouldâve made a fine alchemist, if you hadnât chosen the more profitable industry of alcoholism instead.
You also wouldâve been far less likely to have ever encountered Sevika and the all-consuming rage she inspired in you if youâd started an Apothecary. What with her- very much expected- aversion to seeking out any medical assistance of any sort.
âOw.â
âStay still.â
âOw.â Sevika hissed when you pressed the tonic-doused cloth to her wound with the exact same vigor as before, thrashing away from you. You sat up straight, leveling her with a look that seethed with your indignance.
âYouâre acting like a wuss.â
âAnd youâre acting like a child who didnât get her way,â she snapped. Your eye twitched, and so you closed them to take a moment to gather yourself.
You missed the way Sevikaâs gaze fell slowly to your lap, eyes creasing as she frowned at your battered hands. You hadnât had time to pull your gun from beneath the bar before shit went down, and so youâd resorted to hacking with hand and blade. Sevika had been at your back like a magnet, sticking to you and letting the hunters come to her. Youâd held your own valiantly.
She only serviced you a lukewarm glare as you moved back to her, this time gently easing the cloth onto her wounded cheek. You held her in place by the other side of her face. âYou can take a punch but not a wound disinfectant,â you quipped.
âI took more than just a punch recently, princess.â Sevika side-eyed you when your touch faltered, letting out a shallow huff from her nose.
âUnbelievableâŠâ you muttered.
âWho the hell were those guys? What could they possibly want with you?â Sevika asked. You jutted your lip at her in annoyance when her movements shifted the cloth.
She looked down to ponder the fight from a few hours ago (the lower floor was still an absolute wreck, but that was a problem for you to deal with tomorrow). Silver teeth; and weaponry not at all reminiscient of anything youâd find in Zaun, or Piltover. They had moved with an erratic tick to their attacks, not completely unlike the Shimmer-dependent henchmen Silco kept; although their addiction ran strictly red.
âThey werenât Zaunites,â she mused aloud.
ââŠNo. They werenât. They were from Bilgewater.â
You freed your other hand to reach for your wanted poster youâd nabbed before heading upstairs, and handed it to Sevika. There was a hanging silence between you as she read the same words over and over again.
âThey got your likeness wrong,â she said. You pursed your lips, waiting. âYour head is bigger than that.â
âShut up.â
Sevika chuckled; or at least gave a limp attempt at it. Her hand holding the poster fell with a soft crunch as she sighed. You let your own hands rest in your lap as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head over the back of your couch.
She had such a pretty neck. The lines of that strange scar were like wisps of blue smoke on her skin. You wanted to reach out to touch them, to thank her sweetly for defending you even as you spat fire on her wounds. You wanted to kiss all the smooth and rough patches you could see, lull her into a soft sleep-
âThis is gonna get back to Silco in a couple of days tops.â
You scoffed. âWhat, is he gonna raise my rent? Doesnât he have a revolution to claim to run?â
Deep down, you were impressed with what Sevika let you get away with saying to her. Inadvertently discounting her lifeâs work was no small thing, and youâd seen her put others on the ground for less. It was even more surprising when she gave a real answer to your poor-faithed question.
âYou shouldâve kept your head low. And let me deal with it. Not- cut a guyâs hand off.â She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. You opened your mouth to refute your lost honor, but she beat you to it, âYouâre too⊠competent. Heâll wanna bring you in now. And youâre no good to the Undercity if he pockets you.â
Youâre about to ask her why the hell does she work for him then, but another piece clicks into place before the words surface. Sevika watches the realization cross your face. âSo thatâs why youâŠâ
âTrust me,â Sevika took hold of your wrist as she raised her head to stare scrutinizingly at your wall, and guided you to press the cloth back to her face. âThe collections I take from you are cheaper than really being under his heel. You should see what he takes from that Sheriff up in Piltover.â She breathed out a humorless laugh. Your eyes widened, as the scope of Silcoâs reach did too. **
You were a fool. Had going straight truly dulled your cunning mind? (Or was it just the handsome woman sitting in your living roomâŠ)
âThatâs the discounted price too, by the way,â she muttered. You were pulled from your thoughts with a soft laugh.
âI knew you were fond of me.â
âI like what you do for the kids.â
âItâs nothing,â you said softly, surveying the injury on her face and deeming it sufficiently stabilized to move onto the next. You were glad, at least, that the brunt of the pain had been inflicted on you two rather than your good-willed customers.
Sevikaâs brow furrowed as she watched you go through the motions of prepping her next injury. Truthfully, she didnât know why she let you drag her upstairs in the first place; the way you coupled your attentive- if not presumptuous- touch with barbed jabs at her gall for walking into your bar shouldâve pissed her off. But she let you move her like you were a breeze.
Your movements were practiced, like youâd spent a whole lifetime sweeping up the broken pieces of stupid, pointless fights. Sevika looked down at the wanted poster again. ââŠHow much is 100 Golden Krakens?â She asked.
You hummed as you tried to think of the best comparison in Zaunâs economy, âProbably eightteen monthsâ worth of what I make running the bar.â
âJanna-â
You laughed heartily as you carefully peeled the wax paper from a bandage. Subconsciously, you rubbed over the wound once it was patched to soothe the ache, not noticing how Sevikaâs gaze immediately went to your nimble hand. âWhy, you thinkinâ about turning me in?â You teased.
âFunny,â she deadpanned, âWould be one less pain in the ass for me, though.â She gave you a pointed onceover. Her feigned exasperation melted into a grin when you slapped her leg (albeit very weakly).
âYou just said you like me!â
âThat isnât what I said,â she said, still feigning dismissal so smugly. You hated how well she wore a petty smirk, or how pretty her teeth were when she gleaned a real smile.
(You wanted to kiss that stupid look right off her face.)
Instead, all you did was roll your eyes, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch. In Sevikaâs mind, she just won that encounter.
âYou mind if I smoke?â
You waved your hand, looking out the window of your kitchen, âWorse has happened in my house today.â She didnât pull your gaze back to her until you heard her shifting around for a longer amount of time than it shouldâve taken for someone to find a cig and lighter. âLose your lighter?â You mocked, taking in the cigarillo hanging out of her mouth as she patted down her pockets with mild frustration on her face.
âOne of the bastards must have knocked it out of my pack,â she said with an agitated sigh. Her eyes perked up at the metal clink of⊠your lighter. You laid your head back against the arm of the couch, resting the open lighter slightly above your abdomen. Sevikaâs breath caught as she realized how close sheâd have to get to you- how close youâd make her get to you- to get a light.
Her eyes narrowed into a glare as they slid up to meet your gaze. She wasnât about to make a coward of herself now, though. She held your expectant stare as she leaned down between your legs, one of her hands boldly bracing on your shin with a slight squeeze. She cupped her hand protectively around yours as she lit the end of her cigarillo. The way your eyes widened and your chest stopped rising with breath wasnât lost on her.
I take it back, Kix, she thought, I donât think sheâs all that pissed.
She turned her head to the side as she blew smoke from her mouth. âTell me something,â she said, her voice nearly a purr. You had to fight with your own goddamn eyes to tear away from the small puffs of smoke that left her mouth as she spoke. You cocked a brow. âWere you a pirate or something?â She asked. Her eyes widened slightly when you met her with silence. âOh, sweet hellâŠâ
âDonât laugh!â
She laughed. You loved that she did.
âThat was⊠a long time ago,â you waved your hand like you could bat the memories away, but theyâd never felt more with you than today. You had nearly forgotten how easy it was to snatch someoneâs life away. Youâd made a fortune on it once, and yet⊠the muscle of ruthlessness had grown weak and disoriented with lack of exercise. You frowned to yourself, shaking your head. âI did a lot of things Iâm not proud of.â
Sevika shrugged, taking another drag. âWe donât choose where life puts us,â she replied. You shouldnât have been surprised by such a⊠thoughtful sentence leaving her mouth. But your brows still raised slightly as you looked at her. âIâm not gonna be the one to judge you around here.â
You frowned, guilt jabbing in your gut. âBut I did you.â
âMaybe you werenât wrong for it,â she retorted softly. Your eyes widened. She inhaled softly before continuing, swiveling her gaze to meet yours again. âI used to try anâ push Silco to do more for the kids. Get books smuggled in in between all the Shimmer requisitions,â she scoffed, shaking her head. Your heart squeezed as you watched her carefully begin to pull the curtains around her true self back- for you. âGive people resources, just⊠something. I didnât realize I let four years go by âtil I saw you doing all that for the kids the moment you touched down here.â
You sighed, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch to rub your face with both hands. âYou really think I wonât be able to help them at all once Silco comes knocking?â You asked, biting your lip as you felt like what was the only answer was slowly enclosing around you.
Immediately though, Sevika shook her head. Your mouth opened slightly in confusion as she stood up from your couch. âNo. Iâm gonna handle this,â the determination in her step would have been beyond adorable if it werenât for your utter bemusement. âI⊠owe you,â she said slowly. You wanted to laugh at how her fierce bravado seemed to come to a skidding stop the moment she had to make an admission on her pride.
âOh yeah?â You teased.
She rolled her eyes as she pulled her cloak back on over her shoulders, concealing that absolute unit of a figure from your prying eyes. You smiled at how her broad shoulders were still very apparent, and the beginnings of her v-line peeked out with that damn cropped vest- get it together, Angel. âHeâs gonna know I was here anyway, might as well make something out of it,â she explained (right, you bought thatâŠ), pausing again to scrutinize you, âYouâre all good?â
Trigonometric equations started floating around in your head as you tried to decipher what she could possibly mean with that question, until her arched brow turned judgemental at how long you were taking to answer.
Oh. She was just asking about your⊠general wellbeing. Aw!
âO-oh, yeah, Iâm all good,â you said. Truthfully too, you were more used to fighting the Bilgewater types than her, and had come out of the confrontation mostly unscathed. Your jaw stuttered as if to say more when she hummed and took a swift step forward, tilting your head up with her index and thumb.
âYouâre not lying?â She asked lowly, turning your head gently from side to side.
âE-even if I was, itâs none of your business,â you snapped defensively. Dumbass. Did you have any idea how red your face was?
With an amused exhale from her nose, Sevika gently let go of your chin, fleetingly brushing her crooked index over your cheek. âWhatever you say, princess,â she said. She didnât even give you a chance to shoot back something clever (as if you had something prepared) before she was sweeping towards the door, fixing her cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. âYour barâs a mess,â she quipped over her shoulder, just to be a dick.
âFuck you!â You called after her, the smile on your face crystal-clear in your tone. The last thing you saw was her pretty side-profile as she half-glanced at you with smug amusement lining her face, before she closed the door behind her.
You slumped back on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. âThat goddamn womanâŠâ you muttered, âFuck.â
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Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader
I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.
Word Count: 13,439
Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury
Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he mustâve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes.Â
Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear.Â
But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home.Â
You hadnât been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldnât help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.
He fired off a quick âlet me know when you landâ message and waited, hoping youâd write back soon.Â
Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.
Today, however, was different. No text, no call.
It struck him as bizarre and sounded Buckyâs internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasnât going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him. Â
This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupilâs safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?
Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as âincomingâ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he wouldâve rather heard that information from you, but it didnât matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry.Â
The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldnât have said âIncomingâ if you were still hours away.Â
To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldnât focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldnât hang around his room any longer. He couldnât stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug.Â
And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? âIf anything,â he told himself, âItâs actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- sheâs probably tired.âÂ
Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.
He knew in his heart of hearts that you didnât need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward.Â
It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tonyâs engineering.Â
Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke.Â
The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldnât stop, couldnât waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment.Â
His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didnât greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him.Â
âShit, sorry, man,â your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path.Â
âJake?â Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jakeâs eyebrow, âwhen did you guys get back?â
Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, âI donât know, five minutes ago?â
âOh, okayâŠâ Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didnât you send him a message? It was out of character for you.Â
âWell, whereâs your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,â Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. âDid you see which way she went?â
âNah, sheâs not here,â Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.
Buckyâs disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. âOh, did she say where she was going? Or when sheâd be back?â
Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Buckyâs words. âOHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.â
Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief.Â
âYeah, no, sheâs not here,â Jake continued, âbecause she didnât make it back.â
Buckyâs ears started ringing.Â
The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.
Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what heâd heard. He did his best to make sense of Jakeâs words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldnât understand the phrase âshe didnât make it backâ. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick.Â
âI- Iâm sorry,â he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. âI donât think I understand.âÂ
âThings got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,â Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. âItâs not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think itâs-âÂ
Buckyâs glare couldâve sliced Jake in half, âget to the point.â Â
âRight, um,â Jake continued, âI told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didnât answer. And she never came outside.â He shrugged, âI had to leave for my own safety.â
âSo, you just-â Bucky felt himself losing his grip. âYou left her there? Alone?â He didnât realize he was shouting, didnât realize heâd drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.
She placed a light hand on Buckyâs tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. âIs there a problem here, guys? I donât want-â
âHe left her behind,â was all Bucky could manage.
Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, âyou did what?â
A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Buckyâs eyes, âYou donât just abandon your partner-â
Jakeâs attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. âRelax, man. Jesus Christ, this isnât the army. I didnât promise to âleave no man behindâ or whatever-â
Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jakeâs head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.
âWhat the fuck?â Jake squirmed in Buckyâs grasp, âThere are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-â
Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor.Â
His voice was quiet, hollow. âCasualties?â He swallowed hard, âIs she-â
Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. âI donât know, I assume so. I didnât stick around to find out.âÂ
And just like that, Bucky was gone.Â
He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldnât rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life.Â
He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldnât outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldnât dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance.Â
He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. Thereâd been a time when he wondered if heâd ever grieve again. Heâd lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew heâd one day mourn again. He just didnât realize that time would come so soon.Â
A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-
Hillâs voice yanked him out of his spiral, âBarnes, hey-â She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Buckyâs pace. âWhere are you going?â
âTo get her back.â Buckyâs tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.
âI donât think thatâs a good idea,â Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Buckyâs long strides. âYou heard what Jake said, itâs a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-â
Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. âIâm not just going to leave her there.â
Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, âI know youâre upset, but she might not be-â
âI donât care.â His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear heâd so desperately tried to hide. âWhether sheâs alive or-â he couldnât bring himself to voice the alternative.Â
Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field.Â
âShe deserves to come home,â he said.
Maria couldnât argue with him.Â
âRound up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. Weâre leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.â Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, âIâll be in the armory.â
Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasnât sure of your condition, didnât know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured.Â
But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies.Â
âIs this it?â Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.
A nurse whoâd stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. âThe med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.âÂ
Bucky didnât want to hear it. He didnât want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none.Â
The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med teamâs supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible âwhat if?â, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldnât find a positive outcome. And though he didnât want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even.Â
And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew heâd find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew heâd hurt for the rest of his life.
The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous.Â
Buckyâs heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.
Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Buckyâs head. It scaled the high walls heâd tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.
âFRIDAY,â Bucky called out, âis comm 1209 working?â He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response.Â
âComm 1209 is on and in range,â Friday said. âWould you like me to connect you?â
He couldnât say yes fast enough.
A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Buckyâs eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didnât answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.
He owed it to you, though, to at least try. Heâd always said heâd do anything for you, that heâd risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything heâd been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?
âH- umâŠâ Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. âHello?â He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. âHello?â
He waited.Â
No response.
âDoll? Itâs me. Itâs BuckyâŠâÂ
The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.
 The thought made him nauseous.
âPlease, sweetheart. If youâre there- if youâre able- just say one word. Say anything,â he pled. A long bout of silence followed.
He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldnât save you. He was too late.Â
He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself.Â
But a small sound stopped him.
âBuckâŠâ
He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.
A deep sigh of relief seeped from Buckyâs lungs, âSweetheartâŠâÂ
A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Buckyâs mind. He couldnât stop thinking about the âalmostsâ. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldnât allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you.Â
He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. âIâm here- Iâm gonna come get you. Just tell me where-â
A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, âNo- noâŠâ You took a sharp, rattling breath, âno way.â
Bucky didnât like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.
But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive.Â
âItâs okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. Iâm gonna get you out and-â
âI said- I said no,â you breathed. âYou canât c-come in here, itâs too dangerous⊠we were a-ambushed.â
Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. Youâd rather die alone than put Buckyâs life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didnât have time to enjoy the feeling.
âIf you donât tell me where you are, Iâll just sweep the whole building,â Bucky said, using your worry against you. âThat means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- itâll be way more dangerous.â He could practically see you rolling your eyes, âso itâs probably better if you just give me a direct route, donât you think?â
Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale.Â
He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Buckyâs comfort. Surely, you couldnât still be thinking about his proposition? Heâd given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didnât have.Â
What if youâd fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?
Bucky couldnât take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.
âF-fifteenth floor. Northeast⊠northeast quadrant,â you sighed, defeated. âThereâs a- a room at the end of this hall, I think itâs maybe an office?â Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didnât have. âJust f-follow the trail of blood.â
Buckyâs breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didnât have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could.Â
âThe power is⊠itâs outâ, you said. âYouâre gonna h-have to take-âÂ
Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, âThe stairs. Got it.âÂ
And while he normally didnât mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival.Â
But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. âOkay, Iâm coming to get you,â he promised. âStay awake, and donât move.â
âAs if I h-have a choice,â you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed.Â
Your pain radiated through Buckyâs chest. He didnât want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serumâs lack of teleportation abilities.Â
âYou know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?â Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. âDonât fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?â
âW-what am IâŠâ You let out a raspy exhale, âsupposed to talk about?â
Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, âAnything, just keep talking.â
Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying âwhat ifsâ.
âIt w-wasnât supposed to be⊠to be like this,â you finally said. âIt wasnât supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jakeâs first mission- it wasnât f-fair to him.â Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him.Â
Bucky felt no such thing.
âI know, doll. Keep talking, okay?â
You sighed. âWe s-split up for recon⊠thatâs when they- when they came at me.â Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. âIt all h-happened so fast⊠there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.â
Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.
âI called out for h-him, I needed backup⊠I kept asking him to come help me-â A sharp cough rattled out of your throat.Â
Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadnât heard anyone else. Hadnât seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didnât see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake.Â
The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.
âBut he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jetâŠâ Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. âI tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy⊠I was b-bleeding.â The memory stung like your fresh wounds. âI kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldnât move fast enough. It hurt too much.â
Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.
âAnd then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,â you sighed. âAnd I listened as it got farther and farther away⊠until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.â
He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base mustâve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you.Â
Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didnât just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate.Â
âI d-didnât have a way to call for⊠for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.â
The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.
âI realized I⊠I didnât h-have any options,â you breathed.Â
A collapsed column blocked Buckyâs path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasnât willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didnât have.Â
He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.
âSo, I found this- this room. Itâs quiet. Itâs out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere toâŠâ A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, âsomewhere to die.â
It wasnât fair. It wasnât fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasnât fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jakeâs blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.
âThis seemed like as g-good a place as any,â you choked on a weak laugh. âBeats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.â
Buckyâs automatic response was to swear that youâd make it out. To promise that you werenât going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldnât make those kinds of assurances. Heâd do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that youâd return home alive seemed almost cruel.Â
He pushed himself to move faster. He couldnât let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory.Â
Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadnât gotten to you in time.
It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with âNEQâ painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.
âIâm gonna be there in just a second, doll,â he said as he followed the arrows.  âI think Iâm right around the corner.âÂ
This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Buckyâs words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.
âI know, I t-trustâŠâ A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Buckyâs assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.
Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. Youâd use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know.Â
But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didnât have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.
âBuck, I think itâs⊠I think itâs almost t-time,â you rasped.
But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.
âWoah, hey!â Bucky raised his hands in surrender. âItâs me, itâs just me.â
At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.
âS-sorryâŠâ A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. âMy⊠my bad, Buck.â
âNo, donât be sorry, doll.âÂ
Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. Heâd seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didnât know he had. But he didnât let it show. Knowing you, youâd spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.
âIâm actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,â he forced a chuckle. âThatâs my girl.â His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek.Â
And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasnât real- it couldnât be.Â
You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. âBucky?â
With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt heâd ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive.Â
He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.
âYeah, Iâm here,â he kissed your palm. âIâm so happy to see you.â
âYouâreâŠâ you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. âYouâre here?â
He nodded, âI could never leave you behind, sweetheart.â
He may have continued speaking after that, but you didnât quite hear him. The emotion youâd tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Buckyâs cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin.Â
A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Buckyâs presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.
âSweetheart, did you hear me?â With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. âI need to look at your wound, okay?â
A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldnât find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.
âHey, we⊠we need to t-talk,â you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. âI n-need to talk- to talk to youâŠâ
Bucky nodded, âsure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right nowâŠâ he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. âRight now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.â
He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Buckyâs stomach like a rock. His repeated âIâm sorrysâ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldnât slow down, couldnât let the time slip away; you didnât have much left.
Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didnât have.Â
âWe need to⊠to t-talk.â
âI h-have to tell you.â
âCan I talk to y-you about- about something?â
And though Bucky wouldâve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you werenât strong enough. He couldnât let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later.Â
But âplenty of timeâ almost seemed like an empty promise. And âtomorrowâ felt like a lie. Would you have a âlaterâ? He didnât know. But he didnât want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.
Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, heâd gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach.Â
They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew theyâd seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds.Â
With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.
âS-stayâŠâ you whispered. âPlease.â
His heart shattered. âIâm not leaving you, doll, IÂ promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?â With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. âIâll be back in just a minute.â
Buckyâs body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. Youâd already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again.Â
With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, youâd trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasnât about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAYâs proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he wouldâve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better.Â
Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change.Â
Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still.Â
Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer.Â
He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med teamâs way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldnât handle that.Â
âBarnes!â A nurse screamed at him, âdid you hear me?â
Bucky forced himself back to the present. âNo⊠I, um-â
âShe has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!â
Buckyâs desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-
âCome on!â The nurse yelled at him, âstart compressions-Â now!â
He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didnât cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To âactually compressâ your chest- and Bucky followed instructions.Â
But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.
âWhat are you doing? Keep going!â
âIÂ canât- I think I broke her ribs,â Bucky shouted at the doctor. âWhat do I do?â
âKeep going!â The nurse yelled, âIt happens- just keep going.â
Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; youâd been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest.Â
He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.
He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called âclearâ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.
Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldnât believe he was about to lose you; couldnât believe heâd have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew heâd crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.
The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over.Â
âCome on, doll, just-â He swallowed a sob, âjust stay. Stay. Do it for me, Iâm begging you. Please?â
The doctor called one last âclearâ and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.
âSinus rhythm restored,â announced the nurse to Buckyâs left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. âSheâs stable.â
After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldnât allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You werenât out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasnât sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.
Less than a minute after Buckyâs cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing heâd hurt you yet again.Â
âHappens all the time,â one of the nurses said with a shrug. âBelieve me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.â
Somehow, her words didnât make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didnât dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat.Â
The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be. Â
Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldnât bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.
And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw.Â
But you didnât wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.
Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over.Â
He didnât like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself youâd survive and you didnât, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating.Â
But being realistic wasnât any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you werenât going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life.Â
And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. âSheâs home,â he told himself. âSheâs home. Sheâs home. Sheâs home.â
The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldnât be separated from you again. He wouldnât. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you.Â
A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, youâd die. Youâd be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldnât shake the fear. And risking it wasnât an option.
âNo visitors past this point,â a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.
Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. âIâm not a visitor, Iâm an agent-âÂ
âNo agents past this point, then,â the guard rolled his eyes. âOnly patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.â
A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldnât be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew heâd missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didnât care; all that mattered was you.Â
Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.
Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.
âHey,â she called softly, hoping not to startle him.
But Bucky didnât respond- he didnât even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. Sheâd never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. âMaybe he just received terrible newsâ she thought. âMaybe heâs grievingâ.
âHey,â she tried again, nudging her foot against his.Â
He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.
âHiâŠâ he breathed.Â
Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, âis everything okay?â
Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.
âBarnes, what happened? Are you-â
Finally, his head snapped in her direction, âI can still feel itâŠâ
âFeel what?â
Buckyâs head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible.Â
âShe crashed on the jetâŠâ
âOh...â Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didnât dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. âIs she-â
âThe med team needed help. There werenât enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,â Bucky said, his voice low. âAnd I broke- I crushed her ribs.âÂ
A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things heâd done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.
âI felt her bones snapping under my hands,â Buckyâs words dripped with shame. âAnd I can still⊠I still feel it.â
âOkay,â Maria said gently. âWell, if she-â
âShe was already in such bad shape,â Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. âAnd IâŠÂ I hurt her. I made it so much worse.âÂ
His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge.Â
âHey, look at me,â Maria gave his arm a gentle touch.Â
Bucky only shook his head.Â
âCome on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.â
Again, he refused.Â
Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasnât the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face.Â
âYou saved her life,â Maria said. âTwice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.â
âBut I-â
âDid it work?â Maria asked, her tine almost stern. âDid the chest compressions work?â
Bucky nodded.Â
Maria gave him a shrug, âThatâs all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadnât been there-âÂ
Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears.Â
âHey,â Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. âIf you hadnât been there, sheâd be dead.â
Mariaâs words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Buckyâs head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldnât believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.
âThanksâŠâ He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod.Â
Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didnât try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didnât have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what youâd do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.
Abruptly, Buckyâs head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. âShe kept sayingâŠâ he sighed. âShe kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.â
Maria cocked her head to the side, âAbout what?â
He shrugged. âI told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,â Buckyâs words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. âWhat if⊠what if there isnât more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-â
âYouâll get more time,â Maria said with certainty. âThe universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it wonât happen again. Plus, youâre deserved some fucking karmic retribution- youâre owed this.â
Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didnât waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldnât help but believe her.
But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.
âI have to go, okay? Fury canât do anything without me, heâs hopeless.â She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Buckyâs shoulder. âCall if you need anything.â
Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. Sheâd pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.
In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. âIf you hadnât been there, sheâd be dead,â he heard her say. âYouâll get more time.â The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Mariaâs words quieted his mind.Â
In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasnât sure how long heâd been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didnât really care. Heâd wait lifetimes for you.Â
He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home.Â
âTheyâll call you if thereâs an updateâ, said one of the guards. âItâd probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.â
Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldnât leave, he couldnât sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him.Â
A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldnât to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make.Â
A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Buckyâs direction, âSergeant Barnes?â Â
Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor.Â
He didnât know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew heâd never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, heâd spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you.Â
Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Buckyâs brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Buckyâs anxiety and exhaustion: âyou can see her now.â
And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didnât dare slow down. He had to get to you.Â
By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didnât get to you in the next half second, youâd flatline. Again.Â
He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet.Â
âHeyâŠâ Her eyes drifted to Buckyâs shaking hands. âNeed some help?â Before Bucky could answer, sheâd abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.
âHere, let me.â Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Buckyâs eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.
His âthank youâ was for more than just the door.Â
Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; heâd never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didnât even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours.Â
All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didnât dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? Heâd already hurt you once today, he wasnât about to do it again.Â
He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didnât touch you, didnât even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath.Â
An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldnât, not when you were so severely injured.Â
After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didnât survive. MaybeâŠ
And he wouldâve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral.Â
âBuck?â He feared heâd never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.
Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.
A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished heâd used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished heâd sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if heâd found the supplies he needed, he wouldnât have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.
Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.
âI, umâŠâ you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Buckyâs words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. âSorry, I- what?â
Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. âSorry. I tried to say-â He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasnât sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. âUm, it doesnât matter. Here, howâs this:â He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. âHow are you feeling?â
Your laugh- Buckyâs favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.
Bucky didnât like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  âDonât exert yourself, okay?â He swept a thumb across your cheek, âyou donât wanna tear your stitches or...â He cleared his throat, âaggravate any, um, broken bones.â Bones that he broke.
âNo, IâmâŠâ you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. âIâm good, Iâm okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.â
Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didnât want to tell you the truth. Didnât want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didnât you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off.Â
âThank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I wasâŠâ Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. âI thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-â you sniffed, âhow grateful I am.â
Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.
âI know we always say that we have each otherâs backs but you⊠you meant it,â you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, âthank you for meaning it.â
Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone.Â
âI wasnât gonna leave you there, doll. I couldnât.âÂ
You gave a small nod. âYeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same wayâŠâ The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Buckyâs chest. âI didnât think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.â
The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Buckyâs mind. He didnât understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jakeâs demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.
âYeah, I didnât expect him to be that kind of person,â Bucky sighed, âhe seemed like a stand-up guy.â
Silence filled the room as you thought over Jakeâs desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didnât expect. Youâd taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success.Â
And after working alongside Bucky for so long, youâd forgotten that disloyalty to oneâs partner was even an option.Â
âHe probably panicked,â you tried to rationalize. âAnd then once he realized what heâd done, maybe heâŠâ
There was no rationalizing this.Â
An ugly realization slithered into your mind. âAfter he left, I think he probably hoped Iâd just die⊠that way I wouldnât be able to give my side of the story.â The weight of Jakeâs actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Buckyâs gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didnât need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.
âWell, jokeâs on him,â you shrugged, âcause Iâm still alive.â Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. âKind of.âÂ
Bucky didnât understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldnât understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something heâd always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of.Â
You gave a strained laugh, âI canât wait to see the look on Jakeâs face when he finds out that I didnât die.â
Bucky wasnât sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brainâs authorization.
âBut you did.â
He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach.Â
âIâŠâ you struggled to grasp Buckyâs words. âI what?â
This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didnât have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.Â
âYou, umâŠâ Bucky didnât want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldnât put it off for long. âYour heart stopped- you died. On the jet.â
Only one word fell from your lips, âOhâŠâÂ
âAnd while Iâm at it, I might as well tell you thatâŠâ Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. âThat your ribs are broken because of me.â
A quizzical look crossed your face, âwhat do you mean?â
âI mean⊠the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.â He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. âThey needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didnât want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasnât pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.â
Bucky searched your face for something-Â anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, youâd erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.
He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. âIâm sorry- Iâm so sorry, sweetheart. You know Iâd never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I⊠they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasnât going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-â
It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Buckyâs lips. He fell silent.
âBuck, itâs okay.â
He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off.Â
âYou didnât have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.â Your hand drifted from Buckyâs face and landed in his palm. âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
Bucky didnât say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.
 âHey,â you intertwined your fingers with his. âI can handle a few broken ribs.â
âNo, I- I know you can. I justâŠâ A sad smiled flickered across his lips. âI feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just donât like knowing I made it worse.â
A long silence filled the room. Youâd seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad-Â terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay.Â
You gave his hand a squeeze. âI thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.â
Bucky lifted his head.
âAnd when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.â A smile stretched across your face, âI mean, I thought I was losing my mind.â Â
Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didnât want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.
âBut then you touched meâŠâ You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. âAnd thatâs when I realized that you were real- that you were there.â You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Buckyâs rescue. âIt was like, in that moment, I wasnât scared anymore. I wasnât scared of the pain. I wasnât scared of dying. I was just scared thatâŠâ
âWhat?â
âYou have to promise not to laugh,â you told him with an authoritative tone. âCause I know itâs corny, or cheesy, or whatever.â
âSweetheart,â Bucky drew an X over his heart. âIâm not gonna laugh at you.â
You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this.Â
âOkay, fine, I um⊠I was scared that Iâd never see you again. If I died, I mean.â
Buckyâs lungs emptied. He couldnât remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.
Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. âI was afraid that weâd already run out of time. I was afraid that we werenât going to get any more.â A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. âBut I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace Iâve ever experienced.â
Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words.Â
âBut then I realized- I realized Iâd never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didnât know if there would be a âlaterâ. And when I blacked out, I was so full ofâŠâ You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. âI had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.â
âTo know what?â Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. âDoll, itâs âlaterâ. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, itâs-â
Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything youâd ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love.Â
A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didnât care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way.Â
When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didnât move, he didnât speak. He wasnât sure he knew how.Â
âI love you, Buck. Iâve loved you- for so long.â A huff left your chest, âSo. Long.âÂ
Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth.Â
âAnd I just⊠I know how you see yourself. And I know you donât think youâre even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought youâd never know the truth. I thought Iâd die without getting to tell you. And youâd live the rest of your life thinking that youâre not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.â
The silence made your ears ring. Buckyâs face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared youâd ruined everything.Â
âYou donât have to say it back, though,â you said. âIâm not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.â
Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. âUnrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didnât even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.âÂ
He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. âI did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didnât love you back?â Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, âyou donât know me at all, sweetheart.â
You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didnât take a rescue as a proclamation of love,â you gave a strained chuckle. âI just thought-â
âIâve loved you forâŠâ Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after.Â
âI donât even know how long,â he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didnât need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the worldâs most beautiful avalanche.  âItâs been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,â he laughed.
âOh, so weâre both cowards then,â you shot him a wink. âToo afraid to tell the other how we feel.â
Bucky nodded, âIt seems that wayâŠâ
âBut you werenât too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?â you quipped.
âNope. Didnât even think about it,â he said matter-of-factly. âI just wanted to find you.â
Youâd never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you wouldâve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasnât something youâd ever ask him to do, and you knew youâd never have to. Heâd do it without hesitation. Without reservation. Heâd walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home.Â
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fear of god
prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 5 masterlist
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The day starts poorly and ends worse.
You sit with Gazâs words all night and decide by morningâs first light that it is worth worrying about them after all. But for a different reason. The worry you settle on is that your deteriorating mind is now giving you warning signals of troubles to come, manifested in the form of an astronaut outside of the ship. A messenger; a harbinger.Â
Breakfast is cold coffee over bit fingernails. You pull at a hangnail until it tears and pain zips up your finger, blood welling up under the split skin. Since you take your coffee in the medical unit these days, bandages and disinfectant are always within reach, meaning your fingers are always wrapped in them. Pigs in blankets.Â
You make your way across the ship when morning briefing comes, fingers throbbing by your sides.Â
Farah watches you from the other side of the cockpit during the briefing, her gaze inscrutable as ever. It takes a conscious effort not to shake under her stare. Youâre not sure what sheâs looking for, but whatever it is, it canât be good.Â
In the background, Graves drones on about something that doesnât penetrate through the thick miasma of your thoughts. It goes on for entirely too long. When he dismisses you all for the day, you stand up on crooked legs and hope they donât buckle under you on the walk back to the medical unit. Farahâs eyes follow you until the door shuts behind you. Â
You make another coffee instead of getting started on your tasks for the day. Your research can wait. Thatâs what you tell yourself at least, nails tapping against the metal table while the coffee machine spurts out your drink in a short, violent burst. A thin, reedy hiss. No instant crystals this time. It tastes almost burnt when you bring it to your lips.Â
The mundanity of work pales in comparison to the events rapidly unfolding before your eyes. Are you sick or well? Is the man outside the ship real or not? Surely not, you tell yourself, pulse picking up again. You know better than that. Occamâs razor: the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one.Â
Itâs just that you donât like where your mind is going with this one.Â
The alarm goes off when your head is bent over the microscope, the sound so sudden and jarring that you nearly tumble right off your stool. It blares a piercing shriek through the medical unit and the hall outside, so loud that you cup your hands over your ears to hear yourself think. The stool clatters to the ground when you hurriedly slide off, heading towards the door.Â
You stumble into the hallway to find it flooded in red light, pulsating in steady intervals for any deaf crew members. It guides you like a beacon down the hall towards the cockpit. Standard protocol is to head to either extremity of the ship, lifepods stored at both the front and back of the ship in case of an emergency.Â
The others are already in the cockpit by the time you arrive. Claustrophobia sets in when the doors slide shut behind you, the room smaller with everyone packed inside at the same time.Â
You feel someoneâs eyes flick towards you before flitting away in the same second. Accounted for and disregarded. Hardly meriting any attention when the alarm blaring overhead is a far more pressing concern.Â
Graves punches a button. âShip, whatâs the situation?âÂ
Micrometeoroid impactÂ
Damage sustained to starboard quarter
âSome of the photovoltaic cells are cracked,â Alex says, checking the status of the ship on another computer screen. âWe have replacements thoughâcould be worse.â
âCould be a lot fuckinâ better too,â Graves grumbles, forehead already pinched.Â
Despite not being an engineer or astrophysicist, youâve gone on enough interplanetary voyages to understand the implications of damaging the photovoltaic solar panels. Much of the electronics on board rely on the electricity derived from sunlight; this particular ship, designed only to venture as far as Jupiter, isnât equipped with an alternative power source.Â
âShould I engage the Canadarm to fix the damaged panel?â Alex asks from his perch.
Graves shakes his head. âWe need to preserve as much power as possible while the cruise control is still out. Itâll have to be fixed manually.â With that said, he flips a switch to shut off the droning alarm, though the lights overhead stay red.
You flinch when the chief engineer slaps his hands down on his thighs, the sound jolting you out of your spiralling thoughts.
âDonât worry, donât worry,â he sighs, mock aggrieved. âI fix like usual. No problem.â
âNothing different than what we trained for.â
âEasy peasy,â he confirms, an easy smile on his face.Â
âOkay, Nikolai, suit upâIâll guide you from the cockpit,â Graves instructs, shifting into a mode youâve never seen before. âHadir, thereâs a replacement panel in section seven in the cargo holdâget it and bring it back now. Nikolaiâs going to have to fix it from the outside.â
The terror that lances through you when Graves says that is immediate and sharp. You know nothingâs out there, but the fear response is as real as if something were.Â
Itâs an unwarranted response, fueled by paranoia and delusion. This is a scenario the crew has prepared for back on Earth a multitude of times. They wouldnât have been given clearance to leave the planet without having run through every potential complication and calamity. There are strict regulations to follow, protocols and standards to ensure that nothing comes as a surprise.Â
But stillâ
Your chest is tight. Heart pounding against your ribcage so hard that you wince. Thereâs no one outside the ship but still you canât help but think that opening the doors might let it in.Â
When Nikolai leaves to suit up for the spacewalk, you trail after him, following Farahâs lead. You didnât notice that Hadir had already departed, but his absence is glaring on the walk towards the airlock.Â
âSmile a little, Farah,â Nikolai says, poking fun at the eternally stern woman keeping pace with him. âItâs good to have some excitement around here.â
âIâm not a fan of excitement,â she responds, voice terse. He laughs at her words, the booming sound echoing through the corridor.
You watch helplessly as Nikolai gears up, Farah helping him lock the helmet into his suit, doing a quick, final inspection of the glass to ensure that there arenât any cracks or scratches.Â
The glass of Nikolaiâs visor glints opalescent under the station lights, the glass infused with low-grade aerogel to protect from interplanetary radiation and solar winds. Packets of higher grade aerogel are stuffed into the lining of his suit, protecting the rest of his body as well.Â
Hadir returns not long after with all of the requisite parts needed for the repair neatly stored in a rectangular container that attaches securely to the front of Nikolaiâs suit, leaving his hands free. The three move in synchrony, a finely-tuned dance practiced repeatedly in the months leading up to the launch.Â
You keep to the wall in order to avoid getting in the way.Â
The first door leading into the airlock is opened when Nikolai finally gives Farah the word, their checklist run through twice before being met with approval.Â
Nikolai deliberately turns away from the door when the airlock door shuts behind him and the chamber begins to depressurize. You wince sympathetically when you notice his shoulders tense. The oxygen in his tanks is specially designed to purge the nitrogen from his blood, but under better conditions, he wouldâve spent closer to an hour prebreathing in order to transition from high to low pressure.Â
He only gets a few minutes to adjust. When his allotted time expires, the second pair of doors slide openâthe last partition between the inner and outer worldâand Nikolai takes his first step towards the darkness of space.Â
You canât watch after that. Instead, you hurry back to the cockpit, jaw so tight that it aches.Â
Graves looks up when you enter, but otherwise doesnât say a word to you. Alex flashes you a brief, tense grin. The first couple of minutes of any space walk are always nerve wracking, despite the reassurance of preparation and all times before. Thereâs an inherent anxiety in seeing the human body go out into the cold vastness of space.Â
âNikolaiâyou copy?â Graves asks through the transmitter.
The receiver crackles. âLoud and clear, boss,â he rumbles, accent thick even over radio waves.Â
A shadow of a smile flits over Gravesâ face, the tension in the room briefly relieved. Even your shoulders lower at the sound of his voice.Â
âYou sound better like this,â Graves teases. âLess nasally.â
âIâll ask your mum the next time she calls,â Nikolai rebuts, a similar teasing sneer in his voice.Â
âAsshole,â Graves laughs, keeping his finger on the button the whole time.Â
The camaraderie would usually make your heart ache. Not today though. Thereâs no space for anything other than worry.Â
âProceeding towards starboard,â Nikolai says, narrating his movements for the benefit of those on board.
There arenât any cameras on the outside of the ship, meaning the crew can only communicate with the man via audio. On a newer spacecraft that might not be the case, but this ship is old, a relic of times past, her maiden voyage predating the addition of exterior cameras.Â
You wait in the cockpit with Alex and Graves while Nikolai repairs the panel outside, nerves shot. A half hour passes by without thought. You dig your nails into the palm of your hands and wait it out, each minute feeling eternal, elongated somehow. Every so often, the receiver crackles and Nikolai gives an update on his work. Each time, the crackle makes you flinch.Â
Despite the unease churning in your stomach, the amount of time isnât suspect; you know he has to disconnect and remove the damaged panel section before installing a replacement panel.
Yet, you canât quite shake the nausea building in your stomach. The way it cramps and flutters.Â
At some point during the wait, Farah slips into the room, and you only notice her when you twist your head from side to side to stretch out the muscles in your neck and find her leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed tight over her chest.Â
For someone who has most certainly monitored and participated on spacewalks before, youâre surprised to find her just as anxious as you, albeit better at concealing it. Youâd have thought of all people, sheâd be the most comfortable. Instead, her eyes stare sightlessly at the flight deck window, finger tapping against her elbow; a nervous twitch.Â
The receiver crackles again. âPanel secure. Heading back nââÂ
Both Graves and Alex sit up straighter, staring down at the receiver as if anticipating the rest of the sentence. It never comes. You feel a sweat break on the back of your neck.Â
Graves presses a button. âNikolai, we didnât catch that. Say again.âÂ
Heâs met with a deeper, more prolonged silence.Â
âNikolai?â Graves repeats into the mic, his voice broadcast over the intercom system throughout the ship. âNikolai, do you copy?â
Silence. Nikolaiâs transmitter crackles in response, as if his finger were on the button, but his voice never follows.Â
âKolya?â Graves asks, and you can hear the sliver of desperation, the worry couched in professional concern. Youâve never heard him use that name before.Â
Another minute goes by without a response. The tension is thick in the air.Â
The sound of the door to the cockpit opening cuts through the air and you turn to watch as Farah leaves without a word. Again, puppyish, you follow after her. Youâre not sure why. Her back is ramrod straight as she marches down the hall, tension rippling down her shoulders. She doesnât acknowledge your presence as you make your way down the corridor together.Â
The two of you stare out the first porthole for some time before proceeding to the airlock further down the hall. No sign of Nikolai. Gravesâ voice crackles over the intercom, keeping the crew dispersed throughout the ship abreast of any sign of Nikolai.Â
âIâm going out,â Farah abruptly announces, punching in the code for the second spacesuit locker.Â
âHuh?â you ask dumbly, watching as she rips the zipper down the length of the suit to open it and starts to tug it out of the locker.Â
âIâm going to check on him,â she repeats, enunciating each individual word as if you didnât hear her the first time.Â
âIs thatâis that a good idea? Shouldnât you consult the commander beforeââ
It isnât your place to question her, but an instinct deep inside of you says donât go out there, donât go out. Whatâs out there should stay out there.Â
âThis is my job, doctor,â she cuts you off, finally wrenching the second suit out of the locker and jamming her leg into the lower torso component. âI donât tell you how to do your job and you certainly donât tell me how to do mineââ
Then, somehow, you both see it at the same time. A hand pressed flat to the airlock window, the fingers spread wide. The body attached to it must still be hanging off the side of the ship because you donât see the rest of him, just a palm open wide on the far edge of the window. And though Farah breathes thank fuck, Kolya under her breathâthe most relieved youâve ever heard herâyour stomach cramps and your palms grow clammy.Â
The spacesuit sheâd been about to step into falls to the floor in a heap. From the corner of your eye, you see Farah reach for the airlock lever to open the door, and your hand instinctively goes up as well, your fingers closing around her wrist to hold her in place.Â
âWait.â Itâs your voice but not your voice. Itâs your fingers around her wrist though, staying her hand. Itâs your stomach cramped up in a Gordian knot, bile at the back of your throat because this is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong.Â
She wrenches her wrist out of your grasp with more strength than you anticipated, pulling down the lever in the next breath. The look she sends you as the exterior door slides open is scathing.
âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â she snaps, her repressed fury coming to life. You can feel it now coming off her in wavesâthe days of doubt and mistrust, so unsettled by your actions to the point that now she snarls at you without a second thought.Â
Your lips part but nothing comes out. No way to explain yourself, just the gut feeling of something terribly wrong.Â
All you can do is watch as the first set of doors open to the blackness of space, your body frozen where you stand, heart in your throat. The hand briefly disappears from the window just to reappear a second later, gripping the side of the door to haul himself inside. His movements are slow and deliberate, hampered by the lack of gravity.Â
You notice the glaring issue almost immediately, but your throat is far too dry for you to speak. You wonder if Farah has noticed it as well. The man in the spacesuit taking his first step into the airlock is leaner than the man who left. Shorter too. Not the bear of a man that stepped out just an hour ago, but someone new. Someone that now flips the switch on the interior wall to shut the door behind him, which it does noiselessly.Â
âFarah,â you whisper uncertainly. She doesnât respond. You wish you could turn your head to look at her, but you canât rip your eyes off the man in the airlock.Â
You wait with baited breath for the airlock to repressurize the first chamber. It takes as long as it did to depressurize in the first place, an agonizing handful of minutes that you can only spend staring at the man standing in the middle of the chamber, his visor still tilted too low for you to make out his face.Â
But you know, donât you?Â
With a door separating the two of you, the sound never actually reaches your ears, but you swear you can almost hear the hiss of his helmet unlocking. Youâre sweating hard now, heart racing in your chest and still you blink twice, hoping that the man behind the glass will suddenly disappear or suddenly grow in size.Â
The man reaches two gloves hands up to twist the helmet out of its locked position and then slowly pulls it off, revealing a face that youâve become familiar with these past few days. Dark skin and a high fade. A scar high on his cheekbone, the wound long healed.Â
âFarah,â you say again, and your voice cracks this time. Beside you, you hear her let out a shuddering breath.Â
Through the glass, he smiles at you, full lips pulling apart to expose a row of gleaming white teeth. He waves a thick-fingered, gloved hand and mouths your name.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#gaz x reader#gaz x you#kyle garrick x reader#kyle garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#gaz/reader
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marriage lesson
alicent hightower x rhaenyraâs daughter! reader
cw. totally based on this drabble, but can be read individually. pseudo-incest smut but mentions of real incest (uncle-niece by arranged marriage), age gap (alicent is old enough to be readerâs mother), can be interpreted as being taken advantage of but itâs consensual so i will add dubcon just to be safe.
as not only a princess, but a targaryen, you knew you had your duties with the throne, doesnât matter how much you tried to run and hide from it, it was useless, and the time finally came, viserys, the king himself, decided that a marriage between you, the loved daughter of rhaenyra targaryen, and aemond, his middle child, would seal the peace between his children and wife when heâs gone. you had no choice but do it, aemond wasnât that bad, he always treated you with respect, respect he didnât have for your bastard brothers and you resented him for it, but decided to ignore since you would have to marry him. you didnât think many things would change between you after your marriage except for the fact that you would have to have his heir, to lay with him. and thatâs exactly what made you nervous.
the anxiety running through your veins on the night before the marriage made you unable to sleep, so you thought that walk around the garden would help to calm your nerves, maybe even fully accept your undeniable future. you ordered your sworn sword to ignore your midnight walk, with the promise that you wouldnât leave the castle. your steps silently echoed through the dark halls of the red fortress, trying to find anything that could take your mind off the day followed, until you saw the queen at the garden, sitting on a bench next to the middle tree.
âprincess.â her soft voice reached your ears before you could think about going back to your bedroom, scared that she might be mad about your late night walks, but she seemed nothing more than pleased at the sight of you, she looked beautiful with her long hair down in curls falling over her back with her white nightgown exposing her arms and shoulders.
âyour grace⊠i couldnât sleep.â you said, taking a step closer to her, explaining yourself without any hesitation.
âitâs fine, itâs normal to be nervous before your marriage.â she scoffed, suggesting you to sit by her side with a hand gesture. you obeyed, feeling much more comfortable to be on her side, maybe comfortable enough to voice some of your thoughts.
âitâs not the marriage that bothers me⊠itâs the consumption of it.â you refused to look at her face, preferring to face the garden instead, but you were sure that she was smiling.
âwhat are you scared of?â
âmy mother said it hurts the first time.â the queen let out a little chuckle at your response and you felt like an idiot for a second, before she speaks again, in a much lower tone, something different in her voice.
âindeed, itâs much easier for the man gain the pleasure in the first time than for the woman, perhaps⊠thereâs something you can do that may ease the pain, and give you just as much satisfaction.â thatâs when you face her, curiosity in your eyes while doing so.
âwhat that would be, my queen?â
she seemed very pleased by your question âwe should not talk about such things here.â thatâs what you remembered before end up in her chambers, almost begging her to teach you how to not feel pain during the act, her answer would be the relief of all the agony you felt the last days, you said, and the merciful queen couldnât help but give in to your pleads.
âlay down on the bed, iâm gonna show you.â you obeyed immediately, waiting for her next instruction, but that didnât come, instead, she sits by your side, looking at you for a minute or two, almost like she was in a intern battle, about to do something she could regret later, but soon enough her hand rest upon your leg, going up and hiking up your silk nightgown till your thighs, your entire body shivered at her touch, and she seemed just as much as affected as you. when her hand reached under your core, she stopped, breathing heavily, almost telling herself that was her last chance to stop, she didnât.
âheâs gonna be on top of you, like this.â she opened your legs slowly and gently, positioning herself between them, but not laying down on top of you, unable to do such a thing, one of her hand held her body up and the other hand was touching you, watching carefully your expressions, mixed in shyness and nervousness, but she could tell you were aroused as her fingers pulled your underwear to the side, finally contacting your warm core. âoh godsâŠâ she paused, whispering those words to herself, still unbelieving she was really doing it, but the whine you let out at the contact made her smile. âwhen he enters you⊠thatâs when it hurts.â her voice was just above a whisper, if you were just a few more inches away, you couldnât hear her, the whole atmosphere felt like a secret. âbut then, if you touch yourself right hereâŠâ her middle finger made contact with your clit and your body had a entire reaction, you put your hand on her shoulder, by reflection, your mouth opened in a loud, surprised sigh, the queenâs smiled grew as she saw your reaction, she could feel her own excitement start to create a discomfort between her legs, but she ignored it.
her fingers started to rub your, once untouched, pussy, playing with your clit, rolling under her fingers in circle motions, you lets out moans under her, as a thin layer of sweat started to form on your skin, your reactions seemed to please the queen.
âsee? how good it is? you can ease the pain, you can pleasure yourself.â her words were sincere but you wasnât the one pleasuring yourself, no, it was her, your queen, right on top of you, her experienced fingers playing with your most sensitive part in the best way on the night before your marriage with her son. you could be naive, but not dumb, in someway, this was wrong, a sin, could be the reason why you were even more eager for it.
âfeels really good, your grace.â the title slipped of your lips as a reminder of her place, of your place, but she couldnât help herself at this point, she was dripping wet and your needy voice whispering those words felt intoxicating, a encouragement for her to continue, she approached her face of yours, and your immediate reaction was leaning in to kiss her, but you couldnât reach, so you tried again, free from any shame, looking like a adorable desperate mess for her eyes, thatâs when she gives in, not just kissing you, but claiming your lips, you were inexperienced, but learned quickly her pace as her tongue entered your mouth, exploring eagerly, you tasted like candy for her, the sweetest of the candies with a pinch of forbidden.
âgods, youâre gonna be the ruin of me.â she finally lets herself fall on top of you, whispering those words before kissing you again, your skins in much more contact, warm and sweaty, eager and hot, she was all over you, her fingers worked so well, her presence intoxicating all your senses, all you could feel was her, the pleasure she was giving you, the pleasure she felt just by touching you, you called the gods name, lost in your pleasure, but that was in vain, not even the gods could help you now, she would be the ruin of you.
#alicent hightower x you#alicent hightower smut#alicent x reader#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower edit#hotd alicent#queen alicent#alicent hightower#olivia cooke#x fem!reader#fem!reader#hotd fanfic#house of the dragon
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ISHAâS DEATH
Sevika x f!reader
Synopsis: Sevika is devastated after learning that Isha, the young girl Jinx had found and whom Sevika had grown close to, died sacrificing herself to protect Jinx during a violent incident. Stricken with guilt and grief, Sevika crumbles, unable to cope with the loss, especially since she wasnât there when it happened. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sevika falls apart in your arms, desperately needing comfort.
The news came like a thunderstorm on a clear day.
Sevika had always been the one who was prepared for anything, the one who could take on a hundred enemies without flinching, the one who could shoulder any burden, no matter how heavy. But this newsâthis thingâwas different. It wasnât a fight. It wasnât a betrayal. It wasnât something that could be punched out of existence.
It was a loss. A cruel, senseless loss.
Isha. The little girl Jinx had found when she was barely more than a whisper of herself, a non-verbal, rebellious spark of defiance that had found a home in the chaos of the world they lived in. Isha, the one Sevika had grown attached to, who had wormed her way into her heart with her unspoken resilience and her quiet, yet unwavering loyalty.
And now she was gone.
Sevika stood at the doorway, her broad frame framed by the dim light outside, looking like she had just been struck by a physical blow. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, staring at the floor as if it could give her the answers she needed. Her normally composed expression was gone, replaced by something raw, something wild, as if she was trying to process the unthinkable.
You had heard the whispers long before she walked through the doorâgossip, rumors, half-truthsâbut you had hoped, prayed that it wasnât true. That Isha was still out there, laughing her silent laugh, running circles around Jinx as they always did.
But when Sevika had stepped into the apartment, her face a mask of disbelief, you knew.
You knew that the storm was finally here.
âSevikaâŠâ you whispered, your voice a tentative thread of concern. You had never seen her like this.
Sevika didnât answer, and you knew she wouldnât. She wasnât the type to speak when words could never be enough. You approached her slowly, your heart pounding, unsure of what to do, how to comfort her when the hurt was so vast, so endless.
Her eyes met yours, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. They were empty. There was no fire in them, no hardness, no walls. Only a hollow, vast emptiness that swallowed everything in its path.
âIshaâs dead,â Sevika rasped, her voice thick, hoarse, and cracking. âShe⊠she died saving Jinx. I wasnât there. I wasnât there⊠and sheâs dead.â
The words didnât feel real, not in the way they should. Isha was a kid, a girl who had barely started her life, a girl whoâd found something like family in the wreckage of their broken world.
The details were hazy, but you had heard enoughâan accident. A violent break-out. A sacrifice.
She had stepped in front of Jinx.
You felt the ground beneath you tilt. Isha had always been so quiet, so protective in her own way, but you hadnât thought of her being so⊠brave. To protect someone with her life, someone who meant everything to her⊠to her family. You knew how much Sevika had cared for Ishaâshe had never said it aloud, but in the quiet moments, when Jinx was distracted or the others were fighting, Sevika had been the one to watch over the girl.
The one who tried to fill the space that had been left when everything had fallen apart.
You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing the sleeve of Sevikaâs jacket, but she flinched away as if your touch was too much, too soon. It was like she couldnât breathe, like the air had thickened and pressed against her chest.
âI wasnât there,â she repeated, this time with more anguish, her voice cracking under the weight of guilt and helplessness. âI wasnât there. I shouldâve been there. I shouldâveââ
Her voice broke on the last word, and before you could stop her, Sevika dropped to her knees. You rushed to her side, your heart in your throat, but she was already shaking. Not violently, but with that quiet tremble that comes before something breaks.
âI shouldâve been there,â Sevika whispered again, almost to herself, her hands gripping the floor like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real. âI promised⊠I promised Iâd protect her.â
You knelt beside her, your arms reaching out to her cautiously. You werenât sure if she wanted comfort, if she wanted anything from you at all. But when she didnât pull away, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest, pressing her face to your neck, the warmth of her breath sending a chill through your body.
Her hands clenched at the fabric of your shirt, like she was trying to hold on to something that wasnât slipping away. Her body trembled against yours, and the soft sobs that had been building inside her finally spilled out in a quiet, guttural sound.
âI couldnât protect her,â Sevika gasped, her voice trembling with frustration and sorrow. âI wasnât there when she needed me. I wasnât there when she gave herself up. I couldnât⊠I didnâtââ
You shushed her gently, running your fingers through her hair, pressing her closer to you. You knew the words wouldnât heal the wound, not now, not with what had happened. But you also knew that she needed to feel something besides the crushing weight of guilt and helplessness.
âShe knew you loved her, Sevika,â you whispered, your voice soft but firm. âShe knew you wouldâve been there if you could. She knew you wouldâve died for her. She knew.â
Sevikaâs sobs deepened, her body going limp against yours as she let go of the dam she had been holding inside. She clung to you like a lifeline, her tears soaking your neck, her breath ragged and uneven. She wasnât just mourning Ishaâs death. She was mourning her own inability to protect the one person who had needed her the most, who had trusted her the most.
âI failed her,â Sevika whispered through the tears. âI failed her like I failed everything. I failed them all.â
âNo,â you said softly, your hand pressing against the back of her head, guiding her gently back to look at you. âNo, you didnât. Youâve been there for them, for Jinx, for everyone. You canât save everyone, Sevika. Not all of them.â
The words felt empty, but you couldnât find any better way to express the helplessness that had settled over you both. The truth was, there was no right way to console someone in the face of such loss. You couldnât bring Isha back. You couldnât undo the past.
But you could hold Sevika. You could hold her as she crumbled in your arms.
âIâm here,â you murmured, your voice steady despite the heartbreak you felt inside. âIâm here, Sevika. Youâre not alone in this. Youâre not alone.â
It wasnât much, but it was all you had to give. And, in that moment, it had to be enough.
So, you stayed there with Sevika, cradling her in your arms as her sobs slowly began to taper off into quiet, exhausted whimpers. The weight of her grief still pressed down on her like a suffocating storm, but her tears had slowed, the brokenness of it all sinking deeper into her bones.
She didnât speak anymoreâjust leaned into you, her breath shallow and uneven, her body trembling in your arms as if she couldnât quite shake the agony of the moment.
There was no magic cure for the pain she felt. No comforting words that would ever be enough to erase the guilt and loss clawing at her heart. Isha was gone, and no amount of regret could bring her back.
Still, you kept holding her. One hand pressed against her back, the other running through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. It wasnât much, but it was the only thing you could offerâyour presence, your warmth, and the unwavering understanding that she didnât have to shoulder this alone.
You could feel her exhaustion seeping through her, the weight of everything finally wearing her down, and slowly, very slowly, her body relaxed. The tense shuddering of her muscles eased, her sobs becoming faint little gasps. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to support her more comfortably, but she didnât pull away.
You kept your voice quiet, just barely a whisper, speaking into the quiet space between you both. âItâs okay to rest now, Sevika. Youâve been holding on for so long⊠itâs okay.â
Her only response was a small, broken exhale, and then, finally, her body went completely limp in your arms. She was stillâcompletely stillâand her breath became deeper, more regular, as if sleep had finally claimed her.
The tears had stopped, leaving only the softest trace of salt on your skin. You felt her weight, the heaviness of her heartbreak, resting on you as she slept. Her face was peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever, though the faintest shadow of pain still lingered in her features.
You didnât want to move. You didnât want to disturb her. Sevika, the fighter, the protector, was finally letting herself fall apart, and for the first time, she was allowing herself to be weak, to be human. The woman who could take on the world had crumbled into your arms, and though it tore your heart to pieces, you couldnât help but feel a sense of tenderness toward her in that moment.
You stayed with her, as the hours passed, your body still aching from the grief you couldnât fix. But as Sevika slept, the sound of her breath steadying in the crook of your neck, you realized something. She had needed this, even if she couldnât admit it. Even if she hadnât known she needed it. She had needed to break, needed to feel the comfort of being held in someone elseâs arms, to know she didnât have to be strong all the time.
And so, you stayed.
The night passed, and time seemed to lose meaning as you sat there, holding Sevika as she slept. Her heartbeat had slowed, her face now softened in sleep, and despite everythingâthe tragedy, the pain, the emptinessâyou felt a quiet hope bloom inside you.
Tomorrow, you would help her heal. It wouldnât happen quickly, and it wouldnât be easy, but together, you would find a way to carry the weight of this loss.
For now, you just held her.
And in the stillness of the night, as the world outside seemed to hold its breath, you wished you could make the ache in her heart disappear. But for tonight, you could only be there, as she rested, utterly brokenâbut not alone.
#sevika x you#sevika x reader#sevika fanfic#sevika arcane#Sevika#arcane#arcane season two#arcane season two spoilers#arcane fanfic#lesbian fanfic#angst fanfic#lesbian#angst#ishaâs sacrifice#isha arcane
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THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]
Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)
word count: 7.9k
trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.
authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.
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'Doctor, look into my eyes.
I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'
The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief werenât quite enough to summarise what they were going through.
Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.
Penelopeâs eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didnât need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7.Â
Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadnât slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like heâd been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved. Â
Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now.Â
They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included.Â
Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared heâd wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didnât even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasnât there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings.Â
Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where heâd set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up.Â
Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didnât know how he felt.Â
But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldnât.Â
He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldnât not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldnât wrap his big brain around.Â
So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help.Â
Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section âBegging to be answeredâ and of course, her PiĂšce de rĂ©sistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover.Â
âHello my handsome gentlemen,â She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, âAuntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,âÂ
âAm I not invited?â Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasnât, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.
âYou are, of course you are, I just didnât want them to get jealous,â She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, âIs she sleeping?â
âNo,â He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, âIâll go get her,âÂ
âOkay,â Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, âIâll get the hot chocolates ready!â Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her.Â
He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasnât pushing her too hard.Â
Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her.Â
She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside.Â
âHey,â He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. âYou got up! Did you eat anything?âÂ
She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like sheâd been waiting all day to have him near again.Â
âI had a couple biscuits and some coffee,â Her voice was raspy, and it was the first heâd heard her speak in a few days. âIâll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-â
âNo, no, thatâs great,â He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didnât take care of herself the way he wanted her to, âPennyâs here to see you. Sheâs here for a girlâs night, if thatâs okay?â
Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her.Â
âIâve missed Penny,â She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, âIs that chocolate?â
He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. Heâd gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances.Â
The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasnât good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit sheâd crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece.Â
âYes, itâs chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,â He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didnât hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. âWait a second, pants,â He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didnât mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didnât want her to give Pen a scare.Â
A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching.Â
âBug!â Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girlâs appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up.Â
She looked sick, like she hadnât known fresh air in weeks, or like sheâd pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Pennyâs arms.Â
The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly.Â
âI see Spencer has been treating you well,â Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when heâd come into âthe bat caveâ that afternoon to ask for her help.Â
Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face.Â
The girlâs skin was dull in a way theyâd never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried.Â
âHeâs been great,â Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencerâs where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. Sheâd not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing.Â
She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times sheâd managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home.Â
But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her.Â
He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic.Â
And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour âto match the eveningâ. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all sheâd needed.Â
Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.
It wasnât until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes heâd made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it.Â
It wasnât until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking.Â
JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emilyâs secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasnât doing good. She wasnât even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emilyâs safety she couldnât tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed.Â
Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didnât want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. Theyâd both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of âsorryâs and dead eyes.
So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her.Â
JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldnât hear it, he would only blame himself more.Â
So sheâd told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that heâd been asking for her since sheâd come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy heâd ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for âthe bug ladyâ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm.Â
So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few.Â
It wasnât until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book.Â
âBuggy!â The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the âgsyâ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. âBuggy, look,âÂ
She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation.Â
âThankyou, Henry,â She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. âWhat should we call him?âÂ
âSidâdâsnail,â Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.
âHi Sid,â She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henryâs back was turned to find Sid a friend.Â
She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emilyâs alive, Emilyâs alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emilyâs still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words.Â
She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emilyâs âdeathâ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said âJennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.â
But she couldnât. She couldnât betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised.Â
So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.
JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse.Â
Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. Heâd found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the womenâs bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned heâd seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadnât messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out.Â
Aaron was convinced if this didnât work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit.Â
Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. Heâd watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldnât.Â
He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, âBugsy, I know youâre in there. The team are worried about you, theyâre worried youâre hurt,âÂ
Nothing.Â
And it wasnât just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of.Â
âBugsy, if you donât answer Iâm sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,â He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasnât lying, not by a long shot.Â
He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver.Â
He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out. Â
âStop yelling,â She murmured, almost bitterly, âYouâre scaring the cats,âÂ
âYouâre scaring us,â He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasnât working, âPlease, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,â
âThatâs a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,â She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then.Â
âGet your work out clothes on, weâre going for a run,â He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, âIâm not asking,âÂ
âFuck off,â She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didnât want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out.Â
She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle.Â
âYou are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.â Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.
âOf all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,â It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like heâd been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before.Â
âOfcourse, I understand,â His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, âYou think I donât know what itâs like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I canât, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,â His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, âBut I do it because Jack needs me-â
âNo body needs me,â She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise.Â
âYes we do,â Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, âWe need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,âÂ
And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished.Â
He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack.Â
And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies sheâd stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.
If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese.Â
Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this.Â
It wasnât going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her.Â
So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And sheâd agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).
âNow as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of SĂ©millon, why donât you chop up that pork and Iâll get started on the sauce.â He handed her a sharpened butcherâs knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, âYouâre gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,âÂ
âThick and creamy, you got it,â She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, âDid you want this as diced or Julian?â
âDo you mean julienne?âÂ
âThatâs what I just said,â He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid.Â
âDiced, if you would,â David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty.Â
âYes, Chef,â She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, âSo, Iâm guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-â
David frowned, âMaybe not so harsh on the tongue but-â He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why sheâd thrown the expletive out there.Â
Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her.Â
âEmily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please donât, please- Someone get medical, sheâs bleeding-â
Davidâs hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emilyâs blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now.Â
âIâm fine,â She said on a reflex, even though he hadnât asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, âDavid, Iâm totally fine, itâs just a little scratch,â
âYou have to let me go,â Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"
âDavid, Iâm fine, stop worrying,â She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way sheâd started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound.Â
She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and familyâs took care of one another. She couldnât live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too.Â
Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emilyâs butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork sheâd been julienning.Â
âItâs okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You donât have to lie and pretend it doesnât hurt if it does,â David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol.Â
She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.Â
âItâs okay if you need a little help once in a while,â He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried heâd spook her with the first real conversation theyâd had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. âRather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.âÂ
âIs that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?â She sniffed, hoping he didnât see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile.Â
âRichard Carlson.â He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldnât snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, âIâll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, thatâs just as bad as instant noodles in my books. Thatâs like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, itâs madness,âÂ
And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks.Â
While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when heâd asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.
She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said theyâd even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway.Â
It had been going fine, theyâd gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and sheâd even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in.Â
Heâd turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and sheâd been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didnât notice until an hour later.Â
âWhere did you go, kid?â Heâd asked, and sheâd shrugged like it was nothing.Â
âNeeded the bathroom,â She said, and he hadnât even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than sheâd had in months.Â
She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was.Â
But she couldnât stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldnât stop seeing Emilyâs face now she could actually sleep again.Â
Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door.Â
It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time.Â
But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadnât stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadnât stopped thinking about for the past three years.Â
âSpencerrrrrrr!â She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morganâs as if heâd all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab.Â
She wasnât stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasnât that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like heâd suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed.Â
It wasnât until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and heâd pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was.Â
âSpencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!â And usually heâd love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans.Â
âWhat did she take?â He ignored her little hums of a song he couldnât hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. âMorgan!âÂ
Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck.Â
âI donât know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and sheâs shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I donât know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,â Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencerâs eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth.Â
âHey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,â He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, âDo you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,â
âYou always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,â She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldnât budge, not until he got a real answer, âCome on, Iâm going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think Iâm pretty Spence? I think youâre pretty, I think youâre super pretty,â
They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldnât really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with.Â
Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought.Â
This never happened.Â
Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadnât acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasnât who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning.Â
That wasnât an option in Spencerâs books, nor was it in Morganâs.Â
So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadnât quite sounded as teasing as heâd intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage.Â
Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didnât quite care enough to say anything other than, âI missed you so much,â As she pushed her face into his neck more.Â
He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where sheâd left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom.Â
âStay right here, Iâll be right back,â But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadnât just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, âI missed you so much, too, Bug,â
And he wasnât lying. Not even a little bit.Â
She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down.Â
It wasnât until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldnât be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her.Â
âBug, Iâm getting you-â
âCome lay down with me, letâs talk. I love talking to you, why havenât we talked in so long?â She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought.Â
Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her.Â
âYou moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didnât want to stop you,â He said gently, like he didnât want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like heâd told her a joke.Â
âOh, yeah. But I didnât really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,â Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, âI missed you so much,â
His brow furrowed, âWhat do you mean you didnât want to go home?â But she wasnât listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, âBug,âÂ
âHm?âÂ
âWhat do you mean you didnât want to go home? Why did you leave?â He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks.Â
âI thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.â She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, âBut I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldnât do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,âÂ
His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like heâd hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter sheâd written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her.Â
He felt like a fool.Â
âNo, no,â Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, âThatâs not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.âÂ
âReally?â She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, âI liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,âÂ
It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didnât know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth.Â
He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly.Â
âThat feels nice, Spencer,â She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, âYou feel so nice, I love you so much.âÂ
He would be lying if he said the sounds she was making didnât shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldnât feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.
âI love you too,â Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldnât shut him out so easily, wishing heâd pushed her walls a little harder.Â
Then she did something he wasnât expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock.Â
She kissed him. She had kissed him.Â
And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill sheâd taken had acted like a truth serum.
âWeâre so silly,â Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after sheâd switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again.Â
Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together.Â
But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep.Â
He guessed heâd have to tell her tomorrow.Â
â
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#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#criminal minds#matthew grey gubler x reader
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The witch's secret
Wanda Maximoff x Reader
genre: fluff  ||   warnings: none
Summary: You're best friends with Pietro and Wanda is avoiding you as much as possible. Little do you know that the reason is that the witch is falling in love with you.
The stale, recycled air of the Avengers training room hits you like a damp rag as you step inside. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the corner of your shirt, already feeling the familiar ache in your muscles. Itâs been a long morning, dodging energy blasts and deflecting vibranium projectiles, all courtesy of your best friend, Pietro. Heâs leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he examines his nails like some haughty prince.
"Took you long enough," he crows, pushing himself off the wall and stretching his arms high above his head. "I was starting to think youâd finally given up on keeping up with my god-like speed."
You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Quicksilver. Some of us need sleep." You grab your water bottle, taking a long swig. Youâve known Pietro since⊠well, since forever. You met at one of those weird, half-way houses run by the government when you were kids. Youâd bonded over shared experiences and the inability to understand why everyone was so obsessed with being ânormalâ. Youâd been inseparable ever since. And, naturally, that meant youâd gotten to know his twin sister, Wanda, very well too.
Sheâs⊠different. A chaotic storm wrapped up in a quiet demeanor. Sheâs a puzzle youâd gladly spend a lifetime trying to solve. However, lately, solving her has been like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. Sheâs been avoiding you, and not in a mild, subtle way. This is avoidance of Olympic proportions. If youâre in the kitchen, sheâs suddenly urgently needed in the library. If youâre on the training floor, sheâs busy meditating on the roof. Itâs as if youâve suddenly become radioactive.
"So," Pietro says, breaking your thoughts. âWhatâs the workout for today, oh, mighty planner of our pain?â
You shrug, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen. "I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand, maybe some sparring. What do you think?"
"As long as it involves me winning spectacularly, I'm in." He flashes that trademark grin, and you canât help but chuckle.
You spend the next hour getting pummeled by Pietroâs ridiculous speed and impressive strength - but you also get some good hits yourself. You know, he may be fast, but you have been learning from the best. As youâre catching your breath, you hear a door open behind you, and your heart skips a beat, just like it always does.
It's not Wanda. It's Kate Bishop. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a look on her face that spells trouble. You like Kate, sheâs funny, quick-witted, and a total bad-ass with a bow and arrow. She's also Wanda's best friend, which is why youâre sure sheâs about to deliver some cryptic message or distraction.
"Hey, guys," she says, her tone a little too casual. "Wanda needs my help⊠with⊠uh⊠quantum physics equations."
Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Since when does Wanda dabble in theoretical physics?"
Kate's face is a picture of forced nonchalance. "Since⊠now? Yeah, sheâs on a real quantum kick. Anyway, gotta go, quantum stuff, you know." With that, sheâs gone, leaving you and Pietro alone again.
âQuantum physics,â Pietro says, shaking his head and chuckling. âThat girl is so awkward. If I didnât know better, Iâd say sheâs trying really hard to avoid you.â
You almost choke on your water. âAvoid me? Why would she avoid me?â you ask, trying to sound casual, as if you hadnât noticed.
Pietro shrugs. âBeats me. Maybe you smell.â He wrinkles his nose dramatically, making you laugh.
The next few weeks continue in the same vein. Every time you try to talk to Wanda, she vanishes as if she's a figment of your imagination. You find yourself increasingly frustrated, not just because you have no idea what you did to annoy her, but because you really miss her company.
One afternoon, youâre attempting to meditate in the common room, hoping to find some inner peace when you hear footsteps. You open one eye to see Kate Bishop walking towards you, a determined set to her jaw. You see the mischievous glint in her eye, and brace yourself.
"Okay, look," she says, grabbing the cushion next to you and sinking down. "This whole thing has gone on long enough."
You raise an eyebrow, wondering if sheâs finally about to let you in on whatâs going on.
"Wanda likes you," Kate blurts out, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.
Your eyes widen. "Likes me? Like⊠as in a friend?" you ask, even if you already know the answer.
Kate groans. "No, as in, sheâs completely head-over-heels smitten with you. Sheâs been losing her mind about it ever since you saved her from that rampaging Ultron drone last year."
Your stomach does a backflip. âWait, what? But why is she avoiding me?â
Kate sighs. "Because she's Wanda. Sheâs not good at this whole 'feeling' thing, especially when they're feelings of the lovesick variety. She's terrified youâll find out, and then laugh at her or reject her, or whatever other dramatic scenario she's conjured up in her head. So, she decided the best course of action is to run away."
You shake your head, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's... incredibly Wanda." Something warm blooms in your chest, partly from the revelation, partly from the fact that, if Kate is to be believed, your feelings for Wanda are reciprocated.
"So, what now?" you ask.
Kate grins, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Now, we set a trap. She has got to face this. And maybe⊠she could actually go on a date or something? Sheâs been miserable, poor thing.â
The "trap," as it turns out, involves a suspiciously placed book in the library, a strategically timed fire alarm, and a very confused Pietro. You find yourself facing Wanda by the garden, which, somehow, youâd been guided to under the pretext of a "minor training accident".
She's standing by the rose bushes, her back to you, her shoulders tense.
"Wanda," you say softly, approaching cautiously.
She turns, and her eyes are wide. Sheâs beautiful. As always. And your heart is about to burst.
"I⊠IâŠ" she stammers, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
You take a deep breath. "I know," you say.
Her brows furrow. "You know?"
"Yeah, Kate told me. About⊠everything."
Her cheeks flush a vibrant red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. Iâm so embarrassing. I didnât want you to know. I didnât want to make you uncomfortable. I just⊠you're so⊠IâŠ" She trails off, unable to form a coherent sentence.
You step closer, reaching out and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wanda," you say, your voice a low hum. "I'm not uncomfortable, I'm⊠Iâm glad. Because⊠I feel the same way. Iâve been⊠completely, overwhelmingly, kind of in love with you since forever.â
Her eyes widen further, and a small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. "You⊠you do?"
You smile, nodding. âI do.â
The silence stretches between you, charged with an energy you both feel. You lean closer, and she does too, and then youâre kissing. Her lips are soft and sweet, and the world disappears around you. Itâs perfect, and magical, and everything youâve ever wanted.
As you pull away for air, you hear a snort behind you. You turn to see Pietro standing nearby, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust.
"Oh, for the love of all that is holy," he groans, putting a hand over his eyes. "Iâm going to be sick. My best friend and my sister? It's disturbing, revolting, and completely not acceptable. I need to go drink something and forget I ever saw this.â He is clearly overdoing it, and you end up bursting into laughter, which is soon joined by Wanda's giggle.
You look at her, and your heart flips over again. This is it. This awkward, beautiful mess of a romance. And you wouldnât have it any other way.
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well kept [5] r. cameron
[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
A/N: even longer chapter :)
word count: 5.3k
In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.
well kept masterlist
You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.
The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafeâs hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger.Â
It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadnât picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didnât own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.
You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it.Â
What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly werenât a couple like everyone in Rafeâs close circle assumed you were. You didnât know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for.Â
The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the nightâs chaos.
You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldnât breathe.Â
Two images of you. Outfits youâd sent him. Along with a message.Â
For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C.Â
Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs.Â
âHeâs really texting you? Itâs Saturday.â
âSunday now,â You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.
âLike that makes a difference,â You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, âNo wonder youâre going crazy.â
âCrazy?â You laughed but it came out hollow, âY-You guys thought I was sad and now Iâm going crazy?â
âYes,â She spoke matter-of-factly, âAnd itâs strange that you wonât tell us anything about him.â
âI donât wanna talk about this,â You said, realizing she wasnât going to drop it. You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.
âIâm really worried, Y/N,â She said, âYou donât have to tell us everything but at least ⊠let us help. We can help, I promise.â
Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, âYeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-âÂ
âI promise itâs not that serious, Angel,â you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafeâs wealth and influence. âI told you g-g-g-guys, heâs just a demanding asshole.â
âIf itâs not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If youâre not sleeping together or not dating?â
âItâs complicated,â You spoke robotically.Â
âWe want to be there for you,â Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, youâd have to explain why you hadnât walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were.Â
âYou guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. Iâve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because Iâm actually taking care of myself.â
It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadnât walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.
âJust because heâs rich doesnât mean he gets to have your body,â The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you.Â
âSheâs right, you know,â Angel said softly.Â
How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.
Pity.Â
Your best friends pitied you, âOh, y-youâre not serious,â You smiled crazily, âHeâs not âŠIâm nnn-n-not âŠyou both have it so so wrong.â
They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldnât pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them.Â
âIâm drunk,â You rested your head back, âIâm so drunk.â
As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, âY/N, we didnât mean to upset you,â You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car.Â
âIâm okay. So okay.â
You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, âY/N,â Imani stopped you.Â
You whipped your head around, panicked, âIâm fine. I sss-said Iâm fine.â
âYou bossâs car is parked over there.â
You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it wasâRafeâs sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. âWhaââ you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, âOh.â
âWhy the fuck is he here?â Imani cursed.Â
âIâll meet you guys insideââ
âGo talk to him but weâre standing right here until youâre done,â Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look.Â
âAngel,â You looked at you other friend, pleading.Â
She shook her head, âWeâre standing here, Y/N.â
âFine,â You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle.Â
They didnât trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer.Â
âY/N,â His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge.Â
Tonight, Rafeâs blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadnât seen before.
âRafe, wh-what are you doing out here?â You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning.Â
He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you werenât breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, âYou shouldnât touch me.â
Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadnât seen before, âWhy not?â
You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, âMy roommates are waiting for me.â
Rafeâs jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, âRight,â He nodded before he laughed, âFuck, Iâm sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?â
Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, âWhat are you doing out here?â You asked again, âItâs two in the mmm-morning.âÂ
âYeah, I didnât mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you werenât here and I ⊠I started spiraling, you know? Youâve been out all night. I donât like âŠI just felt fucking nervous.â
âNervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?â Your words were cautious but you couldnât help that your eyebrows raised in confusion.Â
âI needed to see you.â
âYou see me now,â You said, âWhat ⊠what is it?â
Rafe took a breath, âI made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, youâve been distant.â
You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actionsâa defense mechanism youâd put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.
âRafe, honestly, this isnât h-h-helping ⊠I d-d-donât know if I can handle this right now. I donât know if I can be who you need me to be,â You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldnât take a step towards you. He wouldnât make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness.Â
Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, âOkay, uhm âŠthey say something to you?â His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.
âTheyâre my friends,â you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him.Â
âOkay,â Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. âI just ⊠Iâm here because I want to fix things.â
âC-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?â You asked, âIâve been-â
âYouâve been drinking,â He filled in your words, more unamused than before, âItâs not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you ⊠thereâs lots of bad, bad people in this city.âÂ
The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasnât the first time heâd used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.
âI can take care of myself,â you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.
âCan you?â he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. âAlright, Iâll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.âÂ
âGoodnight,â You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didnât look back.Â
Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. âAre you okay?â she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.
âFuck, that dude is crazy,â Imani said, âYou have to quit. Iâll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. Weâll make it work.â
You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didnât have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly.Â
Tuesday morning, your alarm didnât wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, âWhat the-â
âLook!â Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE.Â
Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, âItâs probably a-a prank, Imani.â
âWhat is going on?â Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste.Â
You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, âAs per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of evictionââ
âFuck,â Imani cursed.Â
âThis decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer âŠâ
âSomeones buying our entire apartment building?â Angel asked, eyes wide with disbelief.
âThis is fucked,â Imani added.Â
You continued reading, âThe termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date âŠâ
You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.
âThis doesnât make any sense,â Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, âThey canât do this. Itâs illegal! Where are we supposed to go?â
âSixty days from now is right before the holidays start,â Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, âI canât go back home.â
Imani shook her head, âThis apartment is my home.â
Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. âIâm going into the office,â you said resolutely. âI w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They canât just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.â
The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. âWe donât need his help,â Imani said firmly.
âI donât think I want it,â Angel added quietly.
You stared at them, incredulous. âHe c-can help. You donât know him like I do.â
âY/N, is this really smart?â Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.
âI canât believe you guys. Get out, Iâm getting ready,â you snapped, frustration rising. âGet out, now!â
As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.
Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection. You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than youâd ever put in before.
You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.
It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but youâd never seen him look so ⊠desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.
You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didnât have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news youâd learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didnât have the strength to correct.
âIâm not sure what the problem is. Donât I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?â
âMy friends âŠâ you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life.Â
âRight, your friends. What would you have me do?â His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, âOffer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?â
âNo, thatâs nnn-not what I mean,â It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didnât expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, âI just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something thatâs in our control as tenants.â
âYou donât have much power at all, as tenants. Youâre subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,â Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, âYou could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. Thatâs where I would start, sweetheart.â
Rafeâs hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, âOkay,â You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, âWhat should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?â
âAnything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.â
âHuh,â you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, âO-Okay, thank you. Yeah, Iâll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.â
âIf it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You canât really help your friends if youâre out on the street with them.âÂ
His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didnât dwell on them, âThanks for the advice, sir.âÂ
For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasnât fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated.Â
You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.
Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. Youâd texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You werenât quite sure why that idea hadnât crossed your mind.Â
âHey, I still havenât found anythingââ
âCameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.â
Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroomâs leather couch with a heavy sigh, âShit,â You whispered.Â
âShit is an understatement,â She replied, âY/N, Iâm starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.â
Heâd lied to your face, unabashedly.Â
"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.
It was much too late for careful. You shouldâve ran after your first conversation with him but now ⊠you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didnât want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since youâd even felt like yourself.Â
You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didnât move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after youâd gone missing, âY/N, Rafeâs been looking for you. What are you doing?â
âDid you know?â You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken.Â
She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, âTopper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. â
âWh-What should I do?â You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, âI-Iâve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.â
âWhat should you do?â She repeated, âI think he loves you.â
âL-Love?â You seemed to choke on the words.Â
From what you could tell, it didnât seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, âWhat does your gut tell you?â
This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, âT-To run?â
Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, âMakes sense, heâs suffocating you.â
You sat up in your spot, âShould I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.â
âI donât think this is the time,â She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, âIf you run, heâll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. Heâs desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, youâre not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.âÂ
âY-You think he can change?â
âI didnât think so before,â Eleanor said, her voice firm. âBut now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe heâll do anything to keep you.â
You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafeâs bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations.Â
There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanorâs words having finally forced you to. If you ran, heâd come after you. If you ran, youâd have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of.Â
âI hope youâre not handling your personal business during workhours,â Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office.Â
Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office.Â
âIâm not the one who made it personal,â You spoke easily, smoothly.Â
You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didnât glance at him long enough to take in his reaction.Â
âAnd how did I make it personal?â You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafeâs scheduled social events.Â
âItâs not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.â
âOh?â That single word was dripping with venom.
âJust makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.â
âYeah?â You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, âWhat makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"
âB-Because I drive you crazy. Because Iâm the one person y-you want to control completely.â
âMaybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that youâll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?â
âY-You donât like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.â
âYouâre wrong,â He shot back.
âYouâve done a good job b-because now I canât leave without losing everything,â It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.
âMaybe Iâve been selfish.â
You scoffed at that, âYouâve mmm-made it clear that you donât care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.â
âI know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,â Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, âTell me what needs I havenât tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?â
His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, werenât you?Â
âYou really want to fix things?â
âYeah,â He said like the crimes heâd committed against you were something that could remedied, âI canât change what I donât know.â
âItâs not just about what youâve done wrong. Itâs a-about how you handle things from now on,â You started, choosing your words carefully, âItâs about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.â
âBoundaries?â His head twisted to the side like he wasnât entirely familiar with the term, âThereâs multiple?â
âFirst, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I donât want you to ever bring my friends into this again.â
âFine, Iâll get them another apartment. Iâll even throw in free rent.â
âNo,â You shook your head, âYou own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.â
âI made an investment. I have to make a profitââ
âIâm serious,â You countered, âY-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.â
Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, âOkay, they stay but you come to live with me.â
âWhat? Why?â It was another layer of control, not a solution.Â
âYour friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they wonât want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and theyâll come to their senses about our relationship.â
The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off. You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.
âI wonât say yes right now,â You decided, âSss-sss-since weâre talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.â
âThat wonât work.â
What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was?Â
âY-Youâre asking me to move across the state with you. I-Itâs t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.â
âHmm, I wonât say yes right now,â he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.
âYou just sss-said you wanted to fix things.â
âMy intentions ⊠my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. Iâm getting to a certain age and Iâve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,â The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that youâd be filling that role, âItâs a beautiful area. I wouldnât expect you to continue your role there. Youâd fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course youâd have access to even more money than Iâve been paying you.â
Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.
âWhat if I d-d-donât want that life? W-What if I want my own career?â
He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, âWhat career do you want? Iâll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, Iâm not expecting kids right away.â
You hadnât realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, âThis is why I didnât want to tell you,â Rafe seemed to talk to himself, âHey, hey, calm down.âÂ
Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafeâs proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, âEleanor, I need you here,â You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanorâs face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind.Â
Though your thoughts still raced, the roomâs spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, âItâll help you feel better.â
He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, âThank you,â You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafeâs arms, âRafeââ
âIâve got you, sweetheart. Rest,â Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.
This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!
#rafe cameron#dark fic#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x black!reader#black!reader#well kept#rafe outer banks#outer banks smut
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In Defense Of Edwin
Something that has bothered me is that there's a significant amount of people who talk about Edwin being unaware of Charles' pain as if he's oblivious, or like he did something wrong; that is simply unfair to Edwin.
Charles is happy, friendly, and wonderful. That is his personality. That is not all forced.
People are quick to jump on the line that Charles has been hiding his pain from Edwin, but a line people are ignoring from that argument is: "He's probably been hiding it from himself!"
His behavior indicates that he doesn't talk or think about trauma or negativity unless it's relevant to the situation. I doubt Charles even realized how bad his trauma was until the Devlin Murders. His pain was so repressed that he wasn't "feeling" it anymore.
Charlesâ Triggers
While I'm not going to say that Charles did not hide his pain from Edwin at all, I am going to point out that this may have been the first time, in a very long time or ever, that they encountered something this close to home for him.
The only real reason Charles discusses his trauma now is because the Devlin House triggers him, genuinely in a psychological way. It's not just the "crazy dad" that gets to him. There are so many details that fit Charles personally. That whole situation is too fucking much for him.
The song Owner Of A Lonely Heart playing in the background; a song that he says he liked enough to get the cassette tape but that it was smashed by his father.
The controlling and restrictive behaviors of the father on his daughters. The eldest daughter writing about walking on eggshells and looking forward to graduation.
The way that the father kills them; he doesn't shoot them, or poison them, or whatever, he butchers them. His attacks are physically direct. He swings an axe, so his movement is the root of the violence. If it had been a gun, it would've been his finger on the trigger, but the bullets hitting them. Charles was abused by his father through the means of a belt, which is physically direct.
The loop, having to watch it over, and over, and over again with no break, no relief, and not being able to do anything, no matter how many times he sees it happen. Charles' abuse seemed to be regular and constant, no matter what he did. It always ended the same way.
All of that is then exacerbated by the Night Nurse forcing him to reexperience his trauma the very next day. That's a lot of specific details and events that lead to his complete breakdown.
Charles hasn't been consciously choosing to hide all of that pain from Edwin. It had been buried to the point where even he couldn't see it anymore, but the Devlin House uprooted it from his subconscious.
Charlesâ Parents
Now, he does hide his habit of checking on his parents from Edwin, but that's not fully about his abuse. Charles misses his family, his life, being alive.
It's worth noting that he only shows Crystal his parents because he's trying to connect with her about not being able to go home. He didn't bring that up on a whim. It was relevant to help Crystal feel understood. She's not special; if someone completely different from her did the exact same thing, Charles would've shown them too.
Now, let's talk about him not telling Edwin. Charles may not have a full comprehension of Edwin's experiences, but he knows he's different from "normal" people. Hiding his parents from him is likely just as much about not wanting to hurt Edwin as it is protecting himself.
Edwin does not show any type of longing for his life. Everything he knew about the world from his time is gone or been changed beyond recognition. He doesn't have a family to miss, not that he was close to them in the first place; even if he did have an emotional connection to them, they've been long dead.
And Edwin seems unbothered, but thereâs no way for Charles to know that for certain. Watching his parents weekly would remind Edwin constantly that he does not have anyone. Heâs worried about being insensitive; he feels like he would be unintentionally taunting Edwin and rubbing salt into the wound.
Edwin has been dead for over 100 years and spent 70 of those years being torn apart by a demon in Hell; how could he even remember physical sensations other than pain and exhaustion? How could he remember the taste of food while running through Gluttony, watching its inhabitants vomit profusely? He never saw the appeal of romance or sex prior to his death, and then he witnesses the bloody masses of people in Lust; how could he be anything other than repulsed?
Charles tells him that pain is not a contest, but he almost without a doubt compares his own experiences to Edwin's. It's something people with low self-esteem do more than others. He feels guilty, like heâs selfish for being upset; Edwin has it so much worse.
How does being abused by his dad compare to being dragged to Hell? He got hit with a belt; Edwin was ripped apart. Who is he to whine about his life to a boy who has died more times than days Charles has existed?
He may not have had the specific details before, but the knowledge of it being Hell was enough. When you don't put your own needs on your priority list, that's one of the first "justifications" your brain comes up with. They already have enough on their plate, and you don't need to talk about it. You're totally fine! So yes, hiding his parents from Edwin makes sense from his perspective.
But his abuse? Charles doesn't even realize how much pain he's in; how could Edwin have realized?
My point is that Charles wasn't actively choosing to hide all of his pain from Edwin for thirty years, so to blame Edwin for not noticing is like blaming a blind person for picking up a red ball instead of a blue one. He couldn't have noticed; there was nothing for him to notice. Charles wasn't wearing a full mask.
The second Charles shows any indication that something is wrong, Edwin does notice!
Edwin may have trouble with people, but he's not oblivious, and he knows Charles. If he's ever been upset like this before, he would've noticed. He notices Charles' change in behavior after Crystal joined in only a day, and he doesn't deny it when Edwin calls him out.
Edwin also follows up on asking if he needs to talk about his father. Charles brushes him off, but Crystal and Niko show up before Edwin has a chance to press a little more, which I think he would've. I don't think Charles would've opened up, but it would've shown that Edwin is aware that all is not well. He is aware, but on top of being in the dark about it, he's got his own shit he's working out and cases to solve. His attention is divided.
I think it's important to remember this fact that has been driving me mental for months now:
Charles and Edwinâs dynamic during the show is a completely different dynamic than the one they've had for the past thirty years.
The introduction of Crystal, going to Port Townsend, meeting Niko, Monty, fighting Esther, the Cat King, etc. etc. etc. Everything about their relationship gets shaken up from the start of the show. They're both acting differently in all sorts of ways, and some they even acknowledge to each other.
What we saw of them in Port Townsend is not what Charles and Edwin were during those thirty years. It's unfair to pass judgement on something we don't actually know about.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting really tired of fics/posts making a commentary about Edwin not noticing being something he has failed at. Does Edwin feel guilty for not realizing it sooner? Absolutely, but please, at least acknowledge that it wasn't his fault if you're sticking to canon. If you want to twist some shit into it to make it more complicated, make it more angsty, go right ahead! I'm absolutely not stopping you!
But canonically, at least I feel after studying these characters under a microscope, Edwin could not have known sooner.
(ko-fi)
#dead boy detectives#thoughts: dead boy detectives#charles rowland#jayden revri#edwin payne#george rexstrew#payneland
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Honorifics
A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.
When you joined the task force, things didnât exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still werenât in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didnât excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasnât difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasnât your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didnât have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.
Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldnât have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what youâd experienced in your âstandardâ military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which⊠often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didnât get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.
The Lieutenant was particularly mean⊠he certainly didnât give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where heâd come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else heâd have been just as mythical in his legendary life and wouldâve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.
The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost⊠there was no choice youâd sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations⊠You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than âsirâ. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.
Ghost however⊠didnât like it.
Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd âsirâ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldnât really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, âCapâ⊠Soap, âJohnnyâ⊠and Garrick, âGazâ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasnât the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.
He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldnât be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didnât have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck⊠he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than heâd signed up for initially. Hearing you call him âsirâ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.
The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.
He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldnât be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didnât mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything youâd been asking for so the both of you wouldnât face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best⊠but youâd kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.
Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasnât a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when heâd found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasnât threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.
With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being âtoo fucking annoying to tolerateâ, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.
It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. Thatâs what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how youâd been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadnât been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.
The next two days were spent laying near motionless⊠not hungry or thirsty.
Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.
A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadnât been made by you in over forty-eight hours. Youâd not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything youâve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasnât hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, itâd been a long time since youâd spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldnât tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasnât necessary and the last time youâd stood up didnât cross your memory clearly.
Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didnât wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how heâd be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.
âGonna say somethinâ?â He sounded no less irritated than the last time youâd spoken.
It made your throat burn to even think youâd allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadnât been a totally voluntary one. Youâd not moved your jaw in days at this point.
âYouâve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.â
Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. Youâd trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there werenât enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic⊠yes. Satisfying to your own pride⊠undoubtedly. When you didnât even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease himâŠÂ please him even, with that little quip of âsirâ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.
âGoddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckinâ answer!â His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.
Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didnât utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldnât look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. Youâd not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didnât move soon. Ghost wasnât as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers werenât commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. Youâd been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didnât, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions theyâd made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free willâŠ? That wasnât healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.
When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.
âBrassâŠâ Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasnât accurate. âItâs been five days.â His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.
You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility youâd lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasnât leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.
âThisâs Ghost. Get a bay ready now, Iâm bringinâ someone in.â The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldnât be established or wasnât clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.
âCopy Ghost.â A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didnât fucking matter or apply to him.
His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. Youâd never touched Ghost once in all the time youâd known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldnât be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenantâs chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.
He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.
The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. Itâs not the first time youâve been here, but these are far different circumstances. Youâre still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. Itâs overstimulating, to say the least, and youâre worried theyâre going to think youâve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasnât worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.
âTreat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,â The female voice states softly. âBeing on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and sheâs going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.â She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.
âYouâve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field⊠but youâre one tough lady.â She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. âWeâre going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. Youâve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, youâll be right as rain soon, sniper.â
Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost whoâd not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. Heâd been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason youâd shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. Youâd been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldnât stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldnât wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.
You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.
But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didnât know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a âyes sirâ or âno sirâ. Goddamnit Ghost knew heâd nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because heâd never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while heâd been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldnât nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldnât measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasnât anything else he could do until youâd been considered healthy and strong again.
Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctorâs orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as youâd left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as youâd left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes youâd been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didnât own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasnât of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.
âSir,â You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. âI expected you to be at drill.â You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.
âShould be,â He replied flatly. âBut Iâm not.â You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. Heâs inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.
âDo you like the color green?â His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.
âYes, sir.â
His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. Youâre breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments youâd still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesnât yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.
âWhy do you call me that?â His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you heâd always held, and given you the instant to call him âsirâ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and youâd always been one wave away from drowning under him.
âYou deserve the honorâŠâ You answer, certain. Even if heâd broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure youâd applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.
âBrass,â He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. âIâm not what you think I am.â Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.
âWhatâs that, sir?â You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.
âSafe⊠Trustworthy⊠Honorable.â He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed heâd feel the most revered andâŠÂ loved.
âYouâre wrong,â You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. âYouâre a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me youâre capable of inhuman thingsâŠâ Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. âYet youâre human. So much more than anyone sees. Because itâs not evil that keeps you going. Itâs the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.â Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.
âYouâre not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you âsirâ, is because youâre a man unlike any other, Ghost.â
Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that youâd experienced. But Ghost⊠he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear canât hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until itâs skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.
Yet heâs dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until heâs nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after heâd yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.
âBrass - IâŠâ Ghostâs voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. âGod, I canât do this anymore. I canât ignore you anymore⊠Iâm losing my mind.â
You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenantâs form of apology came in the way heâd ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man whoâd never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.
âYou donât have toâŠâ You whisper, resting your forehead against his.
Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. âIâm so sorryâŠâ
You smile sadly. âIâm sorry too.â
His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. âSay it again⊠please. I need to hear it. God, please.â
âItâs okayâŠâ Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. âIâm right here, Ghost. Weâre going to do this over again⊠Together, Ghost.â
Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. âTogether⊠together, with you.â
#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod#cod mwii#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#velvetures writes#velvetures#hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending
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