#and then cried because you think the stranger cared

[itisnotaphasemom]

I might not be able to put this the right way, and maybe others have said this already,

but to me, the main thing about Cloud and Aerith is the way he tries to grow for her and because of her.

In a way, they could be quite similar. Both are incredibly lonely, and they share similar trauma. Both have lost their mothers in tragic, malicious ways. Both are confused about their identity and past. Cloud learns how much just he has forgotten and that something is very wrong with him, just like Aerith keeps finding out how little she actually knows about her ancestry or the circumstances of her mother's death.

Cloud and Aerith both realize this and are able to sympathize with one another. Aerith is incredibly patient with Cloud and him trying to uphold the walls he built around himself at all times.

I think Cloud knows there is a fundamental difference about them, though. And, that is that despite everything that has happened while Cloud has been putting up walls and has become hardened, Aerith has not. While Cloud looks to the past, is angered, shut off, and distant, Aerith has gone the opposite route. She remained soft and hopeful. It's not to say she isn't sad or lonely or angry, which she is, but she isn't faulting the world for this. She wants things to get better, instead of wanting revenge.

Generally, I think there are relationships that make you look to the past or to the future and I don't think there's right or wrong in that if it isn't too extreme.

But I think Aerith makes Cloud look into the future. I think he's always been either checked out about looking either way, or obsessed with the past, about what happened and how to mend it.

Aerith makes him believe in a future because she has been through similar things and she has come out on the other side hopeful. Because she is still good to people and because she still loves, she still cares. And I think this makes Cloud want to grow, too.

And he's showing this in some of Aerith's darkest moments. When she acknowledges her dark thoughts on the beach, he reacts with understanding, and he helps her going forward, supporting her when he can (even without the obligatory merc fee). He encourages her to speak out about her past at the lantern festival. I think as someone being taken in by a stranger as a child, essentially putting her guardian's life at risk and bringing heavy baggage along, she learned to have to be pleasant at all times to be loved. Through Cloud, she learns that this other side of her, the one that is struggling with embracing her difficult past and path forward, is also worthy of love and protection. She says to him on the beach, she is sure, he will love future Aerith, the one she is growing into right at that moment - she, too, is changing because of him.

These moments show he really wants to be there for her the same way she is there for him. He wants to make her happy and support her. He wants to protect her while she protects the world. He feels responsible for her, and it's a role he wants to grow into, and he does.

In a way, Clouds world just gets a lot bigger while Aerith is in it. When she is there, he actually laughs, he smiles like he does with no one else, and finally, he even cries holding her in his arms, when he was on the cusp of being turned into an emotionless weapon just moments before.

This, in turn, makes Aerith open up to him in a way she doesn't do with the others, too. They both see a side of the other person nobody else gets to see.

I think this is amplified in the ending when Cloud is literally the only person who knows what happened to her, that witnessed her death and who's able to see her afterward.

#ff7 rebirth spoilers #final fantasy 7 rebirth spoilers #aerith gainsborough #cloud x aerith #cloud strife #clerith #ff7 rebirth #ff7 #brb crying #mine #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 rebirth

[cupuasu]

My granny on dad's sad been getting easily sick lately and like i know shes was gonna die someday but i feel bad for not feeling sad about it

#for context shes the one that took care of me and brother when we were kids. back then we were legally obligated to spend time with our dad #at least 6 days a month. but he just left us w her and went to work bc hes an workaholic #my granny treated me badly (bc everyone in this family loves my brother more) and gave me religious trauma and left me alone with strangers #from her church. and then our grandpa (that didnt even live w her anymore) got super sick and his wife refused to take care of him #so she left him with our granny. and granny spent years and so much money on him for nothing. he was going to die anyway #he was barely a shell of a person that could only shit snd piss himself and still she forced herself to care for him because she #believed that if she did she would go to heaven #not even gonna touch on all the problems and hard times she gave my mother #i love and respect my granny for the strong black woman she is but god.... all the trauma she gave me.... #2 this day she still treats me badly 4 being an atheist and gay. she still treats my uncle (her SON) badly 4 being gay and being darkskin. #i wonder if when she dies ill even be able to cry. i remember i cried everytime i had to leave her house when i was a child #like it wasnt all bad you know #i can remember good moments if i think about it #sorry for the trauma dump LOL #been way too much in my head these past few days

[abyssruler]

a dummy’s guide to dating your crush, by lyney

lyney x gn!reader

lyney has loved you from the moment your childish small hands found each other for the first time and never let go. it’s just too bad that you don’t feel the same way, but that was fine, lyney has mastered the art of pretending. or — the one where lyney tries, and fails, to set up a few dates with you, and inadvertently wins your heart in the process.

childhood friends to lovers-ish, delulu lyney, one-sided crush, jealous lyney, slight neuvillette x reader

You and Lyney have always been close, even as children living beneath roof of the hearth and Father’s careful guidance. You were one of the first children to accept him and Lynette when they were still strangers in a new, unfamiliar place.

You were the first person to hold his hand apart from his sister, a brightness to your eyes as you led him to a secret nook that you claimed would be a hiding place for only you and him. You were the first person to make him laugh after a failed mission, the first person who held him as he cried silent tears that he’d tried to hide from his siblings, the first person who kissed his cheek and promised to ease the burden on his shoulders.

You’re the first person he’s loved that isn’t explicitly family, though that isn’t quite right either, because you are family. Not in the same way Lynette and Freminet are family to him, but family in the way two close friends are family—family in the way a man might consider his spouse family.

And it feels almost natural to come to such a conclusion. Like flicking on a light switch and realizing that little has changed save for the fact that he now sees so much more. After all, why shouldn’t his natural conclusion be that you two belonged together the way two spouses would?

You’ve always been close, know each others’ secrets, have each others’ backs, and so much more. It’s a relationship built from years and years of trust and affection, and really, can he be blamed for thinking that your shared history must mean something more? That it has set the foundations for a love so great it could rival romance novels? You’ve known each other since you were children, would and have killed for each other, and he imagines if he asks you if you love him, you would say yes. Never mind the specifics of whether that love was romantic or familial, what mattered was that you would say you love him.

Lyney is so far gone in his delusions and fantasies that he fails to see the glaring fact that he pointedly refuses to acknowledge, the glaring fact that everyone but him has made peace with, because you never go a day without telling everyone how much you like—

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” you call out, a smile lighting up your features as you turned away from Lyney to face the man, the myth, the legend himself.

Neuvillette, also known as the bane of Lyney’s existence.

✧

The proper, rational thing to do was to ask you out on a date, a bouquet of flowers in hand as he invited you to a high-end restaurant or to watch one of the operas showing that night. But, as Lynette would say, when has Lyney ever been rational?

So, he reserved a seat at restaurant that he heard from the grapevine was a popular spot for couples, bragging to the receptionist how he was bringing a date that night. And if he made sure to make his voice come off a little louder, to make his presence more known? Well, it certainly had nothing to do with him wanting rumors to spread of him taking you out on a date in a restaurant well-known for hosting couples. Nope.

“I believe this is your date, Monsieur Lyney?” the receptionist from before asks, a knowing look in her eyes as her gaze darted to yours and Lyney’s clasped hands. He nods in response.

“Monsieur Lyney,” you whispered to him with a teasing laugh that sent his stomach rolling pleasantly—that was, until you realized what the receptionist actually said. “Wait a minute, date?”

Lyney laughs off your confused look, pretending not to have heard the latter part of your statement.

“I hear they serve your favorite dessert here,” he says in a rather horrible attempt at changing the topic that would have had Lynette staring at him with unimpressed eyes. Thankfully, you’re not as sharp as his sister, and thus, more easily distracted by the prospect of delicious food.

Once you’re seated at the table that Lyney had made sure was facing the windows, offering a view of the vast ocean outside, he takes the time to appreciate the much better view in front of him: you with furrowed brows as you squinted at the letters on the menu, your lips jutted out in consideration, a serious look in your eyes like you’re about to decide the fate of the world instead of what you’ll have for dinner.

Lyney finds it all endearing.

He opens his mouth to ask you something—but then he promptly closes it shut when the distant baritones of a voice reaches his ears. Familiar, deep, and so very unwelcome.

Evidently, you hear it too, because the menu on your hands is forgotten in favor of a wide grin that isn’t directed at Lyney, no, you turn your head—swivel, more like—so quickly he almost fears for the state of your neck.

He doesn’t need to turn to know just who that voice belongs to, but the sheer happiness in the tone of your voice is unmistakeable as you raised a hand in greeting for the man who continues to haunt Lyney’s nightmares.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, it’s been a while since I last saw you!”

A while, yes, if six hours ago could be considered a while. Lyney would know, he’d been crouched on top of the tree that overlooked you and Neuvillette as you sat on a bench and spoke in an almost friendly manner. Freminet hadn’t been happy to be dragged into what his younger brother dubbed was a gross violation of your privacy, but it wasn’t a violation of your privacy when you were out in public where any passing stranger could see you. If you asked Lyney, he was only making sure Neuvillette didn’t do anything untoward towards you, like smiling at you, or talking to you, or just being within a hundred-meter wide vicinity of you.

Unfortunately for Lyney, the esteemed Chief Justice of Fontaine did all those things. And as if that wasn’t enough, he even grazed his fingers over your hair when a stray leaf landed on it! Truly a vile man, abusing his authority in order to get close to you and touch your hair, smiling and talking to you as if Lyney didn’t exist. Lyney, who’s known you since you were children. Lyney, who brushed your hair every morning and did everything you asked without hesitation.

Lyney, who was your soulmate!

“Lyney, you wouldn’t mind if the Monsieur sat with us, would you?”

And now Neuvillette had the gall to insert himself in, when Lyney had planned this to be a romantic date for two, not three.

He knows if he said no you wouldn’t push the issue anymore, but you’re looking at him with such hopeful eyes, even clasping your hands together to your chest, that Lyney can hardly find it in himself to say no.

For the rest of the night, he’s forced to endure watching you and Neuvillette make easy conversation while he silently stabs at his steak. He wonders which god he must have offended to make him feel like a third wheel in the date that he himself planned.

✧

It becomes a reoccurring trend.

Lyney would ask you to meet with him, either at the park or by the fountains or in the opera or merely at one of his magic shows—though he never specifically tells you that it’s a date. And before he could make any sort of move to indicate that he feels more for you than a childhood friend should, Neuvillette arrives and takes up all your attention.

It doesn’t seem to be intentional, or even a malicious act. The Chief Justice always seems pleasantly surprised to see you, and he’s never rude to Lyney. It’s just that…

“Monsieur Neuvillette, do you think these flowers would look good displayed by my window?”

The man in question seems to ponder deeply over your words, regarding the bouquet in your hands seriously as though it were a matter of life and death. Lyney remains standing behind the two of you, feeling a little out of place, as though he were the one intruding on Neuvillette’s time with you instead of the other way around.

“Yes, they would fit well with the general backdrop of Fontaine. Although personally,” Neuvillette plucks a single flower from the bundle and places it on your hair, “I think they would look best displayed like this on you.”

Lyney’s jaw drops to the floor. His eyes bulge out of their sockets. His hair begins to fall one by one until his bald head is left shining in the mid-afternoon sun.

I think they would look best displayed like this on you.

I think they would look best displayed like this on you.

I think they would look best displayed like this on you.

Neuvillette’s words keep repeating in his head like a particularly annoying fly buzzing around his ear, taunting him with the fact that while he may hold you freely and spend as much time with you as he can, he will never be the man who so easily captures your attention and keeps it.

You’re smiling, a bashful tint to your eyes as you looked up at Neuvillette beneath your lashes, fingers touching the petals of the flower now nestled in your hair.

It’s a sickeningly romantic scene, like something out of a play or movie or song. Lyney wants to claw his eyes out, though mostly he wants to snatch that flower off your hair and replace it with a rainbow rose, his signature flower. His.

Lyney takes a single step forward to interject, to insert himself into the conversation and make himself known, to keep you from looking at Neuvillette with those eyes that should be directed at him.

But before he can utter a single word, you move to pluck a flower from the bouquet and place it behind Neuvillette’s ear, a mirror image to the one he placed on you.

And it’s like watching something inevitable, like being a bystander to someone else’s story.

Lyney sees you laugh at something Neuvillette says in a tone too low for him to hear, but the happiness and brightness radiating off of you is unmistakable. There’s a bounce to your step as you lead Neuvillette away to whatever store has tickled your fancy, a brief glance thrown in Lyney’s way to make sure he’s still there. An afterthought at best.

As he watches you and Neuvillette parse through the menu of a cafe, the two of you standing so close that a fly would be hard-pressed to find a way between, he comes to the realization that there isn’t space left for him, that just as he thought before, he was the intruder here. The third wheel of a bicycle, the extra cog in a machine, a piece in a puzzle that doesn’t fit.

And it’s painful to acknowledge his own insignificance, but the truth has always been right in front of him, taunting him with your besotted look that isn’t directed at him.

He stands there quietly, thinking to himself that if he were in a play, this would be the prelude to the climax, the one where the unwanted third party finally leaves and allows the two lovers to be together.

So he does just that.

He bids you goodbye, claiming an excuse about promising Lynette to rehearse for their latest show. You’re sad to see him go, but it’s overshadowed by the smile that blooms on your lips when your eyes moves past him and onto Neuvillette. He watches it all with an acceptance akin to a man walking to the executioner’s block.

Lyney leaves, resignation heavy on his chest.

(He doesn’t see the sympathetic pair of eyes that follow his back as he walks away.)

✧

It had been relatively sunny outside that morning, only for a torrential downpour to begin that afternoon. It was during that sudden rainstorm that you knocked on the entrance to the house Lyney and Lynette live in, utterly drenched from the rain with a melancholic smile on your face.

Before Lyney could even begin to tell you to come in and ask you what’s wrong, you beat him to it.

“I confessed my feelings for Monsieur Neuvillette.”

And Lyney feels himself stiffen, limbs locking in place from where he’s half leaning on the doorway, half gesturing for you to enter his home.

He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised about it. He should have seen this coming from miles away—have seen this coming from miles away, he’d simply refused to believe what had always been in front of him. But for your feelings to go that deep that you’d confess…

Before he can fall down into an unending spiral of despair and self-recrimination, you once again upturn his whole word with a few measly words.

“He rejected me though.” You laugh to yourself, more self-depreciating than anything. “And… I suppose it was a bit presumptuous of me to assume that he liked me back.”

There’s a sadness to your eyes that Lyney hasn’t seen since you were children, having seen your first death. And now that same sadness is painted across your face, all because of one man who didn’t see the treasure that was right in front of him.

Lyney would have never done that to you.

But all of that matters little now, because you’re here standing in his doorsteps covered in rainwater, seeking comfort in him instead of anyone else. So, really, what else is he to do but step close and wrap you in his arms? Heedless of the fact that he’ll be getting his clothes wet.

You bury your face in his shoulder, reciprocating the embrace, your arms around him as familiar a sensation as the feeling of the wind on his cheeks and Lynette’s presence by his side. Constant. Something he will always remember.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” you murmur despondently. “He is the Chief Justice of Fontaine, and I… we are Fatui.”

Lyney feels a jolt of something zip through him at the mention of we, because yes, it has always been you and him (and Lynette and Freminet), him and you. The Magician and his most avid watcher. We, we, we.

So Lyney smiles despite your obvious heartbreak at Neuvillette’s rejection. A part of him knows he shouldn’t be thinking such things when you’re clearly upset, but it’s hard not to do so when his chest has felt the lightest it’s been in weeks.

Is he thankful that Neuvillette rejected you? No, of course not. Not when it’s brought about a melancholic sheen in your eyes and a downcast turn to your lips. But neither is he entirely against Neuvillette’s rejection of you.

He cards his fingers through your hair the same way you used to do with his, back when he still hadn’t quite mastered the art of carefully coiling his hair so that it won’t get in his face.

You eventually pull away, a look of acceptance on your face. Lyney doesn’t think much of it when he reaches out to grab your hand, it’s when you intertwine your fingers together that all thoughts and rationality promptly go out the window.

He wants you so much, and now that you’re finally here, here without anyone to hold him back, he’ll allow himself this one impulsive decision.

“Lyney, thank—”

“What do you say about lunch tomorrow? My treat,” he blurts out, only to immediately flush red when he realizes what he’s just said.

You pause, eyes blinking rapidly for a few moments before you crane your head and look at him, really look at him.

Beyond the mischievous smiles and the lenses of a childhood gone by, beyond the little acts of affection that you’d thought was common between friends—beyond everything that used to color your perception of him, stands someone who is looking at you as though you’re the only person in the entire world who matters. Not the boy who used to follow you around with wide eyes and a hesitant smile. Not the young magician who fumbled with his cards whenever you teased him.

No, this is Lyney. Just… Lyney, with his soft eyes and patient smile with the barest hint of nervousness in the corners of his lips.

And oh, how blind you must have been to miss this.

But you don’t dwell on it, on this newest revelation of Lyney and his feelings for you, because you’re you, and he’s him, and the two of you have an entire life’s worth of time to ponder over friendships and changes and love. It’s easy to place it in a back burner, to be analyzed when you aren’t so drenched in water and Lyney isn’t so deep in his own head.

So, instead of consternating over the realization that your best friend loves you, you settle for a teasing huff.

“Not even a day after I was rejected by my crush, and you’re asking me out on a date?”

Lyney only smiles wider. “Never let it be said that I’m the kind of person who wastes time.”

“You’re incorrigible,” you tell him, but there’s a grin that’s fighting to make itself seen.

“You love it.”

“Yes,” you say softly, “I do.”

It’s not romantic, the manner in which you love Lyney. But as you watch him fret about you needing to take a shower before you catch a cold, you don’t think it would be too difficult to fee the same way.

note: the truth is that neuvillette did actually reciprocate your feelings, it’s just that he realized that depriving lyney of the possibility of love feels almost selfish, and he believes that you’d be happier with lyney than with him. he’s immortal and you’re not, which solidified his decision to reject you bc he has years upon years to find love again while lyney only has a few decades with you. basically, he felt bad about stealing lyney’s crush. and yeah, it suddenly raining was a reflection of neuvi’s mood.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #genshin lyney x reader #gn reader #hm should this be considered neuvillette x reader too?

[punchliiine]

so, i keep getting asks in my inbox about whether shifting is real or not. hello? i mean it when i say it is real. shifting is real. idc how many posts people create in order to make you feel like it's not real or that it's just a teenage phase. it is real.

i have shifted plenty of times. i can fucking promise you that it's real. it will not be blurry or fuzzy or distorted or anything that might come close to a dream. it will not be astral projection, it will not be a psychotic episode or anything people (anti-shifters) say it is.

shifting is real, like so fucking real. and i completely understand how hard it is to trust strangers on internet. and not even strangers, TRUSTING AN IDEA THAT GOES BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION AND THIS REALITY. YOURE PUTTING YOUR FAITH INTO SOMETHING UNKNOWN.

BUT I PROMISE YOU I PROMISE YOU I PROMISE YOU SHIFTING IS REAL!!!!1

i have debunked and tried all those ways in order to find out if it's a lucid dreaming or whatever, i have tried them all. and they all proved to me that shifting is real.

i have healed myself of shit i couldn't have fucking imagined to ever leave me, shit that stained my soul. i have cried, laughed, snorted, breathed, screamed, talked, jumped, slept, touched.. i have lived. LIVED. and it was real, safe, and everything i've ever hoped for. I HAVE FINALLY LIVED FOR MYSELF.

i have met the man that i feel everything for, i touched his hands, i took pictures with him, i heard his voice and it was not something that could be disturbed by poor wifi. i even fucking know what shampoo brand he uses. i got to know him and he got to know ME as well. it is real. it is true. it is not impossible.

i felt it ALL. i promise you i did. ik my promises mean nothing since the whole idea of shifting is just crazy even if people tell you it's not. even if people say it's a religious practice and that it has existed for many years, it's still crazy and i get it. I HAVE BEEN THERE. but that doesn't make it not real.

it is real. those people are real. those experiences are real. everything is real. your scripts are real. shifting is real.

this is not a big inside joke nor is it a coping mechanism for covid or anyone that is mentally unwell. i know it demotivates you seeing tons of shifters trying for years with no progress. i know it demotivates you seeing people shit on shifting because we believe in something that is quite literally beyond everything we, as humans, have ever known. i know it demotivates you seeing tons of shifters saying that they were lying about their experiences and that shifting isn't real. but again, that doesn't mean shifting is not real.

i know these words are recycled and you've heard them plenty of times before, but there is nothing that i could do to make any of you believe me when i say shifting is real. i have had some experiences that me and my friends could vouch for, to prove that shifting is real BUT they could easily be rewritten as lies or me having 'telekinesis' or being set up or whatever. so i really don't wanna bother.

people will always ask for proof and will always try to debunk it, that's the way your brain works and i am not saying you're wrong for doing so or even asking for it. it's normal. but then again, even if i couldn't prove it to you or my attempts to prove it are 'debunked', it doesn't make shifting not real.

you can tell me shifting isn't real day and night, for eternity, but what i have experienced is not a lie. nor is it something that could ever come close to a lie. it is real life.

your belief or faith in shifting is unwavering because you haven't shifted, DUH??? THAT IS NORMAL!!!! but once you shift, come back to this very post and tell me how was it. was it something like a dream? or did you feel everything? consider it a dare.

i am not trying to make an anti-shifter believe, i couldn't care less. but if a shifter thinks about giving up and leaving their wildest dreams behind, please do not (i am going to kill you) do NOT. it is worth it. it is worth all of it and i bet my soul on it.

no matter how perfect your lucid dreams are, no matter how intense your maladaptive daydreams are, no matter WHAT. shifting is nothing of that sort. it is real. it is real. it is real.

i want you to just get out of wherever you are, stand in the wind, smell the air, pinch yourself, splash water on your shirt and feel how cold it gets, eat something sour, look at everything around you and notice the tiniest of details, look real close at a piece of wool and notice the tiny strings. see how you can experience all those in your cr? you can experience all those with shifting too, and infinitely more. shifting is THAT real.

it's okay to doubt, it's okay to need reassurance. it is 100% fine. but what's not okay is you constantly doubting your own power when you've been possessing it the moment you came into consciousness. you'll do wonders once you finally drop your doubts and just give it to yourself.

this is a recycled talk, i completely understand. but please just stop asking for confirmation, you ARE the confirmation.

#shift #shifting #reality shift #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting realities #shifters #shifting community #quantum jumping #desired reality #desired life #desired self #scripting #shifter #reality shifter #shifting thoughts #shifting rant #shifting motivation #shifting blog #realityshifting #shiftinconsciousness #shifting diary #shifting antis dni #multiverse #current reality

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Vacation: Part Three

PART ONE PART TWO

Pairing :: OPLA!Sanji x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Semi-Exhibitionist(under the table deal), Light Fingering, Sex

Word Count ::  3,469

Summary :: Sanji is finally reunited with you

A/N :: A more perverted pathetic Sanji because GODDAMN. That is all and I am sorry if this feels a bit rushed- Thank you all for your support!

“Sanji?” You asked quietly, almost afraid that if you spoke louder, you’d be waking up from some sort of hyper-realistic dream.

His stunned expression quickly shifted into a joyous smile. He ran up to you, scooping you up in his arms and twirling the two of you in the air.

“(Y/N)! I missed you so much!" He cried out. "Your beautiful voice! Your perfect smile! The way your nose scrunches up when I say something annoying! I've missed it all!" He put you down but kept his hands on your arms. "Especially the way your boo-"

WHAMP! A wooden staff came slamming down on his head, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Sanji, how many times have Robin and I told you to quit going around harassing women!" A redhead lady showed up behind him, followed by a black-haired one and a green-haired man. She gave you an apologetic smile as the man stepped forward to pick Sanji up. "I'm sorry about him, miss. He's a flirt and can get carried away when he sees a pretty lady sometimes."

You laughed awkwardly, cheeks flaring up due to memories from the past. "Oh trust me, I know how heart-eyed he can get."

The women each raised their brows, surprised by your comment. The man didn't seem to care, instead being preoccupied by holding Sanji back. He was holding him with one arm and covering his mouth with the other, his voice being muffled by his friend. Sanji was clearly upset; he couldn't explain that you weren't a random stranger he decided to hit on.

"Do you know each other?" The dark-haired woman asked.

You nodded, eyes moving past them and over to the blond. "We know each other quite well actually. I guess you could call us special friends."

The man released him. He walked back up to you, muttering under his breath about how the green man smelled. 

His mood seemed to pick up once his focus was back on you. He reached a hand up to brush your hair behind your ear, the tips of his fingers grazing past your cheeks. He didn't pull his hand away after resting it on your shoulder. He couldn't say it at the moment with his friends around, but he missed how you felt in his hold.

"How are you, darling?" He asked in his usual charming voice.

You smiled warmly up at him. “Happy to see you’ve made yourself some new friends.”

“They’re my crewmates. Don’t get too scared now, but,” He leaned down close to your ear, “I’m a pirate.”

His hot breath hitting your ear sent a familiar tingle down your spine and your fading blush intensified.

He backed away, quickly introducing you to the three before you, all the while rubbing a small circle into your shoulder with his thumb. Nami, the redhead, was their navigator, Robin, the tallest, was their archeologist, and Zoro, the greenhead, was their first mate. Sanji, naturally, was the crew’s cook. They had ported into town for a quick stay, leaving the day after tomorrow.

“So, do you think I could stay at your place tonight?” The question was so sudden, you almost didn’t know how to answer in front of his friends.

“Oh, erm, I wouldn’t mind it. I’ll need to get a few more ingredients then to make sure I have enough for both of us,” You mumbled, attention finally returning to the vegetables you had come to purchase.

“Sanji, it’s rude to suddenly ask someone if you can stay with them, especially if you didn’t give them a heads-up in advance,” Nami scolded.

“I don’t mind!” You were quick to defend him. “It’s no trouble at all, especially since we have so much to catch up on. In fact, I wouldn’t mind having you three over for dinner as well.”

“Really?” All four of the pirates asked in sync.

Sanji seemed to be a bit annoyed, while the other three were genuinely surprised by your hospitality. You reassured the lot that it was fine, especially since you could easily get all the extra ingredients you needed since you were already in the market. Zoro was the only one to decline the offer and instead offered to break the news to their captain that Sanji wouldn’t be cooking dinner for them tonight, so they'd have to find someplace to grab grub.

-

On the walk back to your home with Sanji and the other ladies, you started a small conversation with Robin and Nami.

“So, (Y/N), what do you do for work?” Robin asked.

“I work for Greylock Trading, a merchant company.”

“I’ve heard of Greylock Trading when I was a kid,” Nami said. “They used to come by my hometown to buy tangerines.”

You nodded. “That was in the early days. Greylock started with basic produce eventually moving up to luxury goods like fine silks or rare paints.”

“You must get to see a lot of interesting places working for such an impressive merchant.”

“I did.” Your smile fell a bit at Robin’s comment. “Long story short, a few years ago, Greylock fell ill and the captain of his ship retired so he could take care of him. Ever since, we’ve downsized considerably and just work from here.”

You could feel Sanji’s hand squeeze yours. “Is that why you never came back to Baratie?” 

“Yes. Greylock asked me to stay and help him restructure the business. He and Captain Tommy are father figures to me, so it was near impossible for me to decline, despite how much it saddened me to stop traveling. Now that everything’s settled with the business though I’ve found myself feeling a bit melancholy as of late.”

Greylock and Captain Tommy had tried to convince you to join a different crew so you could travel once more, but you refused. You didn’t want to leave them behind to join a brand new crew full of strangers. It didn’t feel right to you.

“All she ever talked about when we were together was traveling and all the different places she had been to and all the different places she was excited to see,” Sanji explained to his friends. Quickly, he then whispered to you, “At least, that’s when you weren’t a babbling mess.”

You quickly hit his shoulder, embarrassed that he’d make such a comment in front of others.

His teasing behavior didn’t end there.

When you got back to your place, he helped you in the kitchen while the girls made themselves comfortable in your living room. Your kitchen was small, but one would think it was cramped with how Sanji was acting. Whenever you were trying to grab something from one of the cabinets, he’d come up from behind you conveniently also needing to grab something. His body would push against yours, trapping you against the counter with one hand fondling your breast. A scheme so he could grind against your ass for a moment.

When you were chopping up some lettuce, he came up from behind you and placed his hands on top of yours to help you “properly” chop the lettuce. He would lower his head down to your neck, claiming it was easier for him to see if he rested his head there. A ploy so he could kiss your neck.

It didn’t end in the kitchen.

Once dinner was served, you sat next to Sanji and Robin sat with Nami opposite you two. The three of them started to enthrall you with tales of their adventures on the sea, making you a bit envious of their wayfaring.

You didn’t have much time to feel sorry for yourself though, as midway through dinner, Sanji’s hand fell under the table and began petting up and down your thigh. At first, you decided to act normal and ignore it. You two were at a table in front of his friends, there’s no way he would be dumb-

“Hmph-!” Your body tensed, feeling his hand slide up your skirt and in between your thighs.

You clamped your thighs together hoping to halt him in his tracks. Your head snapped to him, but he remained unfazed, acting as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately for you, he was able to wriggle his hand just enough to get closer to your panties. He pushed his finger against you, pushing your underwear to the side to stroke your growing wet folds. After that, he stuck one long finger in, pumping slowly with just one finger.

You gulped, biting the inside of your bottom lip, hoping to stay silent. You’d be mortified if Robin and Nami found out what you two were doing right now.

Sanji didn’t do much else after he started fingering you. He continued that slow pumping pace, not doing too much so you could act normal and giving you just enough to be excited for when dinner ended. He only pulled because you started to clean up the table while they were still around.

Eventually, it was time for you to say goodbye to your two guests.

“It was nice meeting you, (Y/N).”

“Same here, Robin. I’m glad you two enjoyed the meal.”

“It was delicious, thank you so much for having us.”

“And if Sanji gives you any trouble, just come and find us. We know how he can get.”

You chuckled, walking the two towards the door. “No worries, Nami. I know how to deal with him too. Have a nice night!”

“Bye!”

Almost the second the door shut and you two were alone, Sanji shoved his tongue in your mouth and wrapped his arms around you. His hands roamed your body, jumping from caressing your thighs to your ass to your breasts. He was so needy.

You struggled to keep up with his pace, but you couldn't break away. He was refusing to let you go. His kiss was so messy and rough, that you were sure your lips would be puffy by the time he pulled away.

His hand that was fondling your breast pulled away, hurriedly working on removing your blouse, something he had to stop the kiss for. Your head was dizzy with how he had rushed you, you almost didn't pick up on how eager he was to see your bare chest. His eyes lit up once your bra was removed.

"God, I've missed your boobs."

He reached down past your skirt to grab onto the back of your thighs and they hooked around him instinctually. He carried you over to the table you two had just been having dinner at and placed you down. His face fell straight into your chest, kissing and nipping your flesh. His hands latched onto your nipples to start pinching and rolling the buds in his fingers.

His crotch was directly against yours, allowing you to feel his erection growing. You started to move your hips against his, remembering the tingling pleasure he always gave you. He was eager as well, as he started to grind into you.

"Sanji," You moaned softly, hand reaching out to tug his hair.

He groaned at the action, and the speed of his hips picked up creating more friction. He removed a hand from your breast, reaching around to squeeze your ass and pull your body closer to his.

You were about to beg him to start fucking you, needing more than this to push you to cum, until you noticed the expression on his face. His eyes were tightly shut and he was biting his bottom lip. He was desperate to cum, now.

You had never seen him so worked up before, it turned you on, even more, to know he was being like this for you. If there wasn't a wet patch on his pants before due to your soaked panties, there certainly was one now.

"Fuuuck," He said, a mix between a whine and a moan.

So entranced by the sight before you, you decided to let him finish like this, already coming up with a plan for the aftermath. A bit of revenge for how he acted during the meal if you will.

His speed was getting faster, and his hold on your ass and tit tighter. "I just- I need-" He was struggling with his words, clearly lost in his head.

"Are you close to cumming for me, Sanji?" You asked in a teasing tone.

He completely froze, his face turning red with embarrassment for the first time since you met him all those years ago.

"(Y-Y/N)- I didn't mean to-" He struggled, stammering out a sentence, but his words were silenced when you slid your hands down his pants and cupped his length in your hand.

You could feel him throbbing in your palm, he was so close that he was already twitching in your hand. "It's okay, Sanji. I'll let you finish, but then we play my way. Okay?"

You squeezed your hand around his dick at the end, earning a small shaky breath. After he quickly agreed, you pulled your hand out of his pants, allowing him to continue grinding on you.

You pushed your breasts together for him, to which he happily planted his face in between.

He bit down roughly on your right tit when he finally started to cum in his pants, his hips jerking against your wet clothed cunt. When his peak ended, he raised his head from your breasts, trying to steady his breathing.

You hopped off of the table, grabbed his hand, and led him to your bedroom. "You know, I always remember you making fun of me for being so needy all the time. I guess the tables have turned now, huh?"

"It's… it's been a while okay?"

"I can tell," You said while pushing him down on your bed.

You pulled down your underwear before lifting your skirt to reveal your exposed wet pussy before moving to straddle him. You worked on unclothing him, carefully undoing each button on his shirt while rolling your crotch against his. In no time, you could feel him hardening up again.

Once you got his shirt off, leaving on his tie, you repositioned yourself to sit right below the hem of his pants. You zipped his pants open and pulled them down, along with his underwear, springing free his messy cock. It was smeared in sperm from before, already lubed up when you wrapped a hand around it.

You scooted closer so you were able to bring his tip to your entrance. You moved it up and down your slick folds, humming at the feeling, already ready to be filled up. But you had to be strong, remembering how you wanted to get payback.

He jerked his hips in your hands. "Love, I'm begging you. You've already made me wait such a long time."

You put your hands on his chest, raising your hips so your entrance was right above him. "I said I was sorry." You began to move your wet cunt against his length, not allowing the sweet tightness he desired. "Don't you forgive me, Sanji?"

He let out a shaky moan, feeling your slick folds slide up and down his length. His tip was so close to entering each time you went up his dick, only for you to slowly slide back down.

His hands went up to cup your face, thumbs tracing against your cheeks. He pressed a long deep kiss onto you. It was so unlike the kiss from before, with there being a slow passion to it, he was able to distract you.

You gasped into the kiss, feeling him push his cock into you. He pulled away with a devilish smirk, continuing to push until he was all the way in you. You started to whimper, it had been such a long time since anyone filled you up.

"I do, darling. And that's why I'm so happy you're not going to get upset with me for breaking our little agreement." He pulled out a bit before thrusting up into you, earning a moan.

He wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you closer to him so your chest was flush against his. He continued to thrust into you. He had quickly developed a pattern, he did a few shallow thrusts, not pulling out very much, before pulling out nearly all the way, leaving only his tip in you, then rammed himself back in only to repeat the process.

Each time he pulled out more, he hit hard, and with each thrust your moaning got louder and louder. His moaning grew in volume as well, as your walls tightened with each deep thrust.

This feeling was getting him close, along with watching you on top of him. Since you were flat against him, he could feel your breasts bouncing up and down on him with the thrusts. His favorite part about this though, was that your face was clear for him to see. Your half-lidded eyes, the small 'o' shape your mouth was in got bigger each time you moaned loudly.

Eventually, your entire body tightened and you began to spasm. Your walls clenched, finally hitting your high. Sanji wasn’t far behind, as seconds after you came you could feel his cock twitching inside of you and hot spurts of cum poured into you.

“I hope you don’t have plans tomorrow,” Sanji breathed out.

“Why?” You asked in between pants.

“Because,” He pulled out of you, beginning to reposition you two, “I don’t plan on stopping until you’re exhausted.”

Your palms fell flat against your bed as you found yourself on all fours now. His hands went down to hold your ass, his now hard again dick ramming into you from behind. He was much rougher this time with his thrusting, and his hold on you was tight so you couldn’t pull away.

At this faster pace of his, it didn’t take long until your arms gave out and your top half fell against the bed. You bounced your ass in the air with him, hoping he’d hit deeper with each thrust. So fixated on cumming again, you didn’t notice how his grip had loosened and that he had slowed down again.

“There’s my good girl,” He moaned. “So desperate to cum around my cock.”

-

Your eyes fluttered open, feeling a pair of arms wrapped around you along with a leg thrown over yours. Your vision began to clear and you saw a blond sleeping in your bed. The events of the night before began to play in your head, reminding yourself why your body was so sore.

“Hm… I guess you were telling the truth when you said I’d pass out.”

“Of course I was. I’d never lie to you, love,” His eyes opened.

You narrowed your eyes. “How long have you been up?”

He shrugged. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I made you do a lot last night. Plus, I enjoyed how peaceful you looked when you were asleep. I was trying to save it in my memory in case…” His voice trailed off, afraid to finish his sentence.

“In case what?”

“In case… you said no to being a pirate with me.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He sat up, and you followed. “I want you to join the Straw Hat Pirates. It’s a really friendly crew, aside from Zoro. Everyone’s nice, aside from Zoro. You’ve already met three of them, and got along great with them, aside from Zoro, but he’s just a grump. And I’m sure Luffy would be fine with it.”

“Who’s Luffy again?”

“He’s the captain. He’s a good kid, and he could use a negotiator.”

You fell silent, contemplating his offer for a bit longer than he’d like.

“Alright, I’ll join.”

Sanji continued to plead with you to join, having not fully processed your answer. “Please, (Y/N). You’ll get to travel again, and sure, we’ll have to deal with occasional bad- Excuse me?”

“I said, I’ll join. I’ve already helped out Greylock and there’s not much left for me here anyway. What I want is to travel on the sea again, going to new distant lands with you.”

“(Y/N)...”

You grabbed his hand, smiling happily up at him, knowing you’d be starting a brand new chapter in your life. Unlike all the other ship crews that had offered you a spot amongst them, you didn’t feel like you would fit in. Joining The Straw Hats felt right somehow, especially since someone you were close with was already a part of the crew.

The sweet moment you two shared ended shortly, as in your peripheral line of sight, you saw a tent rising in the sheets.

“Really?” You asked, throwing the blanket up to expose his erection.

“You’re just so cute when you’re sincere!”

.

.

.

Tags:

@misfits1a, @nuhteyam, @violet-19999, @idkhowtoplayhoyoversegames, @chaixsherlock, @notazul, @simpforseungkwan, @shadowwolf1864, @quixscentsposts

#sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader #opla!sanji smut #opla!sanji fanfic #sanji smut #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji fanfic #one piece sanji smut #vinsmoke sanji smut #vinsmoke sanjie x reader #vinsmoke sanji fanfic

[shadesoflsk]

RETROSPECTION & OUTCOME

pairing: leon kennedy x afab reader.

summary: The journey of healing is not an easy one. Obstacles and doubts filled the path Leon decided to take. However, the agent had planted the seed of self improvement and with your help, a strong and resilent tree will grow.

warnings: strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of reader being a nurse, age gap (reader is 25+) angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of gore, blood and violence, no alcohol consumption but Leon attempts to, Leon's inner thoughts, self doubts, lack of self confidence (from Leon's part) mild mentions of religion trauma, smut, handjob, Leon cries during it, kind of switch Leon, needy Leon (give him a hug please) p in v, creampie, fluffy at the end (yipeee)

word count: 14k

author's note: helloooo :] This is my first try at writing a long fic, I had so much fun writing it. It all started as a character study for Leon and then it ended up as... this lmao. For the first chapters, I had vendetta Leon in mind and at the last one we finally have DI Leon! Please... if you see any mistakes no you don't. Anyway love you guys hope you like this as much as I do.

— masterlist

I. ETERNAL DAMNATION.

His cold blue eyes are a pool of misery and misfortune. The dreadful gaze of an individual who once was and continues to be subject to the violent reality of what a government can do.

He remains stoic to whatever adversity he has to face, one look at him and you would believe this man has no feelings whatsoever. He kills, he gets paid, repeat. A never-ending loop in which many would believe Leon finds pleasure. Especially since he carries himself as the Government Golden Boy aka best weapon. To use and to dispose of, Leon S. Kennedy.

Shoulder pats and praise words stir up a pot filled with anger and hatred — emotions that Leon doesn't often feel with others, just with himself.— He tries not to dwell on them, but it gets so difficult and challenging whenever he hears that his own achievements are cause for celebration. Do these assholes know how many people, infected people, he had to kill in order to bring peace? No, they don’t. Unbeknownst to them, those people could have been saved.

At least in Leon’s mind. 

The suited men surround him. Privilege and smugness are qualities that Leon would often use to describe what those who hire his service are. Those congratulations and fake praises ring in Leon’s mind as he keeps thinking about the people he had to betray and kill for the ‘sake’ of his country, for his nation, and for the ego of his president. 

But he takes the compliments, like a good boy. The president believes he hit the jackpot with a rightful agent who is proud of his country. God Bless America and in God we trust, he says as his hand reaches for Leon’s. The blue-eyed agent hesitates each time, out of fear of tainting his oh-so-dear boss’ white shirt. Because nobody cared enough to spare him new clothes and a wet towel to clean himself. A trophy to show the world what a powerful human weapon they had. Rough, tall, and with calloused hands, hands of a killer. 

Leon S. Kennedy is proof of what the cruelty of a government can do. He is no longer a human, but the shell of a man. His name is printed in many documents which shows the gruesome acts he had to endure, in the name of the country. “Agent Leon S. Kennedy had successfully retrieved a sample of the virus.” “Condor One saved Baby Eagle.” He has received a plethora of names yet none of them really encapsulated who he was.

They have shown that they do not care about their citizens, like at all. Raccoon City was a prime example of that. He sounds like a broken record, the memory replaying in his memory every mission he gets assigned. But, for him, it was his first-hand experience with how cruel and gruesome reality could be.

Tough call, they say. We did what we could, they added. Leon knows all of those phrases by heart now. His gentle nature remains in him, even though it was covered by layers of a rough past and self-taught distrust. But even now, at his grown age, he fully believes they could have done so much more.

His mind is all over the place whenever he comes back from a mission. The usual white and never-changing walls surround everyone at the gathering that the president holds each time Leon ‘succeeds’ in a mission. His fingers seek any type of comfort, they twitch, they pinch his own clothes but nothing works. 

People notice, they do. It’s obvious that the spotlight is on him yet he never embraces it. Simple nods and awkward smiles are his way to go and signature gestures. Deep inside, he knows those white-collared dicks spare him weird and pitiful glances every chance they get.

His chest burns with a desire for solidarity and altruism. He feels a lot and feels everything too deep for his own liking. His core dances between his hatred for heroism and the need to be a hero. He doesn’t believe he’s one. Throughout his life he has contemplated who he is and the type of man he has grown to be. His mind is a living hell and he’s the demon incarnated.

He wonders when it all started. Maybe he was doomed for the start, as he stood in front of his parents’ grave asking God why. 

Deuteronomy 31:8; “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” The catholic father who used to hold the mass every Sunday said one morning. Now, did God forget about him? He should have prayed harder, to escape his own damnation.

Strained screams and the reek of rotten flesh fill his dreams. Madness and chaos are the main plots in his nightmares in which he pleads to stop having. His own reality was a mirror of every agony he has to face every day in his line of work. Why is God punishing him even in his dreams?

Those cries of pain and the smell of both burnt flesh and gunpowder are a toxic combination to Leon’s messed up mind. To him, they served as an everlasting proof of his devilish nature. He realizes that the image of innumerable lifeless bodies’ guts all over the floor with his brains smashed over the ground is a common occurrence for him. He becomes desensitized albeit his soul hurting for those who lay at his feet.

Now, he knows that what he's doing is in the name of survival. Millions of people live unaware of the dangerous situations he has to fight on a daily basis, they get to sleep on a warm bed next to their loved ones. If he wants to keep that on, he ought to kill.

But he wouldn’t do it otherwise, he wasn’t built for that life.

But despite that, the usual eerie feeling washes over him whenever he has to pull the trigger. He has grown accustomed to them, on the battlefield he was a fiery pawn, following orders as they told him to.

But as soon as his character ends his performance, his facade and mask falls off his face. He’s no longer a puppet from his higher-ups, he was just him. Leon.

II. RECOGNITION.

He places Matilda — his brush to paint every ground with blood — on his nightstand. To be fair, that’s a habit he can’t just let go. After every mission, his mind is all over the place for the next few days. Every sound activates a fear deep within him that keeps him awake at night and worried during the day.

He washes his hands, a thorough ritual he follows step by step. His hands touch the water, lukewarm to bring him some kind of comfort. He rinses away every blood spot he may have engraved on his bruised skin. The warm and clear liquid reaches his fingernails, which he meticulously scrubs, washing away any leftover of someone’s brain. 

He takes pride in being clean. However, it had developed into an obsession at this point. Being dirty meant killing, and killing meant despair. So, he tries to avoid his gaze on the mirror each time he arrives home. Sadly, he usually doesn’t recognize the man that is staring back at him.

Eventually, he turns off the faucet and walks towards the couch. He’s tired, both mentally and physically. He doesn’t get any younger and living as an agent surely doesn’t help his case. But at last, his home. Safe.

He turns on the TV, he’s welcomed by the News Channel which he quickly changes. Nowadays, it appears that nothing good happens in this messed up world, and he doesn’t want to bring sorrow to his home too. He searches through the vast choices of channels until something catches his eye. Casablanca.

A feeble smile forms on his face, a simple thing like that brings Leon a small percentage of happiness, which it’s a lot given his constant state of dullness. 

He sometimes quotes phrases from the movies he watches. He genuinely expects someone to notice, his tired blue eyes would roam over the numerous faces of agents, hoping someone catches the meaning behind his words. He’s tired, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to chat with someone.

Nobody seemed to notice, maybe they were busy.

Curiously, he had changed the channel just at the right moment when Rick Blaine said his line. Leon’s favorite.

“I never make plans that far ahead.” Both the character and Leon say simultaneously. It brings Leon a sense of joy. Pathetically enough, his hobbies remind him that he is, in fact, still human. 

He sighs, looking around his apartment. It was dull, it showed his lack of decoration and personal touch. He believes there was no point in placing ornaments or things of that sort since he doesn’t even spend most of his time there. In recollection, he has no home. At least not physically.

He’s a man of the world, people look at him and see someone who is strong and independent rather than a simple man. But his heart’s heavy, with a burden and anguish that no painkiller could ease.

He’s tempted to grab a bottle from his cabinet. Drown in the burning liquid and pass out. He doesn’t like alcohol. But he has always been weak to addictions. So, even when he was a rookie cop and his girlfriend broke up with him, he ran to the nearest bar and took all the booze he could. Maybe he should’ve noticed the red flags, and maybe gone to therapy or something like that. But… oh, right, the next day the world literally ended for him.

But, he refrains from doing so. Deep down, he knew that letting his addiction win would be a deadly solution to his problems. Acknowledging is the first step to recovery, experts say. However, he knew that he couldn’t do it alone.

Before even letting more negative thoughts come into his mind. He gets up from the couch and walks toward the bathroom, again. He stays in front of the door for a few seconds, as if scared of going back there. Eventually, he does enter.

His hand reaches for the switch and the lights are turned on. The luminescent white light revealed his face in front of the mirror. He takes one, two, and three deep breaths before fully opening his eyes. 

He bites his lips, seeking a sort of relief from that action yet he bites too hard that almost draws blood. He’s trying his best, this mundane act is no longer something that he does daily. So, grant him some recognition. 

His eyes travel and land on the mirror and after a while, he fully sees himself. His eyes are wide open, not because he was surprised to discover the man that was in front of him. But to compare him to the one he used to be. 

Just a few years ago, his blond hair was still bright, showing signs of his thorough routine. But now, it has turned into a black mop that could no longer be compared to his past self. His stubble has grown too, he was a late bloomer, he didn’t grow a beard until he reached the age of 27 when he could finally see some signs of pores growing hair. But to see his face so… rugged and rough was definitely a slap back to reality.

He takes two steps back, his hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Swiftly, he takes it off, revealing his chest and abdomen. He was no stranger to his own physique since he obviously showers. 

However, the sight that the mirror provided was very different from seeing his point of view. His eyes were observing someone else’s perspective, if he ever had the chance to date someone they would see… that.

A chest which was filled with scars and bruises. They were like tattoos, imprinted on his skin. Those will never fade and if he grants someone the misfortune of dating him, will they be repulsed by the idea of witnessing his tainted self?

He wasn’t a hero, he was far away from calling himself that. But he is starting to think that maybe, just maybe, those marks can remind him of his arduous path. Not in a condescending way, but in a fulfilling memory.

III. FURTHERANCE.

He feels… weird. It’s been a while since he last got a haircut, and having someone holding scissors next to his neck wasn’t something he was looking for. But, there he is.

It took everything in him to call the hairdresser. He has long forgotten how to even speak to someone in a normal setting. “Agent Kennedy here, haircut, out.” He couldn’t say that! 

At last, he booked an appointment. It wasn’t the most expensive place, not because Leon didn’t have the money but rather, because he wasn’t looking to be surrounded by luxuries and opulence. A cheap but nice place would do.

Once he arrived, he noticed that he didn’t match well with the place. He knew he carried an aura of mystery and unapproachability but Jesus, it was now obvious with the way some old ladies kept looking at him as if asking: Who the hell is this man?

All of his previous actions led him to where he’s sitting now. 

The granny behind him keeps showering in compliments which he couldn’t quite understand. A few years ago, he may have blushed and waved a hand dismissively, but now? He doesn’t see how he could be called a handsome man.

For him, looking good and taking care of himself had stopped being a requirement a few months ago. But it wasn’t something that happened out of the blue. He gradually started noticing the changes and once he realized, his whole appearance had changed. 

His eyes are piercing and never changing, an unmistakable aura of exhaustion and helpness surrounds him. Yet, once the old lady's eyes land on him, he can’t help but smile back. It was always in his nature — he lives for others.

It’s always been like this. Naturally, his gullibility and his unfounded faith have shaped and molded him differently throughout the course of years. Having to survive an apocalypse, taking care of an infant, and getting betrayed by a certain someone would sequentially take a toll on him. Nonetheless, his primal wish for altruism and hope will always remain in him. They were his roots which led to creating a strong and fortified trunk. 

He’s still hoping this tree will thrive.

The lady asks him how long has it been since he last cut his hair, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Normally, he would cut it himself, since time was priceless and he couldn’t nor wanted to go to a specific place to get his hair trimmed. So he learned by himself, which wasn’t the safest option.

By the way the old woman’s hands brush on his hair, shaking and trembling due to the years, he knows that she knows. It’s obvious by the way some strands are awkwardly cut and overall most of them were misshapen. A poor attempt at maintaining his heartthrob boy hairstyle.

He remains silent — for most of the time. —  He doesn’t answer any questions that were directed at him. Not because he didn’t want to, it’s just that his line of job never prepared him for small talk. In fact, chit-chat just meant that someone was trying to gather information out of him, which prompted him to just refrain from speaking

The government has fucked him up.

He acknowledges it. But it’s not easy to make a change when that something is the only thing he has known for at least 15 years of his life. The curse of despair had so unlucky landed on him and he knew no witchcraft which could prevent him from that.

His mind register most things people would overlook. Given his duty at the job, he ought to be an observer. Yeah, he is also a fighter but he relies heavily on his analyzing skills before attacking. Knowing your enemy before striking is what has saved him every damn time.

His permanently furrowed eyebrows and cold eyes are the first thing he notices in the mirror as the woman keeps cutting some of his hair. A hand unconsciously reaches for the little space between his brows. 

Maybe if he stops frowning.

Maybe if he stops scowling.

Could he give a better impression of himself?

It’s lacking authenticity, he feels like he’s acting rather than being genuine. But for now, he tries forcing a gentle smile which doesn’t meet his eyes yet it’s better than almost pouting every time he breathes. 

All of a sudden, the bell of the door rings announcing that someone else has arrived. Some of the old ladies who are waiting for their turn start getting up from their chairs to greet the person who had just come in.

An everyday customer, that must be. Leon thought.

He was oblivious of how much you are going to change his life.

He can’t see you, not yet. But as the observer he is, he can deduce that this said individual is genuinely loved and appreciated. A drastic contrast between the way he’s received when he returns from a mission. Fake laughs, fake thankful words. 

A complete fraud.

You walk as if you own the place, but your stride doesn’t come off as haughty or arrogant. You exude an aura of familiarity, hospitality, and therefore a gentleness that it’s foreign to Leon. 

You walk towards his seat, where the granny is cutting his hair. As soon as the gray-haired woman sees you, he observes how her eyes light up with delight and joyfulness he hadn’t seen before. 

“Adelaide…” You stop before you even reach Leon. He admires the scene developing through the mirror. He sees you for the first time, you’re definitely a nurse or at least you work in the healthcare area given your uniform. You have your hands on your hips and a playful glare was formed on your face. If he could guess, you just caught this lady doing something she wasn’t supposed to do.

“I think I told you you should be resting.” You squint your eyes as you keep looking at Adelaide, Leon takes note of her name. You are accusing her, yet your friendly demeanor doesn’t falter. 

It’s refreshing to see innocent social interactions. It's a welcome-back reality check. At least, at this moment, he could embrace the tranquility. Although it will end as soon as the hairdresser informs him that his hair is done.

“You know I can’t stand still…” Her voice comes out as a booming melody. Even though the years were obvious by the wrinkles on her face, she sounded so animated and beaming. “This job is everything I have ever known.”

Now he can agree on something. However, he is fully aware the situation is deadly different. Between cutting hair and slitting someone else’s throat, there is a vast difference. But, in his mind, he could already make up a conversation based on that information.

“I know, but…” You take a step further and place a hand on the granny’s shoulder. Leon couldn’t help but feel like an outsider now that the three of them were reflected in the mirror. “You could just take a few days off… Your shoulder will thank you for it.”

As you advise the granny your eyes dart from her eyes in the mirror to Leon’s. 

For the first time.

You acknowledge his presence with a nod and a simple smile. Time seems to stop as he scans your face. You look younger, you are definitely younger than him. Not young enough for him to feel weird about it, but there was a certain glint in your eyes that told him you haven’t experienced misery and desolation in your life. Unlike him who has yet to experience happiness.

He doesn’t want to indulge so much, but his thoughts are having a blast right now. Maybe it was his lack of social interactions and meaningful relationships but he wants to know more about you. 

“It’s quite unusual to see a man here. I would have thought someone like you would go to a barber.” He comes back to reality as he notices you are talking to him. Your eyes remain fixed on his as your smile continues to be displayed on your face. 

Someone like… him? Yeah, that statement isn’t new to him. Especially since his demeanor is still so rugged. But hey! He’s making a change even though you don’t know.

“Barbers don’t know how to cut my hair.” He realizes his voice came out rigid and plain. He didn’t intend to, but he is used to his military speech and tone. “They… just don’t get it right…” His last sentence is definitely more hushed but not any less monotone. 

“Fair enough. At least Adelaide here knows exactly how to keep your hair safe from a buzz cut.” Leon lets out an amused breath as you joke about his hair. It feels like a gentle breeze, indulging in light-hearted teasing with a stranger. And not any stranger, but you.

He has felt attraction, he’s a man after all. His line of job wasn’t the most ideal to find a partner but he can’t deny how some agents were pretty to look at. However, he couldn’t form a romantic relationship there. Between death and violence, the battleground wasn’t the place to have a partner, form a family, and live happily ever after.

“Yeah…” He sheepishly responds, he doesn’t know what else to add. You had taken the reins of the conversation as soon as you teased him. Now, he hopes something comes into his mind to keep the conversation flowing.

“I haven’t seen any other gentleman wearing this hairstyle,” Adelaide says as she resumes her work. She moves the scissors gracefully. She is — with no doubt — an expert in this area. Though the simpleness of her salon tells him otherwise. “If I may say, I think it really suits you.”

“You should have seen me in the 90s.” Those words leave his lips before he even registers them in his mind. It was an innocuous joke, nonetheless, it carried a hint of self-deprecation. He doesn’t look like his old self, he knows that. Especially after seeing himself in the mirror that night. But nobody there has to know, for them, it was a simple light-hearted joke.

The whole salon erupts in laughter, he doesn’t think his words are that funny. But hey, he will take the compliment. 

However, his eyes catch a glimpse of you not laughing. At work, most people wouldn’t laugh at his own words because they weren’t needed. He knew that. But then again, none of you were in a life-or-death situation. Leon doesn’t want to overthink, but… did he come out as a pretentious dude? Or an arrogant dickhead? 

Or maybe you have caught the real meaning behind those words.

You let out a breathy laugh, not too long to be considered a giggle but not short enough to be a chuckle. You don’t add anything else, your eyes just linger on his face for a few more seconds before turning on your heel.

For a moment, he’s taken aback. He feels like he’s going crazy but for a split second, he sees himself in you. Not because you shared the same past or path and there was no way you had the same traumas. But the way you had observed him, made him feel analyzed, as if you were studying the way he talked and expressed himself.

Maybe he’s indeed going crazy.

Leon watches you taking a seat on an empty chair, next to another customer who gives you a polite smile. From there, he hears you telling Adelaide that your shift at the hospital has just ended and you just wanted to check up on her. 

For a while, he relaxes until Adelaide tells him that they are done. She persuades him to bleach his hair after he accidentally told her that he had blond hair in the past. But he escapes her attempts by telling her that he wants to pay.

He walks towards the register and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. It was quite cheap, especially when he had cut so much hair. At least he looks more presentable now.

You appear out of nowhere as he was paying. Your frame leans over the counter and for a second, you let the awkward silence linger in the air. 

Eventually, you speak.

“You don't belong here.” You say without an ounce of malice. You're expressing a fact. Leon has never been around the salon and doesn't look the part.

He frowns slightly, he was keeping up his laid-back appearance just fine until you blurted out your thoughts.

“It's my first time here.” He states before turning around and facing you. 

“That I know.” You nod.

“Then… was your comment really necessary?” Leon's words could come off as rude even though it wasn't his intention. But, it seems they don't even phase you.

“Not really.” You shrugged. Your voice was nonchalant. “But as you could already guess, I'm a nurse. And I have seen people like you come and go out of the hospital.”

He is trying to understand what your point is. Under any other circumstances, he would have told the other person off for even daring to speak about him and his lifestyle. He wasn't violent, not at all. But sometimes his limit was put to the test.

“What I'm trying to say is that…” He sees your attempt at explaining yourself. “I think It's safe to assume you're an agent or something of that sort, right?”

Leon doesn't react nor wants to. People knowing he was an agent wasn't a problem since it wasn't a secret. 

After a few seconds, he lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding and nods. Being honest could be the start of a friendship, at least that's what Leon thinks.

“Was it my frame and physique that gave it away?” If he was an artist he could easily say he was getting better at the art of improving. Just a few weeks ago, he would have never left a comment like that lingering in the air. 

“Nope.” You cross your arms at the level of your chest. 

And there you go breaking his fantasies. He thought his phrase was so flirty.

“There's a scar on your cheek, it looks pretty deep.” You gesture to Leon where the scar is on your own cheek. He instinctively brings his finger to where it is in his. 

That's one of the few scars he remembers exactly how he got it. 2004, Spain. He experienced what betrayal was beforehand. Who he used to hold in high regard was the one who didn't hesitate to hold a knife and leave a nasty reminder of his deception. 

“I got it in a fight.” He sticks with a simple phrase, not diving deeper. Nonetheless, he realized you’re a perspicacious individual, lying won’t get him anywhere.

“Fight… right.” 

Both of you smile knowingly, the smirk giving away a sense of teasing between the two of you, for the first time. Even though you know nothing about how far and wild his job actually was, you had an idea that this said fight wasn’t just a normal and common one.

“So…” Leon sees how you shift your weight from one foot to another. There hasn’t been a shy bone in yourself ever since you entered the salon but now words don’t come out of your mouth as easily as before. “If you ever need a nurse, you can call me.”

As you rummage in your bag, you speak once again. “I may not be the most experienced but believe me when I said I had experience with some military and agents.”

You hand Leon a business card, your full name was there as well as your phone number and the hospital you work in. Your name falls swiftly out of Leon’s lips as he reads the content on the cardstock.

“And senior citizens.” He flashes you a dazzling smile, he doesn’t seem to realize that it’s been a while since he last smiled so freely and so.. natural. It feels like the sun hitting on his skin after a cold day. A warmth he had long forgotten he could feel.

He knew it was soon. Too soon to even imagine being your friend. But as he puts the card in his pocket, he wishes that this could be the beginning of something more.

IV. RELAPSE & RESTART.

He almost falls once he opens up at the door that leads him to his apartment. Another gruesome mission to add to his mental diary and more scars that will adorn his already hurting body. 

The same never-ending story, the same story being told once again. He doesn’t know when it will end. 

If it even ends.

The last months have been all about his ‘recovery’. He was a patient man, he was sure of that. However, he doesn’t understand how doing mundane things would help him. He was taking baby steps and walking on eggshells, trying not to fall back into his old addictions.

Which were slowly creeping into his mind.

A call from Hunnigan was the last thing he expected a few days ago. He was surprised not to get any task earlier but that didn’t mean he wanted to go back to fight off bioweapons and kill walking undead who were once rational people, with dreams and wishes just like him. 

But as much as he wanted to hang up and leave that world behind — knowing that the government wouldn’t give two shits about him and would walk through the same door he previously did and blow his brain — he accepted the mission.

In his own story, he’s a tragic character who can’t break the cursed loop he’s trapped in. The soft sounds of the rain no longer brought comfort to his aching heart, since those constant pitty-patter reminded him of the blood dripping from the people who were killed, by no one else but him.

He often thought he was going crazy, especially now as he walked towards the kitchen and stumbled on his own feet. Seeking something to grab on while he fights off the exhaustion. This last mission had taken a toll on him, both mentally and physically.

His fingers reach for the edge of the counter as he finally stays on his feet without the fear of falling onto the floor. His tired eyes close for a moment as he takes in his surroundings, his lonely apartment and his lonely life and his lonely self and his —.

He shakes his head, he wasn’t exactly in solitude. After that hurried meeting with you, he gained a new friend. He got to know you personally, something that he had missed for the longest time. To actually know someone deeper and not only their last names and occupations.

In exchange, he gave himself the chance to be more vulnerable. He couldn’t deny the attraction that he felt. But he was too afraid to fuck up the chance to have something meaningful with you. He told you about his years at the police academy, and he briefly shared his experience in Raccoon City, trying to be as vague as possible. In other words, he bared his soul to you.

But that didn’t mean everything was filled with butterflies and rainbows.

One night when you were treating one of his injuries (which he never treated in the past) he accidentally told you about his addictions and dark thoughts. Those which showed a persistent state of numbness and trauma. It was never his intention to worry you about those minor things, which he truly believed were not important.

But, as he recalls that night, he realizes that sadly, he can’t just end it all with a bullet through his brain. He has always thought about it, it’s not like the thought hasn’t crossed his messed up mind on those lonely nights when he wished someone would grant him a blink of sleep without having to dream about death and despair. 

His eyes open as he once again walks through the kitchen, the moonlight provides a faint source of light that casts on his dark space of living. He remembers that you once told him he should get some lights, and he indeed bought them but he can’t just seem to find enough time to put them on.

His mind wanders through the moments he has spent with you. You always said the most soothing of things, when you wanted to. You advised him, told him how worthy he can be and how special he must be to others even though they don’t know it yet.

Another step.

He didn’t quite catch the meaning of those words. For him, he only brings despair wherever he goes. A demon of destruction and annihilation. If hell had a list of its next guests he believes his name would be on the top of that list. God wouldn’t want him in his paradise.

One more step.

Nonetheless, you weren’t a teddy bear who only chanted words of praise and fairy-tale stories. You called out his bullshit, especially when he dared to joke about going back to his old habits.

Stop.

“Would you like a glass of whiskey?” He would sarcastically ask you whenever you visited him at his apartment, knowing the kind of reaction he would get out of you. You had none of that, though. As soon as he uttered those words, the grip your hand had on his arm would get tighter to the point that Leon would beg you to stop it. 

He knew you genuinely cared for him and he convinces himself that you’re wasting your time with someone like him. Someone already broken from the start. You were younger, with a life ahead of yourself, and a career to follow. And like the devil incarnate that he is, he is stopping you from that.

The story repeats itself, everything he touches turns into dust. He’s no longer a human but the shell of a man who once had dreams of becoming a cop. To become someone who would help innocent people. But instead, he’s killing those same poor souls in the name of the fucking government.

His fingers graze over the cabinet.

He despises his life, he hates everyone who forced him to follow this path. The resentment flows in his system as his hand grips the cabinet door even tighter; if he wasn’t so tired from his mission, he would have broken the tacky wooden furniture.

Why does it have to be this way?

Why does he have to continue witnessing the horrors of his life every day? 

Why do the ghosts of people haunt him every day as he tries to close his eyes and relax? 

Why has he become so desensitized to the bloodshed and yet as soon as he comes back to reality, it knocks the air out of his lungs?

And why is he already unscrewing the lid of his whiskey?

Time slows down for a moment as he gambles his choices. It's been months since he last took a sip from his so beloved whiskey. But at the same time, just one tiny drop would crumble all of his progress.

But why is progress so important if the product is going to be the same? Even if he gets better, his life won't. The only difference is that he may smile more during missions and act like everything is fucking alright even if it isn't.

But he isn't so lucky to fall deeper into his hell that easily. As soon as the cap falls onto the floor, the front door knob twists, announcing that someone is entering.

And who else has a key to his apartment?

The last person he wants to see right now.

The door creaks, antagonizing the imminent moment when you would see him at the scene of the crime with him being the culprit of his own homicide.

“Leon?” He hears you say as you step in, the darkness of the room allowing him a couple of seconds to hide the murder weapon – the bottle – and act clueless. But it seems that not even his nervous system is on his side. He just stands still.

“Sorry for being late. I had one hell of a shift back at–...” He sees your frame as you approach the kitchen. Your face falls momentarily, taking in the sight you were watching. Disheveled hair, bruises all around his face, and dark eyebags that gave the impression he hadn't slept for weeks.

Your eyes fall on the bottle in his hand. There was no cap which leads you to believe that he was drinking. Leon wanted to scream and tell you that you got it all wrong, but no words left his lips.

“Are you drinking?” Anger-filled, you take long strides before reaching for the bottle. Your eyes scan the content, seeing that it is half empty. Your accusatory gaze falls on Leon's.

“It's not what it looks like.” Worst phrase ever. He knows that he's telling you the truth, yet he couldn’t come up with anything worse than that. 

He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes wide open as you keep staring at him with those eyes filled with… disappointment which it's worse than being screamed at. He wasn’t built for that. He was used to resentment looks, to punches and kicks. But disappointment came every time he had to tell families that their father wouldn’t make it that night because he died on a mission. It came each time he had to inform a mother that their beloved son succumbed to a virus. 

The once rookie cop still lives within him. The one who hates disappointing people, the one who wants to save everyone. But especially the one who can’t do it alone.

“Then help me understand.” You place the bottle on the kitchen counter. Your stare doesn’t falter yet a hint of concern washes over your face. “Because all I see is you drinking after literally promising me that you’d never do it again.”

As a matter of fact,  you didn’t actually see him drinking. He wanted to say that, but he knew it would bring even more anger to your already burning expression. However, as soon as that thought left his mind, another one came.

The sole fact that he didn’t drink, doesn’t spare him from any culpability. If it wasn’t for your intrusion, he’d be lying on the couch, wasted and intoxicated waiting to pass out. 

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your emotions in check. Leon isn’t dumb, he’s exhausted but he’s aware of how much you’re holding back. You would never scream at him, that’s obvious. But you didn’t want to bring even more self-hatred to him.

He had his own mental battles, ones you will never understand no matter how much he describes them to you. His anxiety was always bothering him, like an annoying bug buzzing in his ear. You knew how overwhelming everything was.

And you knew how recovery wasn’t an easy step to take, but it definitely takes so much maturity and perseverance, something that Leon surrounds himself in – even though he doesn’t see it. He’s a fighter, he’s a hero, he’s a lover. He keeps fighting and fighting even when he doesn’t see an end. But he mastered the art of moving forward.

So, he’s allowed to fall from time to time.

“Did you drink?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Were you planning on doing it?”

He’s silent for a moment, he’s afraid that his answer will mean more disappointment from you. That you will get to see how pathetic he really was. 

“Yes.” He eventually confesses.

You absentmindedly nod, letting out a long sigh.

“Another mission?”

“...yes.”

You didn’t ask for the details, knowing – to an extent – about Leon’s job, you knew it must have been so impactful in order to almost throw him back to his old friend, alcohol. And you knew Leon was like a sponge, he absorbs everything he experiences and never tells anyone. You thank God that he accidentally told you about his addiction, now you can at least protect him.

“It was…” Leon continues speaking, his fingers scratching a spot on the kitchen counter. His eyes don’t meet yours, as if he’s trying his best to make the words come out of himself. “It was really bad this time.”

He lets out a dry chuckle that sounds more like an attempt to water down the situation. One thing about him is that he doesn’t cry. He wouldn’t let someone see that side of him. He’s rigid, he’s stoic, he’s unemotional. He’s a DSO agent, born to serve his country and die for it. 

But right now he wants to be a child again. 

He wants to be that same infant who would fall on purpose just to get kisses from his mother. He wants to be that same innocent child who could come back running to his mom’s arms when the world was too scary. 

He wants to stop the world for a second and cry at the top of his lungs, he wants to punch a wall until his knuckles bleed, he wants to be held, he wants to be told everything will be okay even if it will never be okay.

His thoughts drift to when he was younger – to when he could imagine himself being a better person. If he could speak with himself, what would he say? The image of a tiny him crosses his mind, a young Leon playing all by himself with tiny police cars.

Within him, there’s a rookie cop begging for help amidst the gruesome scenario he had to face back in 1998. Beneath all the layers of self-hatred and resentment, hidden in that dead gaze.

He shakes his head, in a poor effort of swallowing the lump that was forming in his throat. An imminent sign that his emotions will fall like a waterfall, reminding him of his own weaknesses. His curtain of hair falls onto his eyes, blurring his vision. 

Or was it his tears? He no longer knows.

He deserves an award for how hard he’s trying to stop the inevitable. His fingers shake, his breath gets heavier and his heart aches. But he couldn’t bear it for much longer, especially knowing that at least, he had someone to go to when his mind was too much for him.

So, he allows himself to feel human again.

“It was horrible…” He finally breaks down. He silently lets the tears fall from his eyes as he sobs. The thought of every mission is on his mind as the constant spams of his sobs control his body. 

He feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs, the uncontrollable way that he chokes on his sobs makes his throat constricted. 

He lowers his head, he doesn’t want you to see how weak he has become. A tough agent simply doesn’t cry. An agent bites, chews, swallows, and shuts up. 

Silence sets in the kitchen, occasionally broken by Leon’s tears and choked breaths. His fingers itched to grab something, to hold onto something. To feel that he wasn’t alone, that he was indeed not all by himself in this messed up world.

You slowly reach for him. Baby steps, for someone who was touched starved, even if he was unaware of that fact. For someone that’d jump whenever he feels touched, because his mind can’t let go of the fear of being bitten, of being killed. 

You quietly made your way to Leon’s hand, your fingers ever so grazing it. Feather touches brushes against the back of his hand, making sure to notice if he shows any signs of discomfort. There were none.

However, you surely notice that his sobs have stopped for the time being. He’s still sniffing though. As if on cue, his glassy eyes lock on yours, before you fully intertwine your fingers with his.

You didn’t hug him immediately, you didn’t throw your arms around his neck at the very right moment when he started crying, and you especially didn’t give him a shoulder pat as if saying “Don’t cry.” He appreciates the fact that you took it slow, you gave him a warning and proceeded further when he allowed you to.

Loving takes time, and loving Leon would surely take longer than anything you have experienced.  You have treated many patients, you know that the injuries in a body heal fairly quickly. Now, the wounds in a soul that was doomed from the start are not something that easy to mend. 

After a while of your fingers being intertwined and sweat covering the palm of your hands, you feel the faintest squeeze, coming from Leon’s side. You look at him and see a tiny smile formed on his lips with some dry tears adorning his face.

You say nothing, scared to break the atmosphere of tranquility that had formed after Leon stopped crying. It took some seconds for Leon to muster up the courage to go further, intimacy and platonic touches were already something he was unfamiliar with. Now, he had to add romantic feelings to that list.

If he had met you when he was younger, he’d have surely asked you out. Take you on a nice little date and steal a kiss or two. But now, he was trapped in the course of the years, older and supposedly wiser. However, you were the one who was being strong – for him. Not the other way around.

But, as much as he wants to pity himself and wonder about those what-ifs, he has a friend now. He would take care of that heart of his in the future. For now, he wants to embrace the one friendship he hasn’t tainted yet.

The one person who still hasn’t seen the horrors that this world has to offer.

He untangles his fingers from yours and looking at your eyes one last time, he brings your hand to his cheek. The palm of your hand bringing some warmth to his skin.

With his eyes closed now, you see an expression you haven’t seen before. A peaceful one, as if he was sleeping without his usual nightmares. It was comforting, in a sense, knowing that you have brought a moment of serenity to his tumultuous life.

You were surprised at first, not expecting Leon to show that display of affection. However, part of you understands that he was seeking comfort. It’s been a while since he last felt safe with someone, someone who he could cry with, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

Your thumb grazes over his stubbled cheek, wiping away any proof that he has been crying. 

“Thank you…” His voice is barely a whisper, you almost didn’t hear him singing his gratitude.

You want to say “You’re welcome” or “It’s okay” but none of those phrases convey what you really wish to show. Saying the first one would dismiss all of your previous actions as a simple attempt to comfort him. And the latter was a lie, it’s not okay, even if you wanted to believe it yourself.

“I got you.” You stick with that one. It wasn’t a lie but a promise you plan on fulfilling. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” He asks, opening his eyes. His tone is a hopeful one.

“I do.” You reassure him.

With your free hand – the one that wasn’t on Leon’s cheek –  you reach for the bottle of whiskey that was long forgotten after their little situation.

“But before that, we need to get rid of this.” You show it to Leon before he chuckles. “We’re now only drinking apple juice.”

He didn’t miss the use of we instead of you. Maybe he’s reading between the lines, but he hopes that you’re by his side now that he wants to leave his addiction for sure. He wants you to see how much he can achieve if he sets his mind on it.

“Apple juice it is.”

V. ABSOLUTION.

The nakedness of his body didn't override the vulnerability he showed once he let you in his life, mind, and soul. But as you help him wash his back, he can’t help but reminisce about that first night when he first saw himself in the mirror.

He remembers being insecure about showing his scars to someone, scared that the other person would be disgusted by the sight of it. 

However, you weren’t repulsed, far from that. In your mind, Leon’s skin served as a canvas and each bruise and scar were strokes of a paintbrush. In this case, they showed Leon’s hard life and non-achievable freedom. They showed how much Leon had endured and how many fights he had won.

Therefore, they were proof that Leon was a lover of life. He loved everyone else’s lives that he would sacrifice his in order to protect the world.

Leon sometimes drops hints about his job. He didn’t directly tell you about the government and its fucked up methods, but you collected the clues and formed your own puzzle.

He was forced to join.

It was strange, in a way. To know that a gentle soul like him had to face the hostility of a country, of a government that could easily threaten someone into joining the force. However, you weren’t clueless about its power.

Eventually, after those hints, other hints came along the way. 

Leon was sweet, funny, and a gentleman. Your dynamic as a nurse and patient was long forgotten even though you still tend to some of his wounds. And your friendship shifted into something more, especially after the whiskey situation months ago. 

However, even though his qualities overshadow his flaws, there’s something he can’t hide.

He’s too awkward for his own good.

Ever since the alcohol incident, Leon would always try to be smooth and compliment you over the simplest things. “Have you done something different to your hair? No, you didn’t? Oh… Well, it looks good” He would often facepalm himself because he couldn’t flirt even if his life depended on it.

Eventually, after those not-so-discrete hints, he took matters into his own hands. He often faked minor injuries. “You don’t understand, my eye literally hurts” and he would have access to admire every tiny detail your face had to offer. From your moles to the way your eyebrows furrowed trying to concentrate.

And that led to feathery touches. In the name of friendship, of course.

After one dinner – that Leon so gratefully prepared – you would often find yourself sitting on the couch, shoulders pressed to one another as you played with his rough hands. You would ask him where he got that scar, how he got this one right here, wow it looks really deep. 

And he let you because he did the same. Because those angel-like touches soon turned into endlessly staring sessions where silence was more inviting than any word could be. You gazed into each other’s eyes for only God knows how long. Expecting that the other one would break the intimate moment but none of them had the heart to do so.

It would be an understatement to say that Leon felt so safe with you. Over the months, Leon had gotten to know what a home felt like. His apartment remained the same, physically and aesthetically speaking. But the way it immediately lightens up when you arrive – yeah, Leon could finally call it home.

That’s why, it was so easy for Leon to let those words slip out of his mouth one night when you were leaving.

“You feel like home.” 

And for a moment, you let those words sink into you. You thought you were merely an acquaintance, a simple friend at most. But no – there he was, Leon Kennedy, US government agent, telling you that you’re his home.

Meanwhile, the silence at that moment made Leon go insane. He thought he fucked it up, you would surely run away now. Who the fuck says that someone is their home? Shit shit shit—

“You’re my home too.” 

And that was everything he needed to hear to stop all of his dark thoughts from appearing once again. The darkness that embraced both of them set the perfect scenario to indulge in this crucial moment. A late confession, but a real one.  

As he gazes into your eyes, he can’t help but wonder if this tiny fragment of happiness would go away like everything else had in his life. You’re too precious, too important to die, to vanish from his life and never come back.

And your hand reached for his cheek, your thumb caressing the same scar you noticed when you first met him, he couldn’t help but ask God to grant him one more chance in life. He promises — in a fragment of seconds — to be a better human, to be a better citizen but please, don’t take away this last string of hope he’s holding to.

And he felt that God had finally responded to his prayers when he saw how you leaned closer, letting your lips find his in a gentle but so meaningful and awaited kiss. He hesitantly parted his lips, scared that this may be a dream. But of course, he doesn’t dream so that had to be the reality. The sorrow, the anxiety, the longing, and the expectations — all of those were long forgotten as he mentally thanked destiny for this.

“Earth to Leon” You giggle behind him as you rub a sponge all over his back. You were careful not to be so rough on his already aching back. “A penny for your thoughts?”

Of course, he found himself daydreaming. 

From that night, his relationship with you skyrocketed. And his home became your home too.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but he found himself getting even more comfortable with you. He didn’t even need to ask himself — letting you see him naked as both of you wash each other’s bodies? Yeah, it was definitely love. 

And he loves being in love.

“I just spaced out for a bit.” He responds with a yawn, the silence that surrounded both of you was inviting to just sleep throughout the night. Funnily enough, you only just sleep. Leon was grateful the first nights since he was getting used to the fact that someone else was sleeping on his bed.

But now he was growing a bit impatient.

Especially with your lingering touches.

As you let the water wash away all the soap, your lips soon find his back, pressing soft kisses on each scar that adorned his skin. “It’s okay…” a kiss on a tiny scar. “Are you going to take your sleeping pills tonight?” Another kiss on a scar that was near his shoulder.

Right… he was put on medication. He often takes sleeping pills when his eyes won’t shut down even if drowsiness is engulfing him. But lately, sleep has become easier, and his nightmares have decreased.

He’d like to think that after you started sleeping next to him, his mind started to feel at peace. But that was something unreal, nobody could fix someone. 

But he had to be honest, you surely helped him a lot.

“Not tonight.”

He feels you nodding as your chin lays on his shoulder blade. It’s in moments like these where he thinks that life doesn’t sound so bad. As he zones out and lets you do all the job, he realizes that maybe it’s okay to keep on living.

He’s a big teddy bear, to say the least. The DSO agent who once swore duty to his country was pushed aside when he was with you. Why would he need to keep up his facade when home meant security, therefore you are what makes him safe. So, as you help him out of the shower, drying him off with a towel he lets you take the reins, his body on autopilot mode.

His strong arms wrap around your frame, perfectly molding and fitting like puzzle pieces. It feels like the flow of water, gently swaying your bodies until they reach their destination, their little nest away from everything outside. 

He takes pride in serving, providing, and protecting. It was deeply imprinted in him, right in his bone marrow. The blood that runs through his veins pushes him to never stop, to continue working for others. 

However, as you help him sit down on the bed his mind shuts down for a moment. He allows himself to take this moment of peace and drown himself in it. Be a little selfish, if he can. The tranquility of a domestic setting was still so foreign to him yet he doesn’t understand how he could’ve lived without feeling this for so long.

The towel around his midsection hugs him just right to prevent the material from falling. His hair is still a little wet, and so is yours. You use the extra towel to help him dry off. 

He very much enjoys the lazy touches you share at nights like these. It was a nice reminder that the darkness of the imminent dusk will not bring more nightmares, but peaceful dreams. The ghost of his past was getting tired of haunting him, it seems.

You’re still pretty careful with him, as if you were handling fine ceramic which in a sense, he was. He was shattered porcelain, glued back together with utter care. You both were artists, who completed with great skill this piece of art called life.

And now, your lips are acting like a brush, as they touch Leon’s skin. Kisses are planted along his jaw and he lets out a sigh from the feeling of being treated with so much devotion. If he could serve as a blank canvas, he was ready to rewrite his story with you.

Or maybe not rewrite, his past made him a person as much as it hurts. His grief, his pain, and his previous solitude built up the man that he is now. So, he will add another page to his life story. He will paint another landscape where the sun rises and casts its lights on the world. 

He looks at you and sees nothing but raw love and a hint of desire hidden behind those orbs. He notices, then, that just like him you are indeed eager to please him in the other sense of the word. It was embarrassing to realize that he shouldn’t have kept quiet about his needs when you had already proved to him that it was okay to speak, to think, to feel.

It’s been a while since he last let himself be this physically vulnerable. Sure he wasn’t an inexpert in the area but it has never been this intimate. Hearts never bonded and names weren’t remembered. Never has someone truly cared about his welfare before. To put it a name, he’d have called it a trade. He let off some steam and the other part got what they wanted. No strings attached and surely no feelings hurt.

However, it would be a lie if he told himself he didn’t crave to actually make love to someone. To feel someone’s body brushed against his in a sweet and gentle motion. To let himself and his soul be kissed with so much love that it would make him cringe. 

You stop your waterfall of kisses for a while, letting the silence linger for a few seconds as you grab his hand. Slowly, you interlace your fingers with him, a well-known display of affection from you. Your signature, you may even say.

“Hey…” His eyes search yours, and he sees how you’re looking for approval, for his consent. He once heard eyes are the mirror of someone’s soul and the world suddenly feels so small as he remembers that he met those same eyes months ago, unaware of the effect you’d have on him.

“Hey.” You repeated, for the second time this night, his mind decided to wander again. “Is it okay if…” you trail off, not because of embarrassment or sudden shyness, not at all. But he can deduce that you wanted him to finish your sentence. 

I’ve been dying to touch you. I’ve been craving you touching me, he wanted to say. However, his sense of decency stops him from uttering that rather needy phrase. In a way, he can infer that you already know about his lustful desires. It was a matter of time before both of you indulged in those carnally and normal needs. 

Nonetheless, he is oblivious that you won’t let this night be like any other. No, you wouldn’t try anything too crazy — not yet — But after months of knowing him deeper and rawer, you know he’s tired. Exhausted from his life, exhausted from his job, and overall drained. He deserves to be treated right and you’ve been excelling in that task. 

But, you’ll show him that he can be as greedy as he wants to be.

“You can trust me.” You say in a hushed tone as if you were whispering a secret to him. Your hand slowly descends until it reaches where the towel meets his waist. 

“I do trust you.” He responds with a determined tone amidst the suggestive move of your hand. “I feel like I won the lottery with you.”

“Is that so?” You laugh, resuming your kisses around his stubbled cheek. Although this time, they carry some neediness in them.

“Positive.” He lets out a shaky breath as your finger ever so grazes over where the towel is tucked in. “Because you saw good in me when I had nothing to offer, you—”

“Stop.” Your voice remains soft even though your command doesn’t falter. ”None of those self-loathing words right now.”

He’s speechless for a moment before he slowly nods and lets your hand go lower. Leon feels his blood going south just from a few words.

But then again, loving you was really easy. So it was no surprise that he found himself already leaking at the anticipation of your imminent touch. 

“Let me make you feel better.” You whisper, allowing your hand to undo the towel that was previously wrapped around him. In a swift movement, it falls on the floor exposing his already hard length. 

You glance at Leon one last time and observe his reaction. There was no sight of changes of mind or hesitation, so you free his and your desire.

You connect your lips against his neck, and with gentle sucks, you prepare him for what’s about to come. Your wish —besides touching him— is bringing comfort in such an intimate act like this. He has trusted you with his soul and body before, that’s correct. But right now, you can feel the level of loyalty and therefore love he’s showing you. 

Your hand reaches for his dick, you thumb the slit of his tip collecting the precum that has already formed there, using it as a lubricant. 

Your fingers circle around his cock and, slowly, you start stroking him. You don’t want him to cum just yet, the feeling of being treated like this was something you want him to drown in. So, you keep up the steady pace. 

You disconnect your lips from his neck and focus your eyes on your ministration on his cock. The lewd sounds combined with the faint whimpers coming out from his lips were almost like background music that you are starting to love. 

He takes the opportunity of you pulling away from his neck to hide his face in the crook of yours. His breath tickles your skin as he continues letting out the most pretty sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck…” He hisses as his word gets lost between the shlick sounds of your hand jerking him off. His nose brushes against the side of your neck as his cries fill your ears. You can hear him whispering your name from time to time, as well as some other curses of his own.

However, his tiny cries of pleasure soon turned into real sobs. 

No, he wasn’t sad but Christ, it was the first time actually took their time to focus on his pleasure and his well being. He always thought that love was never meant for him, that the simple act of falling in love would be impossible and unachievable. The thought of having his life attached to someone else used to send shivers down his spine.

Now, his world is no longer black and white, your mere existence brought color to his life.

Your hand stops for a minute, worried that you may have done something wrong. That leads Leon to pull away from your neck as some tears roll down his face. 

“Sorry… I — just continue please…” The desperation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed as he went back to nuzzle against your neck. And even if he was dazed out at this very moment, you will remember to talk about this again at another time.

“It’s okay, let it all go.” You reassure him as you resume your previous motions. It doesn’t take long before your hand sends him over the edge and close to his own climax. 

You pump him, your thumb grazing over the head of his dick from time to time. He absentmindedly thrust his hips up into your hand, seeking his near release. For him, you were granting him a visit to Heaven itself. Just the mere touch of your hand had him seeing angels and cherubims. How would it feel to be deep inside of you?

His lips are red from biting them, attempting to muffle his moans. His brain is a mess, with thoughts of you and only in there and his cock is throbbing as it chases his own high. Overall, Leon was putty in your hands. 

And by the way, his hips are starting to miss their rhythm, you know that it was a matter of seconds before Leon came undone in your hand.

“You’ve been so good for me…” You coo, still jerking him off with a slightly faster pace now. “You deserve to cum, don’t you?” You were always good with words but Jesus, he didn’t expect you would literally talk him through it.

As you whisper those praise words, he can’t stop his hips from rutting and bucking into your hand. “Yeah…— fuck — I’ve been so good. Please, let me cum.”

The image of a tough agent begging for release will surely imprint in your mind for a while. 

“Of course.” Your lips tug into a smile as you pick up the pace. It was a sight to behold, seeing Leon coming undone in your hands with his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a dazed out expression that brought butterflies to your tummy.

Eventually, your hands slow down as Leon writhes under your touch. He lets out a loud muffled whimper as white thick ropes of cum spill onto his stomach and of course, your hand. 

He stays still for a while, letting his body rest for a second. He plants lazy kisses on your neck as a way of saying “Thank you” since words couldn’t really translate what he was feeling right.

“Shit—” After a while, Leon curses as his half-lidded eyes meet yours. His expression is one of exhaustion but his lazy smile tells you he was brimming with happiness. He reaches for his towel that was previously thrown off and cleans your hand.

“Are you ok?” You ask as Leon wipes your hand, you can’t help but let out a giggle at the considerate action.

“Yeah but…” He trails off as he cleans his abdomen too. You can already predict what was going on in that head of his. “What about you?”

“I’m okay Leon.” You sigh as you bring your now clean hand to his cheek. “Your pleasure is mine. Besides, you’re exhausted.”

But as much as your statement was true, you can’t deny the desire that was dripping between your thighs. Between the intimacy of your act and having Leon so vulnerable in your hands, your system knows what it wants.

“I am.” He doesn’t deny the fact that your ministrations sucked the life out of him. But he can keep going. For the first time in his life, he is grateful for his stamina as an agent. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Before you could even protest, Leon was already kissing your neck. The scent of your body wash filling his nostrils as his lips get hungrier and needier for the taste of your skin. And as you attempt to once again speak, he muffles your words with his mouth on yours.

You feel your reasoning go weak as well as your limbs. It took a few kisses for you to comply and let yourself be laid on the bed, strong but gentle hands holding you close even when you fell on the soft mattress.

He’s above you for a second as he admires the view. Your towel, unlike his, was still wrapped around your body. You wriggle your way to where the pillows of the bed are and you wait for him there.

He wastes no time to join you, carefully lying next to you rather than above you. You catch a glimpse of what he’s trying to do. One of his calloused hands reaches your waist and softly motions you to roll over your side. 

You roll over and you’re met with your reflection on the mirror that was next to your bed. Funnily enough, it was perfectly placed so it showed both of your bodies. Somewhere deep in your mind, you wonder if Leon set up the mirror there for this right purpose. 

But then again, Leon was spontaneous, behind all of his layers of grumpiness and sadness that once used to surround him, you knew his sappy, corny, and cheesy side that was hidden. And now, you get to notice his quirks every single day.

He grips your hips as he lays sideways too, slightly spooning you. “You no longer need this…” He murmurs as he takes off your towel, the sight of your bare body in the mirror has his mouth watering. Acting like a damn dog wasn’t on the list of things he’s proud of.

As he discards the fabric that covered your body, you feel his once again hard cock. But this time, it was painfully close to your core that you could already feel every vein brushing against your walls.

“May I?” He knows your answer, he’s just asking for the sake of it. To hear your voice dripping with lust and neediness. To hear you hum that yes in your sweet tone as always.

“Please…” Your whisper was enough to make his cock twitch. What is with you and your voice that melts Leon whenever he hears you? You’re both his salvation and weakness. He can’t function without you.

He has always wanted to leave a mark in this world. That he had indeed existed for something else than death and destruction. That he was more than Leon Kennedy, the US’ best weapon. He wanted to show the world that he, Leon — just Leon — was more than his messed-up destiny. 

He loves, he desires, he laughs and he yearns for connection. And right now, his body’s aching to feel you around him.

He snuggles closer and wraps a tight arm around your waist, hugging your abdomen just right. Instinctively, you arch your back, letting your rear brush against Leon’s dick making hiss from the friction.

For a moment, he stops hugging you. You almost whined for the loss of closeness when you feel Leon guiding his dick which easily slides through your wet folds. The tip of it bumps against your clit sending electricity all over your body.

He’s savoring this moment. Sadly, he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer once he starts. But, at least, he knows that this won’t be the last time since he finally allowed himself to be selfish, to wish happiness for himself.

Happiness has a name and is both yours and Leon’s.

At last, he pushed into you, just the tip for now. Admiring your face in the mirror, he whispers sweet nothings against your ear. Rambles about how perfect you look and feel right, how lucky he is, and so on.

“Look at you…” Leon points at the mirror and you open your eyes which are glassy from all the pent-up desire you’ve been holding back. At any other moment given, you’d have been quite self-conscious about the exposure of your naked body. But Leon — as you once did with him — is eager to show you that you’re indeed a sight for sore eyes.

“Look how perfect you look being mine.” Even though his words could sound possessive to anyone else, you know his voice brings out affection and tenderness. There are a few things Leon could call them his. And most of them are mundane items that don’t exactly bring comfort to him. 

But to call you his was something that he has always looked for. To show you off, buy you everything you’ve always desired, and tell the world that he had finally found his home. His one and only.

As he finishes his statement with a kiss on your cheek, he eases himself into you. He pushes all of his length as he hushes you once you hiss from the stretch.

“Shhh there you go…” He once again wraps his arm around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he inhales the scent he has grown to love. The same that has been lulling him to sleep ever since you decided to move in with him. 

He stays still for a few seconds, the feeling of filling you up could make him cum right on the spot but he stops himself. He distracts from your pulsating walls by kissing your neck and sucking on the skin which will clearly turn a soft purple color the next morning.

The pain soon turned into comfort and therefore it resulted in pleasure. As he hears you saying a soft “You can move” he slowly pulls out before thrusting into you with the same pace and force. He feels your walls clamping down his cock as he continues his motions. 

He slides in and out with lazy thrusts, his and your eyes are closed as heavy breaths and drowsy moans leave your lips. You were correct, he was exhausted from his previous high. But the way you drowsily made love was making this whole thing even more perfect.

“Taking me so well.” He murmurs against your skin, his breath tickling your neck as he grips your waist even tighter than before, as if he is scared that once he opens his eyes you won’t be there. “Sucking me in, like you know I belong here.”

His hand goes to your chest, where he plays with one of your nipples. His fingers pinching the sensitive spot as his hips continue lazily bucking into yours already feeling like his mind was all over the place.

You feel a heat forming on your belly as Leon continues whispering words you can’t quite register now. Too drunk in desire and too cock drunk to even care. “Fuck I love you so much…”

“I love you too.” You can’t really say anything else, everything would be sentences with no coherent meaning or sense. So you stick with your favorite phrase, you could sing every day that you love Leon, and he would do the same. Because the word love was once so far away from him.

It was poetic to see that Leon could feel his second climax of the night near as he heard you say that you love him. The back and forth of his hips slightly increase their speed but it remains true to the lazy nature of the act right now, though.

“I’m close.” Leon stutters as he says those words. “Can I come inside you? Please tell me I can.” There is some desperation in his voice, an aching and burning desire to paint your insides. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, you can.” You manage to say before Leon lets out countless thanks you. Your body starts writhing under his grasp as your fingers start digging into Leon’s arms, leaving an imprint of your nails on his skin.

“Cum on me. Go ahead, do it for me.” He coos, coaxing more sweet whimpers out of you. “Let me fill you up.” 

You let out a muffled whimper as you came undone. He could feel your cunt gripping him as you reach your desired orgasm. Eventually, Leon’s hips which were previously rocking into your and slapping against his skin are now slowing down.

The wet noises sound so filthy yet Leon is having a blast right now. He could imagine himself getting to experience this every night with you by his side. Who could have thought that selfishness could be so rewarding?

With a low grunt, he cums inside of you as he promised. Letting his load fill your insides. He couldn’t hide the satisfied smile that formed on his lips. What a view.

He remains inside of you for a bit longer than needed. You can’t judge him, especially with the way he nuzzles into your neck letting out a yawn. Poor him was worn out. After his first climax, he had already felt that he touched the sky, and now he was in heaven.

After pulling out, he rested his cheek on your shoulder. Part of him wanted to feel you again yet he couldn’t even move an inch. However, it fulfilled him to know that you were going to be right next to him tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for as long as you allow it.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

“We have to change those thank you into I love you.”

Leon was the sweetest guy. However, those thanks still came from a place of skepticism. 

“Sorry…”

He sheepishly said before drifting off to sleep. And, as usual, no nightmare is waiting for him to haunt his dreams.

VI. SERENITY

Attempting to get out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning should be a crime. However, your drowsy state didn’t stop you from reaching the now empty space next to you. The bed still provided you with the scent of the person you loved the most yet he wasn’t there. 

With a groan, you decide to get up from the bed. Your feet meet the cold tiles before you curse from the sudden pain you feel as you step on the remote. You have told Leon countless times that he shouldn’t sleep when he’s watching TV, yet the only response you get is “I’m just resting my eyes.” Therefore, that causes Leon to fall asleep with the remote on his chest which obviously falls throughout the night. 

After a while of inhaling and exhaling deeply from the pain, you make your way out of the room. The scenario that greets you is the same as other days just that Leon was missing in the picture. 

Your steps are slow as sleep is still running in your system, a yawn escapes you while you walk towards the kitchen counter. A note is waiting for you and you deduce it’s from Leon.

“I just went to run some errands, I’ll come back as soon as possible. Love you so so much.” 

His name was written at the bottom of the page next to a happy face that he had drawn. Silly, you thought.

You see that Leon had already prepared you a sandwich before he left. It was cold to the touch, so that means Leon has been gone for a while. He may come any time now. 

Life with him was… surely an adventure. He still goes on missions, leaving you to your own devices for days or even weeks. But they no longer haunt his mind like before. He still needs to be treated with utter care after one, though. Bruises and scars are not the only effects his journeys have on him. 

When he returns from a mission, the once dull and boring apartment welcomes him yet this time, it is full of colors and memories you have made with him. However, it’s not enough for him to completely drop his facade of a tough agent ready to end someone’s life. As you treat his wound, every tiny sound has him jumping on his seat. 

You can’t blame him, it takes a while before he can return to his usual self and be embraced by your warm body that will waste no time to hug him tight. Reminding that he was finally home.

Eventually, after settling down and returning to reality, his personality will shine again. If someone asked you to describe Leon in one word it would be impossible. The man that you chose to spend life with was everything all at once. He was definitely clingy, to begin with. Excuses were his everyday words as he tried to explain why it was completely alright for him to follow you everywhere you went.

At this point, it felt like you had adopted a puppy instead of having a boyfriend. “What’ chu doing?” He would often say as he peeked around the edge of the door frame and watched you from afar If he had a tail it’d be wagging so fast. The tough agent no longer existed in your presence, instead, a man who melted as soon as you hugged him took his place.

Loving, in his language, meant going overboard just for you. If he had to get on his knees and beg for a tiny kiss he’d do it. He’s grown needy to those sweet gestures only you could provide. But he didn’t need to win them. Loving, in your language, meant offering your heart on a platter for him.

God does he love you. You have the man whispering funny names in your ears as you wake up. You unlocked a part of him that he had long forgotten he had, he used to joke when he was nervous — freaking out because he thought he might die on a mission. But now, he invented a plethora of new pet names just to bother you and see you rolling your eyes laughing.

He’s gone through so much, he’s seen so much. Tranquility was the last thing he thought he would be surrounded with. Ever since he was forced to join the military, he made up his mind on the fact that his life would never be the same, Racoon City was his starting point and only his death would stop him from suffering.

Now, as you finally hear the door unlocking you admire how his figure appears. You squint your eyes as you try to pinpoint what’s different in him.

“Hey, you.” Leon walks towards you, closing the gap between you two as he hugs you.

“Hey, you too.” You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Missed me?”

“Not much.” You punch his side, not strong enough to make him jump but rather tell him that you were joking. “Now… On what adventures did you go without me?” 

“I just paid a visit to Adelaide.”

Adelaide, you haven’t forgotten about the old lady that you treated. However, you didn’t expect Leon to remain loyal to his service. And now that he mentions it, you realize what he has done to himself.

His hair has turned lighter. Blonder.

“Did you bleach your hair?” You can’t help but laugh at the thought, he had poor Adelaide working so early on a Saturday morning. But then again, you remember that both of them are workaholics, even though their jobs couldn’t be any more different.

“No, you’re going blind.”

God, he was so dumb.

Eternity used to sound like a cruel fate before. Stuck in a loop that he couldn’t escape from. But now, he will always look for you even in the tiniest details. He’d look for you in the darkness as two flicks of light trying to reach each other. In the universe, as two particles of stardust waiting to create something even bigger — a world for themselves, and a world to live on. 

Because, after all, you reached for him when he had nothing more to offer than his rotten self. You loved him when he couldn’t even love himself.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #resident evil

[harlowhockeystick]

LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD ⎯ S. CROSBY

y/n just wants the best for her son, she thinks the program rule of no freshmen players on varsity is stupid. she just did what any mother would do...right?

coach!sidney crosby x teacher!single mom!reader

warnings: angst, smut (fingering, handjob, sex on a table), somewhat of an inappropriate relationship, single parent content, light talk of divorce, lowkey based off of "slut!" by taylor swift

word count: 4,244

a/n: look at that....i do still know how to write

The bitterness of the coffee wasn’t doing it’s job. On her third cup and it’s not even ten in the morning, Y/N waits for the next period of students to walk through her door. Taking in one of the few moments of silence she has, she refreshes the page on the sports page on the school website, itching to see her son’s name. 

Carter had tryouts with the hockey team last week, he had been talking about it since the beginning of the month. He was training every day to make varsity; in leagues ever since he was ten years old every single coach and spectator could not brag enough on how much talent he had. Y/N was pressured to send him across the country, even out of the country, to go to the top hockey camps but as a single mother she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to send her baby off to some strangers for a few months, and she couldn't afford to move away from family either. 

But her heart dropped as she refreshed the page, pulled up this season's roster, and saw her son’s name and number on the junior varsity roster instead of varsity. She didn’t understand it, she was told by the coaches herself that he was the best kid on the ice that day. Why didn’t he make varsity? 

Her questions were interrupted by students flooding into the classroom for the start of the next period. She pulled herself out of her thoughts to then teach this class period. Reluctantly though. 

-

The final bell rang and that meant she was done for the day. Saying goodbye to her students Y/N started to gather papers and put them in the “to grade” folder to take home with her before tidying up some areas of the room. She anticipated her son’s arrival. Ever since moving up to high school he always stopped by her room at the end of the day to talk about school and help her carry things to her car. 

“I didn’t make it.” Carter said as a greeting when he walked in the empty room. His face was defeated, his tall slender frame was slumped over in sadness and his eyes welling with tears. Out of all people Y/N knew and saw how hard he worked to make varsity his freshman year. He skated over fifty laps a day, worked on shots in the garage until way past dusk, he also started to lift more weights. 

“Oh baby, c’mere,” Y/N pulled her much taller son in for a hug. There he broke and rested into his mother's arms like a little kid again. He softly cried before pulling away. 

“I don’t get it mom, they told me i’d make it for sure, why would he tell me-” “Don’t worry about it son, I will talk to the coach first thing in the morning. I promise. But for now you have to play the cards you were dealt,” Y/N consoled her son in the way moms know how. Gathering her bags she gave the heaviest one to Carter to help carry out the building. They continued chatting on the way to her car, talking about school and homework he had for the week. Carter was a special kid, he deeply cared about his grade and education. He remembers promising his mom when he was younger that if he ever got to play hockey in college that he would get his degree and not go to the draft early. 

Carter was a momma’s boy through and through. His dad lived an hour away so he spent the weekends there twice a month, but he’s at his mom’s house the rest of the time. Carter is also protective of his mom too. He never told her this, but he’s beat in a couple boys’ faces because they made some lewd comments about her. He’s respectful of her, more than any other man on earth ever has been. Y/N is very proud of how she’s raised her son. 

“Okay son, go to practice. Have a positive attitude, don’t do anything stupid okay? I know you’re frustrated but just go into practice and do you, maybe they got you mixed up with someone else. But-” she saw his facial expressions change and get tense, she knew that he was still angry inside, “hey, don’t get mad at them. Wait until I talk and then you and I will figure something out.”

They walked in opposite directions, Carter to the athletic building and Y/N back to the school for one more item in her classroom. Hustling as best she can so she can get home, she runs into the person she didn’t want to speak to until in the morning. Coach Crosby. 

She felt her body coil and tense up in anger at just the sight. She was supposed to wait until morning, but her tongue got the best of her. 

“Coach! Hey, can I ask you a quick question?” she pulls him to the side, into an empty classroom where the teacher had left for the day. 

“What’s up?” Sidney asked, sitting down on one of the wooden desks. He was wearing black joggers, a tight pullover with a school cap on. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the material of his clothing clung to his toned body. He had been out of the professional league for at least two years, but he still kept up the physical shape of his body, and it was obvious by the way his pants were stretching at the seams on his thighs. 

“I really don’t want to be that parent, but can you tell me why Carter didn’t make varsity?” Sidney cocks his head to the side. He’s only been on sight three months and he’s already dealing with this. 

“Well, it’s my understanding that freshmen must be on the JV team, no matter how good they are. That rule was put in place before I got here.” He explained while crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles making his pullover look incredibly small on his frame. “He’s a good kid though, he’ll make great improvements this year and I'll look forward to having him on varsity next year.” Sidney said, trying to end the conversation and smooth things over.

“But…you’re the new coach. This is your program now, not someone else’s.” Y/N couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Did he not see the potential in her son that everyone seemed to say? Did he not see the great player, the great athlete that Carter was? Maybe it was just her being a mother, and so obviously her child is the best compared to other kids. But she swore she didn’t want to be like those parents. She remembers being a kid in youth sports herself and hated parents who thought their kid should be player of the week every week. In her mind, she needed to earn player of the week because of her work ethic, not because her parents were board members. 

“Right but I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers my first year. This is barely my program, I need to establish relationships before I change things here,” Y/N takes a step closer to Sidney, her hands folded in front of her. 

“But you’re Sidney Crosby, who can say no to you?” God she feels horrible for doing this, she feels like…like some junior league mom whose husband has nothing between his ears. But she thinks, if she can just rile him up for a minute, startle him, then he’ll change his mind and put Carter on varsity. That’s her end goal, get her son feeling better. If that means pretending to be a horny college student again, so be it. “I mean really, they had to give you this job cause they trust you. So obviously you can do what you want, like putting my son on your varsity team.”

He sighs, looking down at his shoes. He knows what she’s doing…and he can’t believe it’s sort of working. He hasn’t had a woman flirt with him in heaven knows how long. He doesn’t even know how to respond to such a thing anymore. His life for the past almost twenty years has been nothing but hockey. Sidney’s family has been asking him for a long time when he is going to settle down with someone, but nobody ever scratched that itch quite like hockey did. But now? That he’s got a woman in front of him, a gorgeous one at that, who’s buttering him up? Maybe he’ll give in…just to see what it feels like. 

“Your son is a hell of a player, Y/N. He really could go far,” His words got heavier as she got closer, he could smell her perfume, he could feel her breath, he could see her chest move up and down with every huff she took- “so put him on your team, Coach.” she put her hand on his chest softly and she sighed feeling his stern muscles. “C’mon, what’s it gonna take? Dinner and a show?” 

His eyes, dark and blown, looked into hers and if he remembers what the term eye fucking means then that’s exactly what they were doing. His breaths became short but heavy as she left a heavy hand on his chest. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, trying her best to work her charm that she used to have. She hopes she’s still got it. 

He thinks, thinks, and thinks. This is a bad decision. 

“My place, six thirty tomorrow evening. Give me your best sales pitch, and we’ll see about the show.” 

Sidney stands up and for a brief second his nose bumps hers, an innocent touch but it makes him take a deep breath in to calm himself down. He exits the empty class room and takes long strides to get to practice, glancing at his watch he’s already a few minutes behind. 

-

She’s eternally grateful that Carter is with his dad this weekend. How could she explain to him that she’s not really going on a date…but she’s going to his coach's house with plans to seduce him..but again it’s not a date. Of course, she’d have to leave out the seducing part. She put on her best dress that she had, it was pretty simple but it hugged her figure nicely. She made sure to spritz some extra perfume on as well. 

The drive to Sidney’s house is silent, it’s her having fake conversations in her head about what to say or what not to say. Debating on if her seduction speech was still on date or if it’s too cheesy now. She suddenly feels like she lives in the lowest tax bracket possible when entering his neighborhood; she's never seen so many fake lawns before. She’s actually never been on this side of town much, except to look at christmas lights when Carter was younger. Now that he’s older he doesn’t care for that stuff anymore. 

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said walking into his entry way. To her surprise Sidney dressed up a little bit, wearing a button up with a nice pair of slacks, the top two buttons undone for visual purposes of course. He takes her coat and her purse, hanging it up by the door. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Well, I figured I'd go simple with just spaghetti and toast, with dessert to follow if that’s okay.” Sidney went into his pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “This okay?” He holds the bottle in the air and she nods her head, sitting at his kitchen bar watching him pour a glass. She takes a glance at the label and she’s taken back. On her teacher salary she definitely can’t afford that brand.

Maybe she’s in over her head here- she didn’t think about any of this stuff. Suddenly she’s this woman who doesn’t have much to her name, sitting in a millionaire’s kitchen drinking wine that costs well over two hundred dollars- but damn if it doesn’t taste good. 

They make small talk before heading into the dining room where he sets dinner onto the table for her, such a gentleman. Continuing the semi dull conversation she thanks him for making a meal for her, joking that she’s never had a man make dinner for her. Only half true, her dad growing up would make dinners for her family. But when she married Carter’s dad, she was the chef in the family. Not that she was complaining, it was just odd for her to be on the reverse side for the first time in a while. 

“I am sorry about that idiotic rule, Y/N. Carter can easily be a varsity player.” Sidney broke the minute silence after finishing off his second glass of wine that night. She huffs, finishing her plate and scooting it away from her on the table. Was she really about to do this?

“Is there anything I can do, sidney? C’mon my boy’s in shambles, he’s thinking that he’s not as good as everyone makes him out to be,” Y/N reaches her hand out to rest on his softly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Y/N hoped he knew what she was implying and that she didn’t have to say it out loud. 

And he did. 

He understood every word she said and the words that were left unsaid. He knew what she was implying and he knew what she was getting at. But Sidney hated that he was willing to do what she wanted. Y/N was leaning forward on the table, getting close enough to Sidney where he could smell her perfume and her lotion mixed together, he could see a couple small freckles up close as he couldn’t see them from a bit further away. 

There were no words exchanged between them, his eyes kept drifting from her tinted lips to her lustful eyes, back and forth a couple times before resting his hand on her cheek and pressing his lips against hers gently. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal- it’s just a kiss, really? He silently asked himself. He hadn’t gotten this aroused in a while, a long while. 

Both parties leaned into the kiss, wanting and aching for more. They tasted wine on each other and felt each other’s temperature begin to rise. Sidney got out of his chair, lips still connected to hers, and got closer. She stood up, one hand cupping his chin and the other resting on his chest, and she leaned against the dining table. She hadn’t made out with someone in years, she hopes she’s doing it right. 

She gets pushed onto the table just by the force of his body so now she’s sitting on the wooden table, Sidney standing in between her legs with both of his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t care if he seems desperate or if he seems needy, or if this is totally wrong and against almost all of the words he signed in his contract, he can’t seem to get enough of her. Sidney feels her play with the buttons of his shirt and how she begins to pull the shirt up and out of his dress pants. It was easy since he wasn’t wearing a belt. 

He didn’t even know that she completely unbuttoned his shirt until he felt her hands roam all over his naked chest, her hands slowly raking up and down his toned muscles. He takes a breath and scans her body. Her skin is hot to the touch, her eyes are completely blown now and her lips are parted. “How do I get this off you?” he asked, taking a fist of the hem of her dress.

“There's a tie in the back,” she huffed out, not able to take her hands off his body. Plus, she wants him to take it off of her. 

“You tied this yourself?” he asked in shock, surprised at how she tied such a perfect bow on her back with such thin strings. 

“I’ve been tying, zipping, buttoning my dresses myself for the past twelve years now, safe to say I got pretty good at it.” God- has she been alone for the past twelve years? Nobody to love on, kiss on, touch on this wonderful body of hers? Sidney takes in a sharp breath when he pulls the dress off of her and he gives her body a quick scan over. Wearing a strapless bra that she’s almost spilling out of, she has on silk leopard print panties that he can’t help but notice a significant damp spot on. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands roaming over her soft skin. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s been a long time since I've hooked up with someone.” because that’s just what this is, a hookup. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“I haven’t since I got divorced, so it's the same here.” she hooks her leg around his pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against hers again this time most softly. His hand goes down to play with the hem of her panties, “you sure about this?” 

“Very sure, don’t mess with a pissed off mama sidney.” she pulls him down with her as she lays down on the table. He kisses down her body, she arches her back and lets him take her bra off. Tossing it onto the floor Sidney wraps his lips around one of her hardened nipples. She lets out a heavenly sounding moan at the action.

It’s been so long she could cum just from Sidney doing this for a couple minutes longer. One hand slips down over her clothed cunt, rubbing her sensitive and wet area. She arches her body into his, already she’s lost in a great euphoric high that she can’t even mumble words. All that’s coming out is moans and gasps. 

He removes his mouth and Sidney stands up, she watches up on her elbows as he takes his pants off and removes his boxers. She bites her lip at the size - the sight - of his hardened dick in his hand. She reaches out for it herself, “you’ll give me what I want, and I promise you won’t regret it.” he thought for a moment too long, she began to doubt herself but he spoke up, “deal.”

She licks her hand before taking a grip on his cock. Slowly she starts stroking up and down, keeping harsh eye contact with sidney. She gives him a nice squeeze and a twist of her hand which makes him throw his head back in pleasure. He can only do so much with his hand, it’s nice to have someone else for a change. Y/N scoots closer to him on the table, with one of his hands he works his hand over one of her breasts softly massaging it. She leans into his touch and continues to work her hands over his hard cock. 

He moves his hand from her breast down and slips it into her soaked panties. At first his fingers were a little cold but they quickly warmed up after being immersed in her sex. He circles around her clit a couple times, getting familiar with the female body again. He explores for a minute or two, his middle finger teasing her hole. The more he teases her the harder her grip gets on his cock. He pulls his hand out of her panties, they’ve never broken eye contact this whole time and he sucks everything off of his hand. God that was hot. 

Sidney removes her hand from his cock fearing if she kept going he would cum all over her hand and that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He’s panting heavy now, his body forming sweat on his forehead. He pushes her down onto the table with a palm on her chest lining his cock up with her entrance, “wait do I need any-”

She chuckles, “that ship sailed a while ago, just fuck me like you mean it coach.” 

With her permission she slides in and she lets out a long, loud, moan as he does it. He wants to hear that on repeat for the rest of his life, he swears. Sidney puts both hands on her hips, keeping her body steady as he rocks in and out of her, his hips meeting her every time. 

Sidney allows to feel himself in her warm, wet walls. He throws his head back in pleasure and she shuts her eyes tight. Her hands come up to her breasts to add to the pleasure, fingers pinching both of her nipples as she feels his huge cock pump in and out of her small hole. He feels like he’s three feet deep inside of her, he feels lost in how good she feels. His head grows foggy each time he squeezes her. 

Sidney hits the spongy spot in her tight cunt that made her gasp out in pleasure, she sang his name like a chant over and over which made him fuck her harder and harder. She warned him about her orgasm and he did the same, begging her to cum with him. A few more pumps of his cock he spilled his heavy load inside of her and she moaned loudly like a queen when he did. He pulled his cock out of her, watching his load spill out with it. 

Maybe it was the post orgasm haze she was in, maybe it was the lovestruck feeling she had the minute they began making out, but minutes later she’s standing between him and the cold shower wall. His forehead pressed against hers. His fingers knuckle deep in her cunt and a hand wrapped around her throat as hot water rained down on either of them, her cunt squeezing his thick fingers while she couldn’t even say anything but his name. That’s exactly what he wanted. 

The hot shower water kept her eyes shut but she knew that he was gazing at her. He was in awe of her facial expressions, how she bit her lip through a smile with every jerk he made with his hand, when she furrowed her eyebrows when she was on the edge of cumming, and how she cocked her head to the side while he kissed around her neck silently asking for more. 

He took his hand away from her pussy, licking the honey off his fingers. He stayed that close to her though knowing her legs were probably jello and she wasn’t able to stand for at least a minute or two. 

She took a deep breath, “got what you wanted?” she asked in a joking tone, moving her hand up and down his chest in the hot steamy shower. He chuckled, his hands never leaving her body. He palmed her breasts, he seemed to have a thing for those she contemplated, heavy lustful eyes staring into hers. 

“How many more you got in you?” he asked, spreading her legs with his thigh.

“I can give you as much as you want.” Y/N answered, her hands slowly roaming down lower and lower on his chest and stomach. 

“Then no, I didn’t get what I want yet.”

-

She woke up in Sidney’s bed the next morning with messy hair and sore muscles. Looking over on the nightstand the clock read 8:02 AM. She was glad that it was a Saturday and she was able to sleep in. She saw that Sidney was still asleep, he laid on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Looking over his back, studying the freckles, the faded scars. Y/N wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can. 

She hates to admit but she really fell for Sidney. Not because of how skilled he was in bed, or because he could do wicked things with his hands, but she shared a few heartfelt conversations with him before tryouts even began. 

He cared for the kids at school, the kids he taught and the kids he coached. He had a heart for the coming generation. He wanted them to have someone in their corner, and some kids don’t have that at home and he wants to be that. She got lovestruck in the past few months, sure she never planned on sleeping with him, she felt young again with how big of a crush she had. It went straight to her head, it all moved so fast. 

God if her mother were still here she could just hear the word “slut!” come out of her mouth if her mom found out what happened. But she wouldn’t care. She enjoyed it, and she was sure Sidney enjoyed it too. 

But still, she can’t help but think to herself what did I just do?

Sidney turns his head and sees that she’s also awake. Raising up he sees the time, 8:10. He doesn’t even care that he missed his morning workout session an hour late. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him, tucking his head in her neck. With dry lips Sidney placed a tender lingering kiss on her hot skin.

It might be worth it for once, she thinks. 

feedback | masterlist | au tag

tagging mutuals to boost, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged! @fallinallincurls @nylwnder @bitchinbarzal @ilyasorokinn @leafsbabe @twinklelilstarkey @raysofcrosby @lcandothisallday

#j's writing #sidney crosby #coach!sidney #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl writing #nhl smut #sidney crosby smut #nhl x you #smut #drabble #blurb

[themotherofhorses]

maybe you think that you can hide (i can smell your scent from miles)

summary: let it be known that accepting defeat is not in aemond targaryen's nature. and with a witch now in his hands, the distance between you and him is only shortening.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. mentions of violence, previous smut, and child loss. male masturbation. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: to quote my mom, megan thee stallion: "pressed, stressed, obsessed, i got 'em."

masterlist | series masterlist

part one | part three | part four | part five

The rain was light. From his chamber’s windows, Aemond One Eye could see the fat raindrops fogging up the glass frames and mudding the open courtyard below, where he usually trained under Ser Criston Cole. The evening weather was peaceful and calm, very soothing, but Aemond’s mind was anything but.

He had been counting the days, as it was all he could do right now.

Three months, perhaps even four, since his own lady wife vanished, leaving no trace of herself behind.

Aemond deeply regretted not having a septon marry the two of them in the eyes of the Seven that very night that he claimed her, or whisking her away to Dragonstone in secret to wed her in the customs of his ancestors. Oh, he knew that his family would object to the marriage, but he did not care. She was his, and they could not, would not, deny that. She and the babe. They both belonged to him.

And now they were gone.

It weighed him down most days- if not all, a sort of feeling so heavy in his chest that sometimes it made it hard to breathe. Were they both alright? Safe and healthy? Had she gone against his wishes and returned to her homeland? Aemond had no way of knowing the answers and that itself was most upsetting, because what if they were dead? Or injured, with the Stranger trailing after them, awaiting the chance to rob them from him?

He shakes his head at that. I will find them, he swears to himself, while a fist clenches into a tight ball, no more of these ill thoughts.

But with no more ill-mannered thoughts come those of vengeance and punishment.

How dare she, this lady wife of his, flee from him!

He promised her everything under the golden sun and more- a plentiful and comfortable life as a princess of the realm and the mother of his heirs, as well as his very own beating heart and soul and seed. What more could the foolish girl long for? Aemond stares out the window, towards the gentle hill slopes of the realm’s countryside. The land was silvery from the rain and blanketed with a thick mist. What could her homeland provide that he could not?

He sighs before turning back to his empty bed, the left side, from where she once laid, now cold and untouched, with her sweet scent slowly fading. He hates it.

Yet some of it was still left, to his many blessings, and he brings the sheets to his nose, taking in a deep whiff.

The smell makes his cock stir and harden in his pants, and he soon grows too weak in the knees and in his resolve. He tears off his trousers and lays on the bed, his cock in one hand, and her side of the sheets in the other, his mind spinning countless images of his young bride. Every thought sent more blood rushing in between his legs, memories of her pretty body and all the marks and bruises her skin wore, her cries and whimpers, and the way her tearful eyes bore into his.

After that night, he took her more and more, in varying positions. Some new, others old. Sometimes he mounted her from behind, shoving her face down into the pillows to muffle her loud moans and screams as her hips slapped against his, and while that was pleasant, he soon realized he did not care for such. Aemond liked seeing her beautiful face twisted in pleasure and the way her breasts bounced with every thrust, and how she easily flustered whenever he leant to whisper a string of praises in her ear.

He also liked when she sat on her knees with his cock in her mouth, her tongue working wonders as she stared up at him as if he was a god and she one of those whores that belonged to the Street of Silk. But he never dared mutter those kind of words aloud, fore his lady wife was so much prettier than them damned wenches, too sweet and innocent and pure, and wholly his.

And not long after that, she began to glow, the sort that came only with motherhood.

He loved it and felt nothing but immense pride.  

Was she still glowing, and swelling with his child? Aemond was certain she was, and he could only imagine the sight, one most beautiful to man. He remembered his mother’s pregnancy with his younger brother- how her feet constantly ached, and all the times she would ask Ser Cole to fan her, or switch gowns because she grew too uncomfortable and moody.

Was it the same for his wife? Were her little feet hurting as well?

The thought of such makes him bite down hard on his bottom lip, trying his best to swallow his own grunts and moan, and with a whine so unlike him, the head of his cock weeps and spills more of his seed, down his hand and onto his thighs.

What a waste, he thinks emptily, while eyeing the mess he had made, all this belongs to her, yet the foolish girl refused to see it.  

Heaving out yet another heavy sigh, he reaches for the rag that sits to his side. What more could be done? Nothing. Foolish, foolish little girl, he clicks his tongue, all this because of you. He then calls for the maid, requesting for her to draw him a bath.

Tonight, he will dream of his lady wife and their little babe and the life they should be sharing at this very moment. He will ponder over names and if the child will favor her looks or his, and how he will need to meet with the royal seamstress for a layette. And as he sinks himself into the scalding hot waters of the bathtub, he smiles in contentment.

One-eyed Aemond Targaryen will have his wife, and his child too, by any means necessary. 

It was after he sacked Harrenhal that Aemond finds the opportunity he had been waiting for.

The sixth month was nearing with still no sign of his little wife, though the princeling did not dare to consider admitting defeat. There was much pent-up frustration and fury within him, festering from all the damned months he faced of constant loneliness and dryness, and the riverlands faced the brute of it, most notably House Strong. In the ward of Harrenhal, at the hands and command of Prince Aemond, no Strong was spared- neither trueborn nor bastard, all but Alys Rivers.

He had previously heard that the rivers woman was an alleged woods witch, though she dabbled in other branches of the craft. Blood magic too, several little birds say as well.

It gives him an idea.

So he demands two of his knightsmen to bring to him the wet nurse, dark-haired and twice his age. When she stands in front of him, dressed in a soft emerald gown and with her bodice sullied wet from her breast milk, he does not expect for her to bat her black eyelashes and promise to warm his bed if he grants her protection.

“I can be of great use to you,” she adds, in tones thick with seduction.

But Aemond is quick to unsheathe his sword and hold it at her throat. “It should be known that I carry no love for your kind, witch, and that I dare not touch another woman who is not my wife,” he seethes, pressing the blade harder against her skin, “-either you pledge to help me find her, or I will sever your tongue. Perhaps I’ll send it to the whore of my eldest sister as a gift, seeing how she loved you Strongs so much.”

In the back stands Ser Criston Cole, biting his own tongue from saying anything. He may have been the second son of Viserys Targaryen, but Prince Aemond was the knight’s through and through.

The woman nods, and Aemond pulls back his sword. In his mind, he is giddy with excitement at the thought of finally having his dear wife back in his arms, where she belongs.

And the babe, he can hardly wait to see him too.

Alys wipes away the tiny welts of blood budding along her neckline, grimacing. She recognizes the blade as Valyrian-steel, with an edge that could have cut her head clean off. It is probably spell-forged too, she thinks. “My time and craft come with a price, Prince Aemond,” she says, steeling her voice to hide the fact that she is licking her wounds. “I expect to be paid in return.”

“Yes, I know,” Aemond hums, while sliding his sword back into its sheathe. “You will keep your life, and still have the chance for more babes to feed from your chest.”

He debates whether to bring her back to King’s Landing, in case his own children need a wet nurse, but the thought is off-putting, and he wishes not to offend his wife when she returns. Instead, he turns back to study the rivers woman. “My wife is missing,” he says, “and I wish to find her and bring her home.”

Alys frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Six months ago, in our room. She disappeared the next morning, leaving nothing behind.” Aemond sighs. “She is with child,” he says ruefully, “and I worry every day." He rubs at his temple, shaking his head. "This is her first babe, and mine as well. I have made her into a new mother with the promise to remain by her side, but now she is gone, and I haven’t the slightest clue where she might be.” The pain returns again, followed by anger and frustration, as well as the deep regret for not doing things differently.

His words give Alys a chill. She always had a soft spot for children and the young maidens that found motherhood too soon in their lives. Maybe because that was her once, so many moons ago, losing child after child well before their lives began.

She mourned so many dead babes that the thought of another girl going through the same felt sinful.

Finding sudden courage, Alys takes Aemond’s hand in hers. “Let me help you, Prince Aemond,” she tells him, all with the gentlest smile. “A father should be with his children, and a wife with her husband.”

His violet eye finds her green ones, and she catches the smallest glimmer of hope flickering within. “Thank you.”

“Blood magic would perhaps be the best way to find your wife, my prince.”

Aemond tilts his head at Alys. “How so?” The Faith of the Seven went against magic, and harbors little love or respect towards those who practice it, and he grew up with similar sentiments. But at this point, he is too desperate to care. All he wants is her back.

May the Father and the Crone forgive him in his later years, though he has a feeling that the Mother might be rather sympathetic and understanding towards his situation.

“It is a strong and powerful craft,” Alys explains, “capable of things beyond our own understandings. This sort of magic- it has the power to deliver life and then steal it away. ”

He hums, nodding along. “And how would it work?”

Alys pauses, unsure of how to say her next words. “It would require the blood of your wife, my prince,” she says, carefully, “even just the tiniest droplet would work well. I could call upon my own gods to find her. If she pricked her finger on a needle or scraped her knee, as long as it drew fresh blood, there is no use in her hiding.” But her head then drops, and her shoulders slump too, “Yet seeing how she has been gone for so long, I do not know how it could be done, or what else to do in that matter.”

Aemond remains quiet from where he sits by the room’s hearth. He brushes his knuckles against his lips as he thinks, and thinks, and thinks some more. “Would dry blood work?”

Alys blinks. “Well, maybe?” Her mouths flatten in a line as she ponders over the idea, trying to remember if her old readings ever mentioned anything about dried blood and rituals. “I suppose so, my prince,” she replies with, fiddling with her long and thin fingers, “Blood is blood, regardless of time.”

At that, he leaves the room, only to return several minutes later carrying a single bedsheet, cream in color. Alys watches as he drapes it over the chair he had sat at, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles. When he is done, he calls for the witch to join his side, and when she stands next to him, he gestures to a bloodstain at the center, dried and a bit crusty but still obvious.

“My wife’s blood,” he says, smirking, “from the night I took her maidenhood and gave her our son.”

Alys glances at him, and her lips pull back into a smirk too. “Perfect.”

tag list: @minttea07 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @smolnuggie911 @marahisthebest @bibli0thecary @whatsonthemirror @bellaisasleep @witchy-jadda @princeaemond1eye @mefools @xcharlottemikaelsonx @browngirl101

(if I did not tag you, it’s because it did not let me! im sorry, little love, the tumblr gods hate me today.)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐁𝓐𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝓦𝐒 ／ julie han

➛ g!p maid julie x fem!reader ➛ 847 words !!! adultery, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms ➛ you have confronted your husband about checking out the maid, and now you confront the maid. ➛ A/N happy belated new year? lol i’ve been rediscovering some hobbies lately, hence writing has been on the back burner again. but i’ve updated the list of women i write for. if you have seen julie doing that part in ‘nobody knows’, then you’ll understand how i was possessed to write this. those clips have graced my tiktok fyp and ig explore page multiple times. i just had to. 😮‍💨

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

You’ve heard of the stories where a family will hire a young maid or nanny to care for the kids and the house while the parents work. Nannies aren’t needed because you don’t have kids, but you still have pets and a massive house that needs to be cared for. Hence the hiring of a maid who urgently needs some quick cash while she searches for bigger jobs.

Julie Han is a young woman straight out of college.

Straight out of a magazine too.

With the looks of a doll and the charm of a girl next door, Julie can easily have anyone wrapped around her finger.

Your cat, who’s wary of strangers, immediately took a liking to her. Your friends who have come over and met her have asked for her to watch their kids or animals as well. As envious as you are of the attention she gets, you can’t help but be one of the victims of her spell too.

You just can’t be heinous to someone who’s nice and goes the extra mile for your pets.

The stares from your husband that lingers a little too long on her don’t go unnoticed though. It’s hard to decipher Julie’s body language when she catches his gaze but you confront them separately because things will only escalate if you dismiss everything that is deemed small and insignificant. Some people masquerade their intentions well behind a blank or stone cold face, so you can never be too safe.

Your husband denies staring but Julie is more truthful.

Except you had it all wrong.

Julie’s hand is tightly clamped over your mouth, muffling your moans and cries as her cock hits in all the right places. The confrontation has led to you being shoved onto the bed and your flimsy loungewear being torn off by the woman who actually had eyes on you. You can’t risk your husband hearing the maid fucking his wife’s brains out as he’s showering right above her bedroom, but she knows how to wield what she has—a feat that he has yet to achieve. 

The guilt lingers in your chest but your cunt drips for her. The sheets are soaked in your essence, courtesy of her skillful mouth and fingers that wouldn’t stop bringing you to orgasm. The more you try to persuade her to stop, the harder she goes on you.

Because you both know that you don’t want her to stop.

The water cuts off, leaving the residence to be engulfed in silence. The smacks of hips clashing with every fervent thrust is like a pin dropping, causing the tightness in your chest and the pit of your stomach to swell. Your clammy hands clutch at the crumpled sheets beneath you, your walls closing in on her as she fucks you harder. You don’t have the conscience to stop her because god, you want this.

You need this.

She grins, her long hair curtained over your face as she hovers closer to you.

“You think I want your lame husband?,” she snickers.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your back arches.

“You clearly don’t want him either.”

There is no cue given, but her demeaning words bring you to ecstasy. Your eyes roll back when her thumb on your pulsing clit works you into overdrive. Your body spasms beneath her, tremors coursing through your limbs as you gush around her cock, further soiling the sheets. You can vaguely hear your husband calling for you in the kitchen but all you can focus on is Julie’s cock drilling you, and the filthy squelches of your cunt accepting the abuse.

Your heart rate picks up as his voice gets progressively louder but she is clearly unbothered. She has other priorities to fill.

Like you.

She buries her face in your neck. With a whine and a tremble, you shudder as warmth fills you. A shallow thrust pushes her release deeper, reaching depths that can taint and break you—just as she intends to.

You sink back into the mattress with a quiet sigh when she pulls out. Your head feels at the mess that you’ve both caused—figuratively and literally. 

The man that you have sworn your heart and life to is on the other side of the door, never expecting his wife to cheat on him with their maid. You have committed the very act that you swore you would raise hell about, and a part of you feels shameful about the hypocrisy.

On the other hand, Julie is proud of her work. She grins as her cum seeps out of you: a testament to prove that the man is not always wanted.

“You don’t need him,” she taunts as she slides back into you, harder than ever.

Your eyes widen as she raises your legs and folds them over your chest, testing your flexibility.

“This pretty pussy is mine.”

Your mouth falls open after she bottoms out.

“And she clearly agrees.”

Weak. Shameful. Needy. 

You can’t argue with her. You can only accept that you’re terribly wrong.

#girl group smut #girl group imagines #kiss of life smut #kiss of life imagines #kiof smut #kiof imagines #julie han smut #julie smut #julie han imagines #julie imagines

[luveline]

hi can i request girl dad!aaron 🥺🥺 i am such a sucker for him, anything would be amazing thank you so much <3

hope this is okay!! —you have big news for your small family. 1.5k pregnant!mom!reader

When you first married his father, you weren't expecting Jack Hotchner to like you very much. Losing his mom so young, you wouldn't have blamed him for resenting you, or even hating you. You were like a stranger in his home. 

Things are different now. Jack lays in your lap with his head on your shoulder, and maybe he's a little too old for such a coddling cuddle, but who really cares? You love him and you love holding him, and if he wants some extra comfort tonight you're happy to give it. Plus, you have something you've been meaning to tell him.

“He doesn't have real headlights, did you know?” Jack asks. “They're just stickers.” 

You raise your brows at the car on screen. “No kidding.” You brush your fingers through his hair. He's blonde like his mom, though that blonde has turned brown the older he gets. 

“Race cars don't have headlights.”

“They don't need them,” you say. Jack smiles at you shyly and leans into your neck, clearly pleased. 

You're very, very glad that you ended up being someone he loved. It's a privilege to get to look after him, and to be his step mom. In the same way you're lucky to be Aaron's partner and Jane's mom, too. 

“Think dad's made dinner?” you ask. 

“No, he's probably just talking to your sister.” 

Yes, well. You can't blame him, nor would you want him to stop. He talks to Jane like she understands, and Jane, not even two years old, nearly brand new to the world, soaks him in. You can hear him if you strain, the dulcet cadence of his voice under the steady hum of the dishwasher. 

“That's okay, sweetheart, don't get upset,” he's saying, “it's okay. Come here, I've got you.” 

Jane starts to cry. You and Jack give one another the look, apprehensive in hoping it won't turn into a full blown melt down. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. “Sorry, where did you put her other pacifier?” 

You kiss Jack's hair. “Sorry, bub. Wanna come with me?” 

Jack wants to stay and watch Cars. You wrap him in a throw blanket and make your way into the Hotchner kitchen, where Aaron rifles through the drawers and cabinets with Jane held snugly to his chest. “I know,” he says, “I know. I'll get it.” 

You nudge him aside. You only know where the spare pacifier is because you put away the wooden spoons last night and pushed it back. You fish for it, a ladybug made of glittery red plastic, and Jane's crying slows as soon as you pull it free. She grizzles while you rinse it, but she settles when you hand it over. 

“This is not the best, is it? The pacifiers?” you murmur. 

“She dropped her other one and it rolled under the oven. And no. Not ideal.” He pats her back gently. “As long as she stops before she gets her big teeth, she'll be okay.” 

“Do you think it's a comfort issue?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. You worry about stuff like this constantly, but he knows kids are more hardy, and he isn't worried. “Sorry for making you get up.” 

He hates when she cries; he may see his kids as a hardy bunch, but he takes their upset as a personal failure half the time. His concern for her overrides his concern for you, but in a few weeks that might change. You can't imagine him calling you to find something again when your stomach is round as a honeydew. 

You've been meaning to tell him about that, too. 

You're not secret-keeping immorally, he does want another baby, but you've been having a little bit of fun. He's gone on cases so often lately that he hasn't been able to keep track of you, or your doctor's appointments.

You watch him with Jane, and you think about him with Jack, and you know he's going to be happy. He's told you as much before. 

“My poor girl,” he says, covering the back of Jane's head with his hand and pulling her under his chin. He looks as fine as ever, tall, dark and handsome to a fault. Jane's lips smack as she sucks and digs her teary cheek into his chest. 

You can feel his gaze on you. “Is now a good time?” he asks. 

You shrug. “For what?” 

“To tell me what you're not telling me.” 

“Oh, busted,” you croon, aiming for his shoulder. 

You do as Jane had and press your cheek to his front, your eye forced shut. 

“What do you think it is?” you ask. 

He makes a strange noise. You can practically hear the possibilities for your secret running through his head. His birthday is vaguely soon, so that's what he'll settle on first. But Aaron likes to disregard the obvious as most people do, only circling back to it when there's no other lead to follow. 

“How big of a secret is it?” he asks, rubbing Jane's back diligently. She makes a happy sound, and for a moment he forgets his plight to kiss the top of her head. 

You speak quietly, carefully, because it is big, huge news. “The pamphlets say it’s about the size of a strawberry.” 

He puts his cheek to Jane's head softly, looking at you in confusion. A second, another, and his eyebrows start to relax, rise, a smile on his lips like it's too good to be true. “You are?” he asks in surprise.

Jack appears in the doorway with the throw blanket trailing behind him. “Y/N, when are you coming back to watch TV?” 

“Jack, lovely, come here. I have something to tell you,” you say. 

Aaron grabs your wrist. When you meet his eyes, he squeezes gently. “You're sure?” he asks. 

“The doctor seemed pretty certain, handsome.” You lower your voice as Jack comes to stand in front of you. “Are you happy?” 

“Happy about what?” 

You put your hand on your stomach cautiously, worried about Aaron and how quiet he's being, and if it's as okay to tell Jack as you'd thought, but that action is what gets him. “I love you,” he says quizzically, as though his being happy is totally dependent on the fact. “Of course I'm happy. This is the best secret you could've kept.” 

“About what?” Jack asks, patting your arm. 

You bend down just a bit to see his face properly. “It's a secret you can't tell anyone for a while, okay? The only people who can know for now are me, you, and dad.” 

“Can I tell Jane?” he asks. 

“Yeah, buddy, you can tell your sister,” Aaron says. 

You peer at him from the corner of your eye, both concerned and pleased to see the wetness ringing his waterline, and the tenderness with which he holds Jane close, his thumb rubbing little circles into her back. 

“I'm going to have another baby,” you say. 

Jack's jaw drops. “Right now?” 

“No, not right now! You still remember last time?” you ask with a laugh, taking his shoulders into your hands. 

“You were crying and shouting for dad to hold your hand.” He pokes your stomach. “So it's like Jane?” 

“Maybe one day, sweetheart. For now, it's just a tiny baby.” 

Jack wants to see your stomach. He's expecting a much bigger bump than you have to offer, but you explain that eventually it'll get bigger again, and he seems quite pleased. Aaron makes sure to give him a hug and ask him if he's okay, to which Jack says, “Yes, but can we have a brother this time?” 

You rub the soft top of your stomach. “I'll see what I can do, Jack.” 

Aaron commandeers your attention, kissing you more times than you can count. You don't think you've ever seen him this happy now the reality has truly set in, asking Jane in his murmur, “Do you want to be a big sister?” 

She gurgles around the pacifier, leaving drool in a line down his chest. 

“I know, honey. I'm excited too. Let's clean you up, mm? And make mommy a cup of hot cocoa…” He narrows his eyes at you. “Would you sit down?” 

“I'm only ten weeks, I'm fine.”

“She's keeping secrets from me, and now she won't do what I'm asking,” he says to Jane. “Can you believe it? Anyone would think mommy doesn't like me as much as she claims.” 

You kiss his cheek. “M'having your baby, Aaron, again.” 

“That is a compelling argument.” He wipes Jane's cheek. “What do you think? Should we forgive her?” Jane laughs. He smiles at you, lovesick. You're not sure who for. “I guess we're letting you get away with this one, sweetheart. But no more secrets.”

“None,” you promise. 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[spookykoolkat]

hihi! i have a request I'm not sure if you're still taking them ♡

but if you are there's a smut thought that's lived rent free in my brain since season 4 came out. which is Eddie with cheerleader!reader. like imagine "publicly " being with Jason because you're both extremely popular and you're the cheer captain, but you're secretly with Eddie. this feeds Eddie's ego massively and he lives of the fact that he's fucking you and not Jason.

are you really his girlfriend?

eddie munson request :p

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, piv, dirty talk, eddie being possessive, infidelity(cheating), talks of breeding, jealousy

a/n : i've been MIA forEVERRR and probably will continue to be MIA as well! i've been feeling off about writing for stranger things given the fact that there are three raging ZIONISTS on that show, and i'll no longer be watching stranger things. i encourage you all to do the same! once more, it will always be FREE FREE PALESTINE! 🇵🇸 this is the first fic/request i've done since october so idk how often i'll do this. hopefully this was to your expectations though!!!

•••

"WHAT WAS THAT, 'm what?" eddie grunted as the grip on your calves grew tighter, forcing your legs to press against your chest as far as they could go.

you knew what he wanted to hear. he wanted to hear that he was yours. after a year of dating your infamous boyfriend jason, someone else caught your eye as you stood in front of the bleachers with blue and orange colored pom-poms in your hands.

jason was the jock — basketball, football, soccer — you name it. he had a full ride for football and basketball, and after a long consideration without consolation from you, he chose football.

you were already on the cheerleading team, jason just felt like it was an even better image for himself. though, you didn't take college as serious as he did. your reputation here wasn't going to matter in a few years, and after sneaking around behind jason's back, you figured you couldn't really care anymore.

this image of being the university sweetheart while jason is the strong, protective popular boyfriend everyone wanted was definitely overwhelming. maybe that's why you crawled under eddie the second you could.

"you're mine, eddie, you're mine, i promise," you cried, trying to move your hips to let his cock slide into your dripping hole, but he just held you there. knees to your chest, breasts pushed together, your stomach squished, beads of salty sweat running down your hairline.

"mm, honey, tell me you're mine. tell daddy what he wants to hear," he grinned, eyes focused on the way your cunt pushes together when he moved your legs together and apart, the way your pussy lips were shining in slick. he couldn't believe you were with an asshole like jason.

eddie was slowly inching his painfully hard tip in between the fat of your lips, feeling the way your hole clenched and pulsed to allow him inside.

"i'm yours, i'm all yours, just you eddie, only you," you cried. you knew it was true. though you were with jason, that didn't mean you were with jason.

eddie tsked, and grabbed his cock, letting his sopping tip slap against your thick mound. eddie's favorite thing to do was make you beg, make you want him just as much as he wanted you.

"what would jason think, pretty girl? his girl, his college sweetheart, being treated like a fucking whore by uni's freak?" he asked sternly, tapping his cock on your mound to make a wet slapping noise, one that sent throbbing to your cunt.

he let you plant your feet on either side of his thighs, just so he can watch you squirm and thrash for him as he used your favorite thing to tease you.

"what would your cheer team think, baby? i don't know, i think if they saw how fucking sexy you look begging for my dick they'd understand where i'm coming from," he smiled to himself, spitting on your cunt and letting his fingers find their way in between your lips and rubbing at your clit.

it was too much. it was always too much with eddie. and it was always never enough with jason.

"i don't care, i don't care i just need it, need you please," you whined, squirming on his bed that's on the other side of the dorm room.

the thing is, the bed on the other side of the dorm room belonged to jason. of course this would be your luck. but you didn't care, and neither did eddie. in fact, seeing jason's unmade bed only spurred him on to fuck you even harder. to be buried inside of you with no interest of ever slipping out, in the same room your boyfriend sleeps in.

it was hard at first, having the same eight o clock class and always seeing each other as you went for coffee and he went for the food. or so he said. he'd never tell you he only went for you because the food was ass.

it was a party when it finally happened. after months of teasing and flirting and somehow mentioning being sexually deprived.

"you know he's my roommate right?" eddie asked as you grabbed yourself a solo cup and some tequila. you weren't a drinker, but tonight you were.

especially when jason immediately ditched you once you arrived at the frat house, losing sight of him almost instantly.

"oh, i didn't know that. funny. he doesn't really like you." you deadpanned and leaned against the counter. eddie was a decent body language expert.

"that's alright," he laughed and stepped closer, "i don't need him to like me when his girl likes me."

you blush, shaking your head and hiding your smile behind the cup. "why do you say that?"

"i just know. i also just know when boyfriends aren't treating their girlfriends right. is he not treating you right?" he breathed, close enough now to feel his breath on your neck.

"jason doesn't know how to make me cum." you admit, gulping down the tequila and cringing at the taste.

"he's never made you cum? ever?" his own shock surprised him. you didn't fail to acknowledge the way his breath hit your neck as he stepped closer to you, eddie not minding the people flowing in and out of the kitchen.

"he's not particularly fond of the way i look." you sigh, sipping on the solo cup not noticing the fact that he's now close enough to be face to face with his chest. "says he doesn't know how i made the cheer team being a size 3x."

eddie didn't have shame, it was you that did.

"he said that to you?" eddie never felt rage like this before. never felt the need to find jason and bash his head into the brick wall, even though eddie's not sure how that fight would end.

"eddie," you warned, tilting your head towards him and realizing he was face to face with you, eyes blacked and lips parted as he scans your face.

"you don't have to put up with him you know that right? fucking asshole doesn't even know how to make a pretty gjrl like you cum," something in him breaks when he realizes, so he leans closer to your ear and lets his hand rest on the meat of your hip, "you want me to be the first man to make you cum on his fingers?"

eddie found over the months that his favorite thing to do besides get high, was watching you thrash and beg him to fuck you. he never thought he'd get you in this way, to be able to have you and have all of you.

because of jason, the insecurities you had of being a bigger girl nearly killed you. it made being with eddie a lot harder than it should've been, but eddie was patient. he knew how to talk to you, how to please you, how to make you feel good.

he watched you underneath him, squirm with tears in your eyes and spilling over, rutting your hips against his bare cock for any friction.

"you're so fucking needy baby, you need me to give it to you? fill this pretty fuckin' tummy with my cock? i'd give you fucking anything, anything baby, i just need you to tell me," his voice was scratchy from a blunt before this, his hands on either side of your head and looking between your two bodies to see the way your cunt looked for him.

"eddie please, please fuck me!" you yelled, not realizing the doors of these dorms were practically paper thin.

it only made eddie throb. something possessive, damn near animalistic came out of him as he realized he was the one pumping inside of you every other day — not jason.

the freak, the outcast, the loser was filling the jock's girlfriend up every weekend after cheer practice. he waits for you at the gate of the stadium field, cigarette between his lips as people give him odd stares.

"baby's gettin' loud huh? you don't even care if jason walked in right now do ya? heard you scream my name and saw this cunt dripping for me?"

eddie pulled his hips back, sliding out of you enough where your slick pours out of your hole, his tip still nestled between the fat of your cunt. he looks between your two bodies, rubbing over your bloated tummy and moving his fingers to ghost circles on your clit.

"this'll be the best fuckin' dick you've ever had baby, jason can't fuck this tight little cunt like me can he? you know you belong to me, tell me this pussy is mine baby," your eyes were hazy, hard to keep open as he applied more and more pressure with every circle on your clit. "what?" you gasped.

"you heard me," he chuckled breathlessly, "tell me you're mine, this pussy is mine baby, you know it, i know it,"

he slams his hips into you, causing you to cry out a strangled moan and wrap your arms around eddie's neck. you managed to slip your hand and ravel it into his curly locks, grasping at the nape of his neck.

"you know what i want, honey baby?" he asks smoothly, slowing his thrusts down and angling your hips up to slide deeper.

your mouth is hung open, eyes rolling back and trying to grasp on your reality. eddie.

"w-what? what eddie?" you moaned, opening your legs wider subconsciously.

he kisses the chub of your cheeks, over your nose and down your neck until he has a handful of your boobs. he rolls your nipple between his two fingers, and attaching his mouth onto the fat of your skin to make bruises.

"i want you to cum all on my cock, okay? and then i wanna fill you up with my nut, have this perfect fucking pussy filled to the fucking brim," he grunts, sitting up on his knees as he grabs onto your calfs and perch them on his shoulders.

your knees press into your chest as he looks down at the fat lips of your cunt pushing together and shining from your slick, watching how your lips suck him in like nothing.

"then i want you to waltz your pretty fucking body to go find jason and break up with him," your eyes widen as you feel the breath get knocked out of you, and eddie smiles and presses down on your throat with his fingers, "want you to tell him it's over with my cum dripping out of this little hole, yeah?"

"such a pretty little fucking slut for me, only me right? nobody else can take care of you like me, baby, you know daddy will always make you feel good." he grunted, feeling his balls tighten as your walls flutter around him and squeeze like a vice.

"so break up with jason, baby, matter of fact i want you to tell him how good daddy fucks you, tell him that nobody fucks you better than me."

#plus size smut #smut #chubby smut #chubby #plus size reader #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x plus size reader #smut stories #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie st4 #eddie x plus size #stranger things s4 #stranger things #eddie smut

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

word count: ~4.3K

paring: Kageyama x fReader

warning(s):  panty stealing, male masturbation, nonconsensual listening (he purposefully listens in on the Reader getting it on), peeping (a hint), and slight obsessive behaviour, Kageyama is a perv in this, so be warned.

authors note: well, much like the Bokuto fic, this has finally arrived; and has taken just as long to complete. After the success of the Perv!Bokuto fic, figured I would continue on and make a series out of it - with the next character (due to popular demand) being Kageyama. If you like it, and want more, please let me know (and who you wanna see next), otherwise please enjoy this fun little piece with our favourite tsundere volleyball player~ 🔮

Having a roommate was a sensible thing. 

It meant that bills and rent were split evenly, which in turn meant less stress on a young person’s life to make ends meet -  to not have to worry as much about having enough to eat or being able to buy the important things in life - and it meant shared resources, things like appliances, necessities, and cleaning supplies; which meant not having to worry if you’ll go without for long. And it especially made sense that an up-and-coming professional volleyball player would want a similar professional as a roommate.

At least, that was how Hinata Shoyo put it as he begged, nearly going to his knees, the taller raven-headed man, trying to convince his closest friend to get an apartment in the city with him.

And that was Hinata’s main point:, that he was a friend. One that Kageyama had known for years, which meant that not only were they in a similar boat together (having similar schedules, and professional careers), but Hinata was one of the few people Kageyama could stand being around for more than a few hours. 

“So come on please!?” Hinata cried out, clinging to the taller man’s shirt. “You won’t get a better deal, 'cause I know you can’t afford to live in the city yet! And do you really wanna chance moving in with a stranger that you can’t stand!? That might have disgusting habits?”

And well, that was what sold it for Kageyama.

Within a month he was packed and standing in the middle of an empty apartment, with an over-eager red-head as they took the lay of their land; it wasn’t a big place (a standard two-bedroom, one-bath) but there was room to breathe and get comfortable in. And, at the end of the day, if Kageyama had to be stuck living in a place like this and needed a roommate, Hinata was his first and only choice.

It didn’t take long for things to be unpacked and for the dust to settle; because really there was only so much furniture two early twenty-somethings had to their name, but the principal remained the same - that a routine was formed, and rather quickly, that fit Kageyama’s standards.

And really, how could it not? Kageyama would wake up, shower, eat breakfast, and be almost out the door by the time his roommate would finally wake up - meaning there would be no hindrance to the strict routine he wanted to keep and maintain further. And the same can be said whenever he finally got home, he was able to eat and get settled for the evening without too much fuss or interference; able to enjoy the living room, and the apartment as a whole, in peace and silence for a few hours. To allow him to recharge and be more prepared to deal with his more extroverted friend/roommate. 

That’s what the weekends were for anyway, to let loose and enjoy life; and that was where Hinata’s presence was appreciated the most - how he was always able to convince him to step out of his comfort zone and try new things. Though Kageyama would be reluctant, would complain and think of any excuse to not go somewhere, he was always thankful at the end of the day to have someone who cared enough about his social life to not let it crumble. Almost strangers during the week, but roommates and friends when the weekend arrived - it was an ideal situation.

And then you showed up.

Appeared within the apartment without warning; sitting on his couch, on your phone, when he woke up one morning, getting ready to start his day and routine of training and maintaining his schedule; you even had the audacity to tell him, with a sickly sweet and obnoxious smile, coffee was made and ready if he wanted any - as if caffeine was good for an athlete. He left without a word, just a mere roll of his eyes and an annoyed scoff before leaving for the day; coming home later in the evening to give Hinata a piece of his mind.

The redhead was apologetic, as always, doing his best to apologize for the lack of proper warning.  “Though, to be fair, she has been over before! You just were never around!” he tried to reason as if that made anything about the situation better. Hinata explained that he met you at a game; you were the one fan he remembered that night - cheering for him the loudest as they played another round-robin in their division - coming up to him afterward and offering him a celebratory drink; and hey, the man was only human.

One drink turned to two, then three, and soon, they spent the night chatting away; he even left with her phone number and the promise to see each other soon. After a few dates, Hinata proposed the idea of going steady, “‘cause seriously dude, she’s really an amazing girl! I couldn’t pass up this chance and let her go!” Things were going pretty well, and after hanging out the night prior you decided to spend the night, that was all.

And it all made sense, one way or another, as to why you were there that morning; you weren't just some stranger in his home - you were a guest, his roommate's girlfriend. Though Kageyama found it hard to believe that the ‘amazing girl’ Hinata kept gushing about, kept going on and on until Kageyam’s eye would twitch in annoyance, could possibly be you. 

Because you were a nuisance to his entire way of life. A constant hindrance and blockade in his way as he tried to go about his usual routine.

In the mornings, when he used to be the first and only one up, he would have the bathroom and kitchen to himself; to shower and eat in a timely fashion before heading out the door. Now, after you got comfortable staying the night, he would be lucky to make it to practice on time. You hogged the bathroom, your annoying humming as you brushed your teeth and did your hair took too long for Kageyama’s liking - forcing him to use the kitchen sink to get rid of his morning breath. And if you weren’t taking up the bathroom, you would be in the kitchen, monopolizing the space as you made breakfast; constantly getting in his way, dirtying as many of his dishes as you possibly could, and using up all his food that was in the fridge…; he can’t help but roll his eyes, a scowl on his face, whenever you try to offer the sad excuse of a breakfast you had just created to him - he was always too angry to say anything to you when you did, he would just simply put his coat on and leave.

And it wasn’t just the morning routine you would infiltrate and destroy;, oh no, you seemed to want to rip apart the entire routine - one that took him months to build and maintain. Now, when he would come home after a long day of training, of pushing his body to the utmost limit and wanting to do nothing more than relax in his living room (an area normally empty and silent most days of the week, to just breathe deeply and meditate for a few hours and recharge, was now ruined, as whenever he would walk through the door, there you were sitting on his couch, playing some obnoxious and loud game on your phone, and greeting him once again with that stupid giant smile on your face like you’re happy to see him. It made him stomp to his room annoyed and frustrated - always ensuring he slammed the door for you to hear.

At night it was the worst; normally he would go to sleep without issue - as he would go to bed early enough to miss Hinata’s loud nighttime routine - ensuring that he would get the 8-hours of rest he needed to ensure peak performance the next day. But now? With you staying the night? He doesn’t get nearly that many hours. He knows you do your best to muffle the sounds, to make it seem like nothing else is happening on the other side of the paper-thin wall then you and Hinata trying to get comfortable in bed, but it doesn’t work. Kageyama can hear everything; your moans, mewls, gasps, and sighs of pleasure, they all ring so loudly in his ears making it impossible for him to fall asleep - even after they go quiet, after you have been tuckered out and are fast asleep, they play on a loop in his mind.

He knows that neither of you are aware that he can hear you, that he inadvertently listens whenever you fuck, given the bright and cheery smile you both cast his way in the morning as if nothing has changed, as if he wasn’t in on your dirty little secrets.

But he knows, and it plagues him constantly.

Now whenever he finds you in the kitchen, either making coffee or breakfast that is far too much for one person, he cannot stand near you or look in the eyes whenever you offer him a mug or plate; cannot begrudgingly work alongside you as he tried to fix his bowl instant oats and honey; cannot just merely scoff and roll his eyes at you like he normally would - his biting responses now turned into quiet shakes of his head, his heart beating out of his chest as he tries not to stare at you; as he tries not to be entranced by your plush thighs that were barely caged within the smallest shorts he had ever seen; how they would ride up and hide nothing, giving him plenty of fuel for his imagination.

Whenever he sees you on the couch when he gets home, all sprawled out playing on your phone, he doesn’t stomp off to his room and slam the door like he normally would after finding out you ruined his plans; instead, he’s almost stunned in the doorway as you greet him; having the unusual giant impact of making his cock twitch in his pants, made worse when he realizes you're wearing his old high school's jersey. Merely greeting you with a slight raise of his hand before scurrying off as quietly as possible to deal with the newfound tent problem in his sweats.

And at night, he can’t help himself from pressing his ear to the wall; shirt tucked between his teeth to keep his whimpers and moans down as he stroked his heavy, leaking cock to the sounds of your high-pitched moans; closing his eyes and picturing what position you must be in, how pretty you would look with your mouth stuffed with his length, and how thankful you would be with your pussy leaking his cum. The guilt and shame that washes over him once he cums into his hand is almost devastating, but he cannot help but think it’s worth it whenever he wipes himself clean.

~

You, on the other hand, were clearly blissfully unaware of the situation that had been slowly unfolding over the past few weeks; sweetly ignorant of the secrets your boyfriend’s roommate had been hiding. For all you know, the man who seemed to hate the very earth you walked on - the man who could barely tolerate your existence or be in the same room as you - was slowly starting to warm up to you, becoming somewhat tolerable to be around.

You were ecstatic, happy to know that your relationship with Hinata would no longer jeopardize his friendship with one of his closest friends and overjoyed that the possibility of forcing Hinata to choose a side would not have to befall him. And Hinata? He was just happy to see his two favorite people slowly starting to get along, especially as it meant more opportunities to invite you over.

You liked Kageyama, in the simplest of terms. He seemed to be a decent guy, even if he was high-strung, but you knew it was due to his passion for being the best he can be - and how could fault him for that? 

Besides, you liked his company. He was quiet and more relaxed than Hinata was, which at times was a little more welcomed after a long day of work, or when you first got up and haven't had a cup of coffee yet. And he was polite–sweet even, surprisingly so. It always caught you off guard; Whether that be telling you he bought the kind of yogurt you liked or allowing you to watch something on the TV, even though he was clearly just trying to enjoy the living room in peace, Kageyama's niceness always caught you off-guard.

You were grateful for the change in dynamic, even if it did seem out of the blue; it was a welcomed happenstance, one you weren’t going to jinx or question too much. For you were happy to continue on without the answers, happy to continue to be with Hinata and the perks that came with it, happy to finally feel comfortable in his apartment - to live in the shared space without being seen as a burden.

You finally felt comfortable, and really, what was better than that?

~

Well, you were too comfortable.

Kageyama knew it to be fact, though Hinata would disagree.

He was grateful you finally felt comfortable in his home. Kageyama wishes you didn't. Because when a person is comfortable, the little, embarrassing habits that they try to hide slowly start to show. For some, like Hinata, it’s having conversations with himself - sometimes loud, sometimes quiet - as well as leaving half-eaten food in the most random of places because he got distracted and forgot them. Kageyama can even admit that he oftentimes forgets food in the microwave, or leaves his shoes in entranceways, inadvertently causing people to trip on them. All things normal, and natural, once comfortable in a space. 

Kageyama wishes yours were little things like that. Talking with your mouth full, or singing loudly in the shower, or leaving wrappers all over the place; anything that could put you in a normal, negative, light (would be better than your bad habits). 

But no. Your bad habit was leaving, your panties where just anyone could find them. And he can tell, neither you or Hinata are aware of it.

Kageyama didn’t notice at first, why would he? Why would he care about your clothes, not like he had any use for your dirty laundry? When he finally did, it was an accident. He entered the bathroom after you had taken a shower, and as he placed the bathmat down on the floor he saw them; a navy pair of lace panties just sitting there, right by the tub. The shower he took afterward was long and very cold.

After that incident, he found them more and more; much like noticing red cars only after you start thinking about them. He would notice that you often forget about your panties when you leave the next morning after spending the night; whether in the bathroom crumpled in the corner nearest the tub, or scattered in some hap-haphazard form near Hinata’s doorway.

At first, he tried to ignore them, leaving them there and pretending they didn’t exist. It did help you were usually close by, your “would you like some coffee, Tobio-san?” or “your breakfast looks ready, don’t forget it this time~” often effectively stealing his attention and thus having him suppress his thoughts to speak with you about the little things you leave behind.

Then it turned into something he couldn’t ignore. Llater as he stared at them a moment or two too long before walking away from them; burning into his memory the colour, shape, and fabric type as he uses the image of you wearing them whenever he wakes from a naughty dream, or needed to cool off in the shower after a stressful day, or whenever he couldn’t sleep because his cock ached for you.

But it didn’t take long before an embarrassing habit of yours turned into a disgusting habit of his. His cheeks would burn red as shame would fill his being, knowing he was the very roommate that Hinata had threatened about when convincing him to move in together, but he couldn’t help it; you unlocked something depraved in him and he was just trying to keep it at bay.

He knows you don’t mean to leave them, or at least not in plain view, but after a while he couldn’t help but have that perverted voice in his head tell him that you were purposefully leaving them for him to find; that they were for him, so why not take a pair? What was the harm in doing that?

And try as he might, that perverted voice broke him down - he was only a man after all. A sinful, disgusting man, who was utterly, hopelessly, and inappropriately attracted to his best friend’s girl.  

Kageyama didn’t steal every pair, he had to be applauded for that. Not because he had self-control, but rather out of self-preservation to not be caught or confronted by you or Hinata. If he stole every pair then you would start to get suspicious, and that could lead to you asking him the dreaded question of ‘have you seen my underwear Tobio? Maybe it got mixed in with your clothes’ and he knew if you did, his flustered face and voice would give it all away. Or worse, that you would take matters into your own hands and start snooping around his room. He could already feel his stomach drop at the thought of your pretty eyes widening in horror once you found his little stash.

No, he couldn’t have it. So, despite all the voices in his head telling him otherwise,  he had to have some self-control; even if it was killing him slowly. 

He wanted to take your prettiest pairs, the ones with lace and silk, but he worried you would notice that for sure, for panties like that are always remembered, so instead he took some of your more plain ones - ones he was sure you wouldn’t notice they were gone as you had plenty of them to spare.

And how useful they proved to be late at night, when he could hear your pretty mewls get higher and higher as you tried to stifle them; not that it would do much, not with how he moved his bed so his head was next to the shared wall, thus gaining a perfect (and comfortable) spot to hear all your pretty sounds. He would wrap your panties around his aching, heavy cock as he used them to help get him off to you; the soft material providing just the perfect amount of friction, different from his fist, to further make believe he was the one ravaging you.

Arm over his face, shielding his eyes from what he was doing and trying to cool his flushed face as his teeth would bite down harshly to his bottom lip,trying to keep his whimpers quiet as he vigorously pumped his twitching cock to you, angry and red in overstimulation. He tried his best to feel satisfied; to reach that high that would finally allow him to sleep…but always ended the same: him bringing a hand up to stifle a wail as he painted those cotton panties of yours with his cum - wishing it was your pussy instead. Shame washed over his being as he kept his eyes shielded from the world. Now that he's gotten away with it, it's only going to get worse from here..

And it did.

Kageyama didn’t want it to, but he fed the beast and now it was clawing at him for more.

And more meant beig risky, much to his dismay. If he could, he'd keep this part of himself hidden deep; but this part could never be sated, not unless he could finally have you. And since he able to fuck you, he had to get as close as he could.

Close meant dangerous. Close meant palming himself through his shorts as he stood behind you while you bent over to grab something out of the oven–trying to distance himself enough so you couldn’t feel him, fighting the urge to pull you by your hips to be flush with his own. Close meant pulling his leaking cock out of his sweats in the morning as he tries to get off as quickly as he can while he peeps through the keyhole of the bathroom door, trying to get a glimpse of your wet naked form through the shower curtain.

Soon, even all that wasn’t enough. Soon, just hoarding your panties wasn’t enough, he had to carry a pair in his pocket - even to practice, despite how easily the flimsy fabric would fall out of gym shorts Soon, just smelling your shampoo as you walked by didn’t leave the lasting impression it once did, now he was reduced to smelling your lavender lotion  you kept in the bathroom as he tried to imagine your soft skin in his hold. And soon, after a long day of training= he would find he was too pent up and tired to even make it to his room. Simply spreading him out on the living room couch and slowly slide your panties up and down his shaft; pretending it's your pretty lips wrapped around his sensitive tip; enjoying the thrill, the shivers of pleasure, in the thought of knowing that you could come home at any moment and catch him in the act.

It was bad, and he knew it, but he still couldn’t stop himself from doing it; from spreading his legs wide on the plush cushions and taking hold of his cock with a delighted sigh; for really, it was the only time he could be vocal and let out his frustrations that he was currently faced with - and the possibility that you might find him was more than worth it for it either meant you would finally confront him and snap him out of his lust-filled craze, or you would join him; either way, it was a victory for the man.

And this habit, this vile and disgusting habit, had now grown into his routine. Instead of coming home, kicking his shoes off, and meditating his stress away he now found peace by coming undone by the thought of you as he did his best not to make a mess of the shared couch.

That was where he found himself now, panting as he pulled his athletic shorts down and freeing his rock-hard cock from where it was uncomfortably caged; wrapping his hand around it with a strangled moan, he began to squeeze the tip; normally he would have a layer of cotton to help soothe his angry erection and provide it that sinfully sweet friction it craved, but you hadn’t visited in over a week - away with Hinata for an away game - and thus he didn’t have any new pairs to use as the others were hidden away, awaiting being washed and returned to you so you could dirty them again.

His hand just had to do as he slowly dragged it up and down, the longwinded whimper clear he needed some relief as his precum slowly lubricated his length, providing less resistance and allowing him to go faster and faster. Before long the only sound that could be heard in the empty apartment were the wet sounds of his hips thrusting up into his fist and the occasional whine that would escape his throat as he tried desperately to finish; all the while his eyes remained closed as he visualized about how pretty you could look bouncing up and down on his cock, how blissfully you would look with your head thrown back as you moaned over how good he made you feel.

“That feels good, doesn’t it baby?” He babbled out, pretending he was teasing you as his hips purposefully thrust up into his tight fist. “Like the feeling of my cock stretching out that pretty pussy don’t you? Nngh! Feels… fuck,,, feels better than Hinata’s doesn’t it?”

His voice was getting higher the closer he got to cumming, feeling his lower stomach twist in knots as he tried to hold back just a little bit longer, wanting to remain in the fantasy he created.

“Just want me to fill you up, don’t you? Make a mess of you for him to find, yeah? Want to show him how to really make you feel good, naughty, dirty, fucking girl. Yeah, just like that, keep doing it just like that, keep squeezing me! I’m! I’m gonna, fuck, gonna cum!”

He cried out, your name leaving his mouth in a broken wail. His body tensed harshly as he threw his head back violently into the pillows and came all over his fist and stomach, body twitching and jumping as he slowly pumped his angry, red cock. He tries coming down from his high slowly; regaining his breath and coming back to reality while still savoring that euphoria.

But his reality came crashing down when he heard your startled and shocked gasp, piecing his ears so sharply that it felt like ice water had been poured over his head,.He whipped his head to face you, entire being filled with fright as gazed at you. Watching as you stood there with the most horrified look on your pretty face, making it clear to him that you had heard everything he said as he feels his whole body heat up in shame and embarrassment; unable to even squeak out a word of explanation or apology.

And yet, a moment passed, and then another, and you still stood there looking at him with the same stunned expression; shoulders still by your ears and body still frozen in shock as your eyes never left his cock - still oozing with sticky cum.

You didn’t run away…. He thought to himself as he heard you gulp down a breath as he stood up. So maybe…. maybe you wouldn’t mind helping him out?

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyu x reader #haikyu smut #hq x reader #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #hq kageyama #kageyama smut #kageyama tobio smut #hq smut #kageyama x you #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu!! #hq oneshot #haikyuu oneshot #🔮.the peddler brews #🔮.potion for kageyama

[welcometomyoasis]

How seventeen would react to your joints cracking

Synopsis: when you're stretching and your joints start to crack, the members of seventeen have very different reactions. svt x gn! reader | humour, fluff | approx. 1280 words | Warning: suggestive content?, cracking of joints

In the process of stretching, your joints start to crack. When your boyfriend hears this, he…

Stares in horror

Soonyoung, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Seungkwan

The sudden series of “pop” sounds startled Soonyoung. It’s not that he is surprised that your joints crack, it’s the loud sound that surprises him. His hands definitely shoot up to clutch his heart and he stares at you with wide eyes as if he has seen a ghost. Probably pouts and whines about how much you scared him. Please compensate him by giving him lots of kisses and cuddles to calm him down. 

Dokyeom has heard the cracking of joints before, especially when Seungcheol and Jeonghan stretch before practice. But it is the first time that he has heard your joints crack. He screeches in surprise when he hears your joints. Runs around the house in a fake panic. YOUR JOINTS CRACK TOO? HIS BABY? YOU AREN’T EVEN THAT OLD? Just let him be, he’ll tire himself out screaming his dramatic head off. 

Everything about the whole experience scares this poor baby. First, Mingyu gets shocked when he hears the “pops”. Then, he is genuinely horrified to learn that it came from you. Like are you haunted? When he is satisfied you are not haunted, he fixates on the fact that your joints cracked in the first place. Is that normal? Are you hurt? In a mix of fascination, worry and horror, Mingyu continues to watch you as you stretch. You may need to rub his back as he recounts the whole experience later on.

Unlike the other 3, he knows that there is nothing wrong with your joints cracking. You aren’t hurt. But he knows that the crack happens when the pressure builds up from sitting down or being in one position for too long. Seungkwan is horrified to know that you were sitting hunched over for hours without moving. Definitely nags at you after, saying that you need to take better care of yourself. He will make a mental note to check in on you more often after that. 

Is genuinely concerned

Junhui, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Vernon

It’s not the first time that your joints have cracked, but it seems to be happening a lot more frequently as of late. Junhui also knows that you have been overworking yourself lately. You spend more hours cooped up at home, hunched over a computer doing your work than going out. He’s worried that overall, your body will give out soon because you’re so tired. He definitely makes sure to drag you outside for a break every now and then. Just so you can stretch your body (and spend some time with him).

Wonwoo is no stranger to joints being cracked. As an enthusiastic gamer, he has experienced his fair share of aches from sitting down to play games for a long period of time. He knows that in the long run, it is not good for your body because of the pressure it places on your tailbone and neck. He advises you to do more stretching and probably pays for you to go for a full body massage to relax the tension in your body. 

“Pop” sounds = pain. Or at least that’s what Jihoon thinks. He immediately springs up from his chair when he hears your joints crack and asks if you are okay. When you assure him you are fine and that your body is just very stiff, he nods in understanding. Your wellbeing is the most important thing to him. So, he makes sure to be around when you stretch just in case you pull a muscle or really dislocate a joint. He’s ready to help and even reads up on how to stretch safely. 

Honestly? Vernon doesn’t really know where the “pop” comes from. He might think that something around the house broke so he gets up to look for it. When he hears it again and realises that the sound came from you, his eyebrows furrow in concern. He wonders if you are okay and listens out for cries of pain. He doesn’t voice out his concerns but his stare definitely intensifies. You have to reassure him that you are okay. He will only go back to Vernoning when he is satisfied you aren’t in pain.

Teases you  

Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Joshua, Minghao, Chan

After hearing your joints crack, Seungcheol realises you are stretching and decides to watch you for a while. (1) He wants to admire the way you look because he thinks you are the most attractive person ever. (2) He wants to tease you over your joints cracking as payback. When you watch him stretch before practice, you always can’t help but tease him that he might be getting too old for this. So now that the tables are turned, he is not letting this golden opportunity go away.

Jeonghan immediately laughs at you and teases that you are getting old. Will 100% call you an elderly person and ask if you need him to buy you a walking stick. It could go one of two ways. You either laugh along with him because Jeonghan literally sounds like an old man when he coughs and moves since his joints crack too. And you end up stretching together to see whose joints crack more. OR, you start to whine and sulk because you genuinely feel achy all over. If this is what happens, Jeonghan will stop all his teasing and try to hit your achy body with his fists as a way of massaging you. It doesn’t really help but it’s the thought that counts. 

Joshua’s eyes would widen and he just stares at you for a while before bursting into giggles that your joints crack. He probably finds you so adorable stretching. Like a little bunny that just woke up, and Joshua ADORES bunnies. At the same time, he will fuss over you. When you tell him that your joints are really achy, he will light up some scented candles, whip out his scent oils, and ask you to lie down so he can try to massage you. Surprisingly, he does a pretty good job, and you feel a lot better after that. Although, you can’t quite tell who enjoyed the process more.

As someone who does meditation and stretches often, Minghao is prepared for just this occasion. When he hears your joints make cracking sounds, he does tease you that you haven’t been stretching in the way that he taught you. Perhaps because he is not there to do it with you? Still, he is already unrolling his yoga mats and helping you on it so he can guide you through some of the stretches that he thinks will help you. He makes sure to teach you how to do it safely so you can do all the stretches when he is not around. He might even suggest that you go to see a chiropractor to get your joints checked out, just in case. 

Chan would also take the opportunity to tease you. He will say that you are getting old. He prides himself with his warm up and warm down stretching routines so he will proudly try to show you what he does. He’s doing great. Until his joints crack as well, making you both burst into laughter. You will end up on the floor clutching your stomachs laughing. Somehow, that helps to loosen the tension in your body and you feel much better. Chan will probably also look into couple stretches that you can do together. It’s definitely for your sake to help your achy body. There is definitely no other reason… Definitely… 

taglist: @weird-bookworm @wonijinjin @babyleostuff

#caratsland #k-labels #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader #svt fluff #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #jeonghan fluff #joshua hong fluff #jeonghan x reader #junhui fluff #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung x reader #hoshi fluff #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo x reader #jihoon fluff #dokyeom fluff #minghao fluff #mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #seungkwan fluff #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #dino fluff #shu's archive ✎ᝰ.

[1d1195]

Ding - Round 2

Read Ding here | ~6.2 k words

WARNING/spoiler there's a scummy guy in this part that tries to be forceful with our MC to go with him back to his place when she doesn't want to. Nothing will happen and nothing will be described in detail but be kind to your mind and heart ♥, trauma, anxiety, pining, and fluff.

From me: I actually know VERY little about boxing and even less about throwing a punch. I do however feel I'm well-versed in sprinkles so do with that what you will. Some parts of this got a little away from me again. I hope you like it 💕

Summary: Harry and Cupcake are both really busy and haven't seen each other in two months. But when Cupcake gets into trouble, she has no choice but to run into Harry.

Harry learned to fight when he was ten years old. He didn’t have his dad around much to teach him. Mum and Gemma may as well have been pacifists and as such, they weren’t much help when it came to defending himself. Harry watched his little girl friends get teased by boys. The same boys that told him he was weird for liking girls when they had cooties. Even if he didn’t (always) like them like that and was just merely defending them. Mum and Gemma may have been pacifists, but they taught Harry to be a respectful young boy. Especially toward girls.

One too many mouthfuls of sand at recess was enough to make him finally do something about it. He was angry. Angry because the girls didn’t like him because he was a boy (although they tolerated him since he was protecting them). Angry none of the boys in his class wanted to be friends with him because he was being nice to girls filled with cooties. Angry that he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to be a boy’s boy.

For a ten-year-old, he was really angry.

Mum took him to a gym—an introductory class to kickboxing. Just to get some of his anger out in an appropriate manner (and so he wouldn’t be sent to the principal’s office during recess again). Harry took a liking to the punching bag. He cried the first time he used it with the help of an older kid who was helping him learn to punch the right way. The poor teen watching him get so frustrated that his punches and kicks weren’t landing right—even though it was his very first time throwing a punch—saw something in him. Alerted his boss, encouraged Harry, worked with Harry every time he came in. He was a great mentor and even though he left only a couple years after meeting Harry to go to university and all that, Harry was forever grateful.

His first amateur match was at fifteen. Then there were only ten rounds at most, and he won by a landslide in five. By then he met Louis—someone who saw the same thing that teen kid saw in him and offered to be his manager. It wasn’t anything serious at the time. Harry was still in school and only using his time after school to get better at boxing. Louis was only a few years ahead but knew enough to help him be great.

By the time he turned eighteen, he had won three state-titles and people were watching him. At least in a way that those who cared about boxing did. Throughout university he trained and got better and won more and more.

Now Harry was twenty-five. He had to be nearing at least a hundred thousand punches since he was ten—eitherthrowing them at someone or at least in training against the punching bag he loved so much. Maybe more. He couldn’t even begin to think or count how he would figure out that number. Harry’s whole life was training, working, and fighting.

The only joys he had outside of boxing were his car and the sweet little niece that Gemma had kindly brought into his life—but that was only a recent change.

Only one other very recent change had left him a bit tongue-tied and flustered. Harry didn’t get flustered. Not since he was ten and knew he could beat the crap out of someone. There was no ringing bell to prepare him to make eye contact with a complete stranger and just feel like he had never ever felt before.

Was it love? Who could say, really. Harry had never loved anyone in his life that wasn’t his family or his friends. It made his stomach flutter like the first time he fought in a ring for something other than a trophy. A mere two hundred dollars on the line, all to get punched a whole bunch of times. Now he was still getting punched a few times over for a decent amount of money, but the thought of that pretty girl and her sprinkles made him unbelievably excited. Knowing she was there really made him feel different.

He knew next to nothing about her, but he was certain he was going to fall for her given half a chance. Even if she gave him a half a chance—a quarter!—he would do everything he could to have her in his life. If anyone else had damaged his car, he might have lost his shit, but there was something about her kind face, her doe-eyed expression in the rainy lamplight that made him rethink his entire life in the span of twenty seconds.

But whatever it was that he felt for her, he knew it started with her ringside. Beside his best friend waiting for the end of the fight that never seemed to end.

Normally, Harry’s matches finished in an average of nine rounds. But he was seated in the corner, sipping water like a hamster from the bottle, while Louis put Vaseline on his face where the cut on his eyebrow split between the tenth and the eleventh. “How you doing?”

“Is she impressed?” He asked.

“Who?”

“Cupcake. She’s sitting next t’Niall,” he was breathing heavy. Good as he was, it took a lot of energy to punch someone for a half hour as it was.

“Who?” Louis repeated, then thought better of it. He shook his head in frustration. “Can you focus on what you’re doing, Harold?!”

Louis didn’t get it. Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. To be fair, she was probably the reason it was taking longer than normal. Not that he minded. As long as she was impressed by the end, of course. Harry was on his feet, shadowboxing briefly with Louis, that boyish smile on his face. “What the fuck is your issue?” Louis hissed at him. “You’re acting like a lunatic!”

It seemed like a cliché to say he was in love, so he refrained from doing so. He felt it spared Louis further frustration as well. Cupcake, Cupcake, Cupcake. It was the only thing his brain could think. Fortunately, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the next round and knocked a bit of the sense back in his head that had floated away from him on the thoughts of the pretty girl nearby.

His opponent was just as tired (although Harry believed his opponent was more so) as himself. He could see the exhaustion setting in as he held his gloves up near his face blocking a few jabs Harry threw to get the excitement of the new round going. He was waiting, searching, nearly taunting for a window of opportunity. Right as his opponent swung aiming for his face, Harry dodged his punch; smirking as he did. A blinding weak spot, his guard was down for only a fraction of a second but that was all Harry needed.

Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

Ding.

*

Harry looked like he was going to fall asleep sitting there in the bakery kitchen. He was a bit cut up; his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth, and his cheekbone had little cuts. Soothed with Vaseline, but it didn’t seem to bother him. His eyes were droopy. “Is Niall still around to drive you home?” She asked.

He shook his head. “I can drive,” he murmured.

He wasn’t really looking at her, but her look and tone screamed skeptical. “You look too tired to drive.”

“Mm,” he hummed. She was busy bustling back and forth through the kitchen. Cupcakes were in the oven. She only made a dozen, but Harry didn’t seem to notice it was a small amount. He was sitting at the big table in the middle of the kitchen. A seat dragged in from the office. She had her laptop open in her office running the report she needed while Harry held his head propped in one hand. She busied herself with prepping dough for scones and pastries while Harry tried not to loll off to sleep. She smirked at him.

“I could call you an Uber if you wanted,” she offered. “You don’t need to stay with me.”

His eyes were hardly open. “I’ll get a second wind in a minute,” he yawned. “S’jus’ the adrenaline wearing off,” he explained.

“Does that hurt?” She asked gesturing to the cuts on his (otherwise really perfect) face.

He shook his head. “Stings a little.”

“Will you be sore tomorrow?”

“A little. Stiff really... Why y’want t’give me a massage, kitten?” He smiled flirtatiously. Maybe she should have felt uncomfortable, alone with a man she only just met. But honestly, she thought Niall might be her new best friend and if Niall could vouch for Harry, then she wasn’t all that worried about him. Regardless of him knocking out his opponent with one punch. Truthfully, it was nice of her to walk her to the bakery. It was later than she expected and while the town they lived in was pretty safe, the college safety tips of never walking alone flooded her mind each time she did walk alone. She blushed at his forward assumption, but fortunately she was prepping something and stuffing it in the fridge, so he didn’t get to see. Plus, his exhaustion probably made him even flirtier.

“Thanks for being m’good luck charm, Cupcake,” he murmured sleepily.

“I didn’t know you didn’t need one.”

“Can never have too much luck.”

She smiled, continuing her prepping quietly. Harry watched her for a while. Eventually, his arm dropped to the table, and he rested his head on it. After another moment, a soft snore escaped his lips, and she smiled a little brighter. Only for herself, really, since Harry was asleep. She continued working. She was used to late nights. Maybe he really was going to get a second wind—honestly, she couldn’t imagine boxing and punching someone for almost forty-five minutes with only one-minute breaks in between rounds. Sometimes while she was baking, she would try to do other tasks while the timer counted down to take the treats out of the oven. It always surprised her how long and how short a minute could feel in the same breath.

But while she worked, she was mindful to not make too many loud noises. Harry needed sleep it seemed. She prepped for nearly an hour while waiting for the cupcakes to cool long enough to scoop out the middle and fed the sugary raspberry filling into the empty space. Frosting a dozen cupcakes took all but ten minutes then she packaged them in two half-dozen plastic containers with A Pinch of Sprinkles label taping it shut. Gently, she put her hand on his upper arm, and she really shouldn’t have been so surprised by how taut his bicep was beneath her hand, but she was. He was unbelievably strong, and she was in slight awe and shock of touching him—and he wasn’t even flexing. But rather than be creepy, she gave him a gentle shake. “Hey, Harry... Uh...it’s late. I’m gonna get going,” her voice was soft.

Harry startled almost jumping out of his seat and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Sorry, sorry. Wow,” he turned his neck to the left and then right. “M’sorry I dozed off there.”

She shrugged. “Probably needed it,” she assured him with a gentle smile. She pushed the dozen cupcakes forward, across the table. “For you.”

He blinked then looked up at her. “Did you make these for—”

“Well, yes, I made them. You were unbelievably kind to me even though I dented Clay. Plus, you won so it’s like a job well done, you know?”

“You made me cupcakes,” he repeated, his gaze unmoving from her face.

“We really need to work out this whole repeating what the other one says thing,” she felt her cheeks warm as he stared at her, but she smiled, only feeling slightly awkward.

He turned his attention to the two plastic boxes and tilted his head at them. They were identical. His fascination with her precision was immense. “What kind are they?”

“The raspberry filled ones. You said you liked them.”

His gaze went right back to her, and he felt hungry, but not for cupcakes.

Well, at least not the baked good kind of cupcake.

“Thank you, Cupcake. That was sweet of you. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Her smile seemed to transcend to a feeling of relief. “Not even a little...um... I just have to grab a couple things. Would you... mind walking me to my car? Unless you need to leave right now. I know it’s crazy late. I’ll be okay. I walk to my car on my own usually but it’s always a little creepy. But I feel bad I made you—”

“’Course m’gonna walk you t’your car,” he rolled his eyes. “Besides I don’t want you t’ding Clay again,” he winked to ensure she knew he was kidding. Because yes, he loved his car.

But rapidly, when it came to her, the car didn’t matter in the slightest.

*

She hadn’t seen Harry in two months.

It wasn’t like she was avoiding him. Part of her knew he was a mere social media friend request away. In fact, she was trying her hardest to not stare at the pictures of him on social media, the PR plug for his matches, and all the things that she saw Niall, Louis, and all his other friends shared. But she didn’t want to come off too forward. It seemed weird to be so into a man she only talked to for no longer than ten minutes total.

Besides...she had her routines. Work, family, and more work.

Also, if Harry was really infatuated with her the way Niall alluded to, he knew where her bakery was—he easily could come and find her here. But she did notice there was a tag to her shop on Instagram with raspberry filled cupcakes in the picture. (All it would take is for her to press the Follow button and wait.) While she didn’t know Harry all that well, she assumed he was probably just as busy. Her brief cyber-stalking showed that Harry was often at the gym—although she wasn’t sure which one. He was also an amazing uncle. That much was clear. It warmed her heart, and she would never want to tear Harry away from that kind of time. Family was extremely important to her. She wholeheartedly understood how much his free time was probably monopolized by the little baby.

But it was so strange that she didn’t know him yet there was some part of her that wanted to see him. It was bizarre. She never got all up and arms about a guy. There was work and there was her family. That was it. That was all she could afford to balance. She didn’t need a guy to mess with her routines or upset the balance of her life.

However, every time she walked alone to her car at night now, she wished that Harry was with her to assure her safety—even though she had done it hundreds of times before. The night they met, he walked her in silence, opened her door and made sure she was safely tucked inside. “Good night, Cupcake,” he smiled almost dreamily.

“Good night, Harry. Congratulations,” she responded with a smile too.

Harry’s smile grew and he looked away briefly before patted the top of her car and turned to Clay, put his cupcakes on the passenger seat and moved to the driver’s side. He gave her a wave and pulled out of his parking spot.

It was two months ago.

But after just one month, it was hard to deny she didn’t miss him.

That had to mean something. Just one brief night—not even a date. Most of that night was spent with Harry in the ring or asleep at her kitchen table. Hell, she got to know Niall more that night. But it was Harry’s smile that plagued her thought—crooked and perfect. The way his eyes glittered as he convinced her to follow him with a picture of his niece.

“Are you baking something in here or burning in here?” Maeve asked.

Maeve was her best employee—her right hand nearly every day. More importantly, her best friend. Shaking her head of the thoughts surrounding Harry, she sighed and turned to the oven where her fudge brownies were surely overdone. “Shit,” she whispered.

“I don’t think you’ve ever burned anything. Are you okay?” Maeve asked gently. It was a loaded question. It took a lot of time to dig the answer out of her friend, but Maeve did. She knew asking if she was okay was probably the wrong thing to say.

But if it was, she didn’t mind. Of course she didn’t. Her very best friend was sweeter than all the treats in the display case. “Just a little distracted,” she mumbled grabbing the tray and setting it in the sink to cool off (and hopefully so she didn’t have to scrape the bottom of the tray later).

“Harry on your brain?” Maeve giggled.

She rolled her eyes but felt the way her cheeks warmed at Maeve’s (correct) assumption. Maeve was shocked to learn that her strong-willed friend was convinced by a stranger to go see a boxing match. She couldn’t believe it. Granted, once she saw the picture of Harry, she couldn’t disagree. I think I would let him punch me in the face if he wanted to.

She decided keeping Maeve as far away from Harry as possible was probably necessary.

Rarely did she and Maeve work together. As her best employee and best friend, it was like asking her to hold her child when Maeve was on shift. There was no one she trusted more. So, when Maeve wasn’t there, she often was and vice versa. But every so often, usually at the shift change, Maeve got to see her best friend in her element. “Well, the good news is, you can go think of him at home,” she winked at her.

She didn’t even look at her. “You’re disgusting,” she deadpanned.

Maeve snorted. “That’s not even what I was insinuating. Your mind went directly to the gutter. Good for you. I bet he thinks about you while he’s doing it too.”

“Jesus Christ,” she was blushing brightly now. “I just want to fix the display case and then I’ll go.”

“Any fun plans for tonight?”

She hesitated briefly. “Uh yeah...actually. I have a date,” she mumbled.

“Oh!” It was silent for a long beat. Rarely did she go on dates. There were only a few since she moved into town three years ago. Mostly because the bakery took up so much of her free time. The remaining bit of time she had and didn’t go on dates was because of the guilt she felt. Maeve’s surprise was palpable. It made her cheeks turn pink and she bit the inside of her cheek. “Good,” Maeve smiled encouragingly. “Online?” She asked.

She nodded. “We’ve been messaging back and forth for like...” she shrugged. “Two weeks.”

“Are you excited?”

No. “Yes,” she sighed softly. “Been a while,” she smirked. There was a huge part of her brain that told her she didn’t want to go because it wasn’t Harry. It was like a neon sign had been posted in her frontal lobe reminding her that it was pointless to even consider this date. She should have just requested to follow Harry and be done with it—he would probably drop everything if she asked him on a date. “Just...nervous.”

“It’ll be good!” Maeve said reassuringly. “Share your location with me and text me when you get to where you’re sleeping,” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“I will be sleeping at home,” she promised snorting through her laugh at her best friend.

Maeve smiled heading to the front and leaving her to finish with her burned brownies.

*

The front of the bakery was dark in color; she was aiming for warmth. The floors and baseboards were dark walnut brown. It contrasted sharply with the wall she wall-papered by hand with a white and brown marble pattern behind the display cases. It made the black chalkboard menus with the same walnut brown frames stand out. The lights were always set to dim when they were on. Her goal was to recreate the feeling of her childhood home—particularly the den where her father set up the most beautiful Christmases. The bakery lacked a fireplace (she joked with Maeve that it was an oven or a fireplace, and the oven did a better job at cooking croissants evenly).

The front of the bakery wasn’t massive. There were five little tables to sit and enjoy their treats if people wanted but it was really a grab and go kind of place. The back had more treats stored so the main room didn’t look overwhelming. The front display cases still contained more treats than anyone could think of eating. I wish I could buy one of everything was heard frequently from the line. Eventually she wanted to invest in coffee but for the time being she liked just her treats and was happy to recommend the coffee place down the road. If she ever got a hold of more space, then she would consider buying all the machines for coffee.

The bakery was honestly warmest when it was rainy. Which was frequent. She was reorganizing the main cupcake display, a tower of three tiers with one of each type of cupcake she made. The raspberry filled cupcake was the one that had been on top for the last two months. Each time it was bought, she replaced it with another. While people raved about her brownies, cakes, and even the croissants, it was the cupcakes that people came for; and so, she took care of the display as much as possible.

“Which one do you recommend?” She turned to the voice and saw a mom and little girl waiting patiently. She smiled fondly.

“Raspberry filled,” she pulled it from the top tier and handed it over. “Try it,” she offered.

“Oh, we don’t want to get you in trouble,” the mom said quickly while her daughter grabbed for it almost immediately.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I know the owner,” she promised. “Maeve! I’m leaving!” She called but was delighted by the little girl’s approval. Silence, cake and filling on her cheeks immediately, and a delightful look in her eye.

“Have fun!” She called back.

“Enjoy the cupcakes. I also like the lemon vanilla ones.”

“I think raspberry filled is the winner,” the mom smiled.

She nodded, unable to keep herself from grinning back. “A fan favorite.”

*

She should have stayed home. The bad weather should have been an omen. But maybe it wouldn’t have been because she met Harry in bad weather, and everything was fine that night. It soured her mood and made her feel infinitely worse to think about the comparison.

I’m home. Not a great date. I’ll tell you later. She wished she had gone to Maeve’s. Maybe she would have doted on her. But she didn’t want to fall apart the way she planned on in front of her.

:( sorry babe. Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow :(

She locked her apartment door and checked at least fifty times that it was truly locked before she moved to her bathroom. Her heart was still in her throat and her eyes felt raw with tears. Maybe she was overreacting.

No.

The rational part of her brain reasoned against her handwaving casualness. She had good instincts. Obviously. If this same situation happened with Harry, then maybe she would have considered it her own poor judgment. It was more reason that someone as terrifying as Harry could have be sweet as her cupcakes that it was her good judgment that helped her get out of there tonight.

She hurried to get out of her clothes. Part of her considered throwing them away. She didn’t want them any longer. She wasn’t sure she would ever wear them again. She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and pushed it a little further.

He didn’t hurt her physically. He tried. It was obvious his intent was to force her into the car... or worse. Which was disgusting in its own right. Until that moment in the dark, rainy parking lot, it was almost identical to her moment with Harry. But it wasn’t. Harry didn’t make her feel unsafe. Harry didn’t make her feel threatened. Harry gave her an out even though he wanted to hang out with her. She knew she could leave at any moment and Harry wouldn’t have blamed her.

She rubbed her arm so hard with her loofa in the shower stream it burned for a new reason. Tears blurred her vision and she felt so stupid. So completely idiotic. How could she let it get that far? That was so dangerous. So close she could have been hurt in so many ways that she didn’t want to think about, ever again. She closed her eyes and let the water wash the night away, feeling completely alone and dreadful.

She never wanted to date again.

*

She finished her shower, sniffles plaguing her, and she got into her comfiest pajamas. Her heart was still beating too fast as she crawled under the covers. She felt so ashamed. It felt like her fault. All of it.

There was a tiny rattling in her brain that Harry could have prevented it all. She should have just requested Harry on social media when she met him. If she had, she would have had his number by then. He would have helped her for sure.

Without thinking, she scrolled on her apps, and clicked on the various follow buttons. Every platform she could think of to request his social media friendship—looking like a lunatic be damned. Almost everything had a phone call button now, she could use it as backup if she needed. For good measure she requested Niall too. It was nearing midnight, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was scared. Nervous. Heartbroken.

Yet, within moments, Harry returned the request along with a direct message in her inbox.

Thinking of me at midnight, hmm?  😉

She snorted despite her uneasiness. One sentence and she melted. But she couldn’t let him know that. 🙄 it was nice while it lasted. Just going to unfollow you...

Aw, c’mon Cupcake 🙁

Oh alright... No, not really... just can’t sleep. Popped up on my people you may know while scrolling. It wasn’t a complete lie, and she was glad she wasn’t having a phone call. He would have heard her sniffles and then she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stop herself from inviting a total stranger over. Right now, she didn’t trust her judgment fully.

Been dying to press that Follow button, Cupcake. Didn’t want to come on too strong after that first night.

She couldn’t help but smile. The contrast between the night she met Harry, and her present night made her sad but relieved at the same time. I see you enjoyed the cupcakes.

Louis made me run laps for two hours because of you. I ate all twelve in less than 72 hours. Do you put drugs in those? They’re addicting.

Lol, no drugs. Well... sugar. So, pick your poison I guess, right? 😇

Well, thank you, Cupcake. That was delicious. I hope you liked the match too. We didn’t get to talk much. I know I fell asleep 🤦‍♂️ I was really happy you were there.

Her heart felt so warm already. Despite how much she didn’t want it to. Thank you for inviting me. Because she was nothing if not polite. It was really exciting! I don’t know much about boxing. But it’s obvious you’re very good—not that you need me to tell you that. Were you really going to make me look like an idiot and not tell me you were undefeated?

You’ll make me blush, Cupcake. Didn’t think you’d come with me if you knew.

Sneaky... 👀

Just... wanted you there, kitten. I promise. Nothing more... I know I came off a little too strong and I know I was a little...pushy. I would have let you go to your store if you really wanted to... But...

The three dots on his message disappeared and reappeared a few times over.It was cute to imagine him holding his phone thinking about what to type, erasing it, typing it again.

I can’t explain it, Cupcake. I’ve been going CRAZY these last two months. Niall’s calling me a stalker and I haven’t even SEEN you. The sentiment doesn’t give her any bad feelings. Because despite how much she wanted to be guarded, especially after her evening, she couldn’t help but believe him. Trust him, implicitly.

I swear something in the universe pulled me to you... I woke up just in time to see you blowing up my phone tonight 😍😍

She snorted and felt her body warm with his kindness, his gentle adoration through her phone no less. You’re insane, Harry Styles.

About you 😍

Oh my God... Now she really was blushing, but she couldn’t help but notice she felt so much better chatting with him. Well... we can talk tomorrow if you want.

Oh?

I’m assuming you’re tired and I’ve already hogged more than enough of your time at midnight, as you pointed out.

Oh, no.

No way, Cupcake. I’ll stay up all night to talk with you ❤

Her heart felt so heavy. It was unfair. How could she be so stupid? Her dad would have killed her for being so naïve. It was his worst fear while she was growing up. It was everything he always talked her through when she was going through puberty and telling her about boys teasing her. Her dad reminded her constantly that a man has no right to make her feel scared or fragile.

But she could feel his grip on her arm trying to coerce her back into his car. She shook her head of the thoughts, refusing to let him poison any more of her time than he had. She was talking to Harry. She was okay. It was alright. It didn’t happen. She got in an Uber, and she’ll never see him again.

Harry was talking to her. Harry made her feel safe. Harry didn’t make her stomach unsettled with a bad gut feeling. Here’s my phone number if you want it.

Within moments, she had a new text message alert. This is better than an undefeated record 😍

*

The following morning, she felt less terrible about herself and her stupidity, but she never wanted to feel that way again. She was also so tired from texting with Harry for hours. It was nearly three in the morning catching up on all the things he did in the past two months before she wished him a good night. There wasn’t much to report about their lives. They both seemed to be workaholics, but he did offer her some really cute baby pictures of his niece (and a pretty cute picture of Niall falling asleep on Harry’s couch after an intense workout).

While she sipped her coffee—staving off the sleepiness, she Googled self-defense classes. Her dad would have approved. He wanted her to do it back when she was in college, but she refused for whatever reason. She regretted that too.

It was telling that she debated whether she was overreacting for several minutes. If she was overreacting, she would have brushed off the idea of self-defense classes like she did in college. But this wasn’t something to overreact about, right? Before she could overthink it any longer, she paid for the class. Honestly, in that parking lot she was smart to do this. Worst case scenario, for one reason or another, it was the smart decision.

She cycled through the next stage of grief feeling angry and bitter that he made her feel this way. She was incredibly lucky it was raining and slippery and she managed to get away from him in the chilly spring air. He left her so rattled. She was defenseless, so a class was needed.

God, she missed her dad.

Fuck, she missed Harry.

She never wanted to feel that helpless again.

With the class paid for, she put an apron around her waist and headed to the front of A Pinch of Sprinkles and turned the closed sign to open.

*

The following Monday, after a full day of flour, sugar, and plenty of customers, she headed to the gym.

It felt awkward. She hadn’t been to a gym since her college days, and she was already frustrated from her horrific night out. She and Maeve told each other they would go together but they were terrible influences on one another and opted for shopping trips with the promise they would pretend their shopping bags were dumbbells.

When she arrived, she headed to the front desk and introduced herself. She even admitted she felt awkward and the woman behind the desk smiled encouragingly. “I’m Sarah. Let me show you around,” she came from behind the desk and headed toward the side room. “It’s safe here,” she assured her, like she knew. The assurance made her throat tight with emotion and she nodded stoically. “This is the locker room; you can change in here and you can leave your stuff locked up or in the front cubbies and I can watch it. Whatever makes you more comfortable,” she smiled kindly and glanced her up and down briefly. “Do you own that bakery downtown?”

She smiled and nodded, looking at the flour handprint on the thigh of her pants. “Thought I got all the flour off,” she brushed at it with a chuckle. “Yes, I do.”

“My husband is going to think I met a celebrity today,” she laughed. “We love your blueberry scones. They taste like heaven.”

“Aw, thank you so much, that’s so kind. I’ll bring some next time,” she promised.

“Oh stop, I’ll divorce him,” she laughed and headed back for the front desk.

She quickly changed, feeling safe and relieved once more. She brought her belongings to the front and sat in one of the seats across from Sarah’s desk. “Kickboxing is just wrapping up and your instructors will be right over,” there was a group of several other women milling about. Obviously, they at least knew how to be in a gym by themselves. A few came as a small group. Maybe she should have brought Maeve.

While waiting, she scrolled through emails from her landlord, her college alma mater group, and all the coupons she had ever subscribed to. “I have got to unsubscribe,” she murmured to herself. She scrolled through photos of the beautiful little area she lived in now, and as sad as it was to get here, it was nice. Her shop was nice. Despite how scared she was over the weekend, things were good.

The only thing that wasn’t nice was that stupid, awful man.

“Holy shit, he’s hot,” she heard someone whisper. It was peripheral. She didn’t even register it really because she was sending Maeve a picture of the sale that was happening at their favorite clothing store on Thursday. If she paid attention, she might have noticed sooner.

“Ladies, self-defense class, this way please!” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Maeve sent about ten heart eyes to her, and she smiled, stuffed her phone in her bag, and waved to Sarah.

“Blueberry scones,” she repeated with a firm nod and followed the line of women. She sipped from her water taking in the banners around the gym and realized too late why Louis’ voice sounded so familiar.

He stood at the front of the room, along with another familiar face.

“Oh shit,” she whispered to herself and turned immediately back toward the desk.

She bumped into another woman who steadied her and kindly looked her over. “Sorry—are you alright?” she was nearly motherly in her demeanor and her head felt woozy. She couldn’t do this. Harry would know.

Why was Harry attending her self-defense class?

“Yes, yes, sorry,” she shook her head. “Wrong—”

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was right there. She stepped out of the room trying to get more air to her lungs and head.He wasn’t attending. He was teaching. This was his gym. The boxing rings in the main room should have been a clue. The sound of Louis’ voice. Oh, you stupid idiot, her brain scolded.

“Cupcake?” Her head responded to the nickname instinctively. Harry’s suspicious green eyes gazed back at her. “What are you doing here?”

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter @kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @harryscherri @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #ding

[mingigoo]

1- Mingi

2- High school au

3- Prompts 12, 50, 53, and 56.

4- 18+ (some fluff but also rough?)

5- Reader is shy and a lil depressed while Mingi is one of the popular guys who everyone thinks doesn’t have any emotions but it’s actually a softie. (I love cliches what can I say). Can the genre be Strangers to lovers? Maybe he finds her crying in a classroom and that’s how they met. Also can there be a size kink and voice kink please?

Thank you!

nightmare, daydream || s.mg (m)

📓pairing ⇢ tutor! (fem) reader x popular boy! Mingi

📓 summary ⇢ in the quiet of the school’s art room during lunch time, Mingi accidentally interrupts your vulnerable moment. It was as if your usual invisible self was finally noticed. He intrigued you immensely, and as you are paired up to help tutor him, you find out that he’s much sweeter than he would like to lead on.

📓 genre/au ⇢ strangers to lovers au, high school au, slow burn, smut, angst, some fluff

📓 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors DNI, voice kink, slight hand link, size kink, slightly rough sex, teasing, mingi is a secret scaredy-cat, longing, high school lovers, probably more i'm just blanking so please let me know what I missed.

📓 word count ⇢ 11.1k

📓 taglist ⇢  @atinywhore @ch0isa99ie @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @leeknowsnothing @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

y/n and mingi’s moodboards

The air was crisp as you breathed in, leaves crunching underneath your feet. 

It was still warm out—just between summer and fall. The leaves, however, were already falling, but some were still stuck on the branches like their lives depended on it. You envied their efforts, but yet, you knew they were going to fall just like the rest of them—it was inevitable. 

School had just started like any other year. You weren't exactly happy to go back, but at least it was your last. You wouldn't have to see the faces of your classmates ever again—you never got along with any of them, anyway.

The timing never seemed right. Your life had been a mess since you could remember, but it had just got worse a few days ago when you received the news of your father’s passing. He wasn't involved in your life; you forced yourself not to feel a thing about that man—but death was permanent, and you were terrified of it. If you cried about him, that would make you weak. But maybe, just maybe, bottling up these emotions was going to hurt you more than death ever could.

As you turned the corner to enter the school’s gates, a group of rambunctious boys pushed past you, laughing and carrying on and breaking the dress code. They never seemed to care if their ties were tied right, let alone tucking in their shirts. They always looked so messy to you; disorganized. It sent your hyperfocused mind into a spiral, but you shut it out and continued to make your way inside.

The hallway was bustling more than usual. 

You had a hard time with crowded places.

You pushed past some girls, who, as they always did, glared at you as you passed by. You were used to it, and your mother used to tell you it was because they were jealous. You knew that wasn't the case, rather, it was your backwardness that seemed to get on their nerves more than your beauty. 

You never understood your purpose. Somedays, you weren't even sure you were real. The world felt like it was crumbling around you non-stop, and you didn't know how to feel. You still don't know how to feel the things around you, as if your body didn't deserve it. Your soul didn't deserve it.

Like every other year, you sat down in the back of the classroom, away from those that actually mattered. Those seats should be for the ones that light up the room. 

Maybe it was your OCD, but if you weren't at least fifteen minutes early, you were late. And if you were late, you hated yourself even more than you already did. So, here you were, sitting in an empty classroom while the rest of your classmates carried on in the corridors and made out in the bathrooms—which was disgusting, by the way. Who would ever do that?

The silence felt….comfortable. It was only you and the slight hum of the wind through the open windows. You were too far away to feel it, but you imagined it soaring through your hair, dancing through you. 

But said silence ended after the popular crowd emptied into the room, girls trailing behind the boys like leeches craving blood.

You shivered.

The boys were popular for reasons. Two of them played basketball, the other baseball, and then….

And then there was him.

Mingi wasn't an athlete like his friends, although he had a body like one. You watched him walk into the room like he owned it, his jaw set tightly as his friends cackled about something. You remembered back in middle school when he was small and scrawny—and slightly shorter than you. Now, the boy grew into a man, his muscular frame taking up so much space that it almost suffocated you.

You never saw him smile despite his raging popularity. It was as if he was just….there. He didn't speak much, you noted. He had this aura about him that interested you beyond degree, but yet, you made no effort to dig deeper.

You couldn't help but watch him take his seat on the other side of the room, right next to the open window. He liked sitting by windows. It almost brought a curl to your lips, as his dreary-looking ass always was lit up by the sunlight. He reminded you more of the moon, but not at night. More so, the moon before the sun sets—barely there, but still noticeable. You, on the other hand, weren't even a star in his almost-night sky.

His silvery-grey hair nearly looked blonde in the sunlight, shining smoothly. He made you angry. Everything about him. But he never personally victimized you in any way. He just……never noticed you.

The rest of the class piled in as the warning bell rang, jumping into their seats but still talking to their friends. You remained quiet, your deskmate not even sparing a passing glance at you.

“Good morning, seniors,” the teacher, who you haven't seen before, smiled at everyone. “I bet you're all ecstatic to be back.”

A bunch of groans, complaints, etcetera erupted. You didn't say anything. Your deskmate already had his head down.

And then the teacher looked at you. Only for a second, but long enough. You were first in the class, which no one else seemed to know other than the faculty and staff. You would prefer it that way, but this year, you'll have a lot of attention on you. 

Your eyes traveled to Mingi once more, watching him look out the window with his chin in his hand. He wasn't paying attention one bit.

The classes came and went. Your head hurt by the end of the day, stuffing all the information you learned because that was all you had for the future. University was your only option, your only ‘dream’ if you could call it that.

Art class on the first day was pointless, but you never wanted to leave the room. It was the one thing that you enjoyed deeply. Painting was something you shared with your mother. Your favorite thing to paint was what you saw—little things around that made your heart feel something. 

When it was time to eat lunch, the rest of the kids ran out of the art room, groups of friends having fun together. You watched Mingi and his friends get up, one of them hanging onto his broad, broad shoulders like a jungle gym. His gaze never strayed from his path, even if you were in it. He moved out of the room like a big wave, current pulling everything out of the room except you.

Once everyone was gone, including the teacher, you walked over to the windowsill, seeing the little houseplant holding on to dear life. It was wilting despite getting sunlight. You stood over it, emotionless. Lips turned down, you reached out to touch its dying petals, causing one to fall to its death.

You sucked in a breath, your chest heavy. You've pushed all your emotions so far back that everything was bound to come up at once. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it wouldn't budge. You felt the pressure behind your eyes while all your bottled-up issues came to the surface—your father’s death being the main event. You hated him for everything that he did, but he was still your father. He was….still something to you. 

You sank to the floor, embarrassed, overwhelmed. Your soul felt heavier than ever, as if it just wanted to break away and leave this godforsaken world. The tears trailed down your cheeks even though you tried so hard to hold them back. It was okay to cry, it was okay. It's normal. Cry it out, cry it out, you'll feel better—

“...oh,” a deep voice rumbled through your body, causing you to take in a sharp breath and look up. 

There he was, filling up the whole doorframe like a giant. You breathed in deeply, but the tears kept falling and falling. He stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked concerned, though, and it was at that moment, in the art room, that your invisible self became visible—at least to somebody. 

“I….I’m sorry, I just came to grab my jacket,” he mumbled softly, gently. It caught you off guard. His presence felt oddly comforting. The look on his pretty face made you want to cry even more.

You slowly nodded, and he hesitantly entered the dim room, cautiously making his way to his easel to grab his jacket. You watched him, sniffling, beyond embarrassed. He tried not to look at you, you noticed, and you assumed it was because you looked like an absolute weirdo crying on the floor, in an art room, on the first day of classes.

And when you thought he was going to leave, he stopped dead in the doorway, his big, muscular shoulders tightening.

And then he turned around.

“I can….I can stay, if you want,” he hummed, his deep voice rippling through you. You looked up into his serious gaze, furrowing your eyebrows. 

You wanted to ask him why. Why would someone like him spare a moment of his precious time to stay with a crying weird girl? Clearly, he was concerned; it was apparent on his face. It was just….so strange that he looked in your direction, especially at a time like this. 

In a moment of weakness, you slightly nodded your head, forcing a smile—which may have looked more like a grimace. He took your nod as an okay and sat on the windowsill, keeping his distance. You looked up at him, tears still falling, but he wasn't looking at you. He was sitting with contentment, arms crossed over his chest with that emotionless face he always sported. You watched his foot, how it anxiously tapped against the floor, and how he just….made his large presence feel small.

You opened your mouth, trying to justify yourself. You didn't even know each other like this—you never spoke more than a sentence to each other before. You felt like you needed to explain why you were crying because if you didn't, he probably would've thought of you as that weirdo everyone believed you were.

“You don't have to tell me why,” he spoke, biting his tongue to stop himself from saying more.

You blinked up at him as he spoke, feeling his tone rumble through you. You had nothing to say—and that was okay. You both sat in the quiet room for some time, way longer than you thought he would stay, until your tears dried. The bell rang soon after, and he stood up hesitantly.

He gave you a genuine look of worry—but not pity. 

“It’s okay to cry, you know,” he hummed at the door over his shoulder, tilting his head. “Don't be ashamed for feeling something.”

And then he left as if he were never there. The room felt even colder than it did before as if his presence warmed it. You smiled to yourself, his words hitting you deeply.

It was that moment when you declared that you were completely, irrevocably intrigued by him. He was all you thought about, all you noticed.

Like a daydream to your nightmare.

— 

You watched Mingi the next day in homeroom again. This time, the sun didn't dare peek through the curtains of the clouds as they cried.

He sat with his head down on the desk, his eyes closed in his effort to sleep. His eyebrows were scrunched as if he couldn't let his mind rest. You wanted to ease him, just like he eased you yesterday.

He looked so beautiful, even on a rainy day. You knew he didn't have an umbrella today, as his hair was damp. He also looked cold, which struck you by surprise. He was so….large…if you could put it that way. You might have been jumping to conclusions when you assumed he couldn't get cold because of the sheer size of his body, but maybe it was because he seemed so warm to you. Like a comforting hug.

Without warning, his sleepy eyes started to open slowly, meeting your gaze from across the loud, busy room. You didn't move your stare away—you just kept on admiring him without words, taking notice of how the crease between his eyes eased just by looking at you. You didn't smile or speak. Neither did he. He just sat there, his head down still, but his eyes sparkled like they always did. As his friends carried on around him, he kept quiet, watching you from a distance. 

The moment felt like forever, and when the first class began, He still kept his eyes on you.

—

That weekend, you ventured your way around on a mission to enjoy your favorite midnight snack. The convenience store on the corner always had the best selection of snacks, but tonight, you opted for just a banana milk. As you grabbed one, another large hand encased one next to you, startling you.

You looked to your right, Mingi standing there emotionless—but his eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“Banana milk, huh?” he tilted his head, his gaze analyzing you like a work of art. You wondered if he thought of you as one. “I thought you'd be more of a strawberry girl.”

You blinked, confused. He was talking to you like a normal human being. You furrowed your brows as you looked at him, filtering your response.

“I like strawberry, too,” you admitted, giving him a confused glance before making your way to the register. He followed, a decent distance away from you, his body nearly twice the size of yours. Surprisingly, once again, his presence was far from intimidating. 

He stepped in front of you as you went to pay, setting down his strawberry milk with yours. You were about to question his actions, but then he handed the worker money, paying for you without saying anything. You frowned but kept your mouth shut, knowing that he was just being kind. You did begin to worry if he did this out of pity.

You walked out of the store together, sitting down on the stoop outside. You sat shoulder to shoulder in silence, sipping on your milk comfortably. It has been a long time since you felt comfortable in silence with someone. It was nice.

You looked over at him as he stared straight ahead towards the road in front of you, his pretty, silver hair shining under the street lights. 

“What’s your name?” he hummed gently, genuinely. You tried your best not to be insulted, but you tried to look at it in his view—in a room filled with a bunch of others, you probably never caught his eye enough to reach his curiosity. 

You blinked at him, trying hard not to show any specific emotion. “y/n,” you stated, taking a sip of your banana milk. 

He nodded, looking forward. He muttered your name as if he was trying to engrave it into his mind.

“y/n,” he murmured, nodding. You tried so hard not to feel butterflies.

After a moment of silence, you sat and watched him, probably weird to anyone other than you. But you looked at him, saw how he scrunched his nose as he looked forward, how his plump lips parted as he breathed. You noticed everything he did and didn't do.

“You're different than I thought you were,” you spoke, still staring at him. He moved his gaze to you, looking down through his long, dark eyelashes. You admired his beauty, having no reason to hide it. 

He furrowed his eyebrows, still looking perfect. His expression lacked emotion, as if he had a hard time with it. “And how did you think I was?”

You shrugged, maintaining eye contact. You hated to hide your feelings, feeling as if it were pointless. He seemed like someone you could confide in, but maybe that was because you admired him for a long time. “I don't know, I just assumed you lacked a sense of humanity.”

He looked confused. “I…I don't get what you mean.”

“You were always so unreal to me,” you shrugged again, looking from his hair to his large hands holding onto the tiny milk. “Robotic-like.”

He nodded as if he agreed with you. You weren't the best at expressing yourself, but you had hoped he took your reasoning as a compliment.

More silence. You finished off your drink as he spoke once more.

“How are you?”

A simple question. A question usually asked without a care, just small talk. This time, however, he turned his body towards you, genuinely asking.

You looked away from him shyly. “I’m alright now,” you paused, refraining from saying more. “How are you?”

He sighed, looking forward. “I’m also alright. But I have detention tomorrow because I threw a basketball at some dickhead who thought it was okay to bully someone.”

You nearly smiled. 

“That's not fair,” you hummed softly. “You were standing up for them, and you get the shit end of the stick.” 

Mingi shrugged. “Violence still wasn't the answer,” he smiled, almost painfully. “I’m working on that.”

You admired him more than ever.

He stood up, towering over you. “I’ll see you at school, yeah?”

Your mind ran a mile a minute with everything you wanted to say to him. Yet, you kept your lips sealed and smiled.

“Yes,” you grinned. “I’ll see you, Mingi.”

—

“Miss y/n,” your homeroom teacher called for you as you walked down the hall, catching your attention. “Can I speak to you quickly?”

You nodded, knowing it was probably something to do with grades or planning some sort of event. You followed him into the empty classroom while he rummaged through some papers.

“I need you to tutor one of your classmates,” he spoke, still ruffling through a mess of papers until he found what he was looking for. “He requested you when I brought up the idea of getting tutored, so I hope you'll be interested. It’ll look great on your college application, of course.”

You furrowed your brows. “Who requested me? What’s the subject?”

“Uh…who was it…who was it—Ah, yes, Song Mingi. He’s struggling with chemistry.”

There you go again—as if it were fate. You were tangled with him once more, your mind circling back to him. You have never been involved with anyone to this degree, and the fact that Mingi requested you made it even more interesting.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll do it.”

You walked out of the classroom, a smile nearly reaching your lips. Things were getting interesting—you were starting to feel like a real high school student and not just some fly on the wall that everyone tried to ignore—or swat at.

In the chemistry lab, Mingi sat his ginormous ass down next to you, letting out a sigh as he did it. You received a few weird looks from your classmates, who were probably wondering why the hell the popular Song Mingi was paying attention to the creepy art freak.

Or maybe you were thinking way too far into things.

“Hello, tutor,” he whispered deeply, tossing his notebook onto the table in front of you. He looked extra nice today—his hair was styled, so his forehead was showing. You took notice of the delicate birthmark on his cheek and how something so small made a huge impact on beauty.

You blinked at him, not an ounce of fear in your body. “Your face is pretty,” you spoke softly, admiring him. You didn't exactly mean to blurt that out, but hey, it was true. Why should you act like you didn't find him breathtaking? 

He looked taken aback by the random spew of admiration as if he’d never heard it before. His usually expressionless face brightened up, but only slightly. “You think I’m pretty?”

You nodded curtly, biting the corner of your lip. “Yeah, I’m sure everyone does.”

“Yes, but,” he rubbed his fingers against the spiral of his notebook, causing your attention to go to his long, gorgeous fingers. “Everyone else doesn't matter.”

You frowned, unsure what he meant by that. You didn't even have time to ask, anyway, as the teacher came in and started the lesson. Your eyes focused on his hands, his clean nails, his movements. He couldn't seem to stay still and had to move at least his fingers or his foot. It made you warm and fuzzy that such a big man had such human habits.

When you started the daily experiment, you bumped elbows with Mingi. He shied away, rather than you, and looked at you with a lost expression. You began to work together, but as your thoughts began to move to the idea of Mingi’s hands on you, all over you, you accidentally knocked over the beaker of chemicals. You shrieked back, bumping into Mingi’s chest, and as if it were a reflex, he held your shoulders tightly as if to protect you.

“What happened?” the teacher inquired, and you turned to her, Mingi still embracing you from his enormous height. It was then you realized how much smaller you were—your head only reaching his shoulder. 

You tried to form words, but nothing came out. Instead, mingi apologized. “I’m sorry, I accidentally caused y/n to knock over the beaker.”

The teacher looked irritated, but sighed in response. “All right, thank goodness it’s only Acetic Acid. Can you both please grab some cleaning materials in the janitor's closet down the hall? I cannot leave the room while administering chemicals.”

You looked up at Mingi, pulling yourself away from his grip awkwardly. You nodded, taking off your goggles before nearly running out of the room, Mingi following suit.

You reached the room, opening the small door as quickly as you could. You didn't know how close Mingi was, and when you felt his breath hit the top of your head, you tripped up, pulling him into the closet with you. 

You landed on top of his muscular body, feeling his warmth through your clothes. He let out a grunt right by your ear, creating a mess of dirty thoughts in your mind. You looked down at him, and when you saw that gorgeous, slight smirk on his pretty lips, you swallowed the lump in your throat. His smile was so beautiful—maybe because it was rare.

You were quite literally on top of the Song Mingi.

“Hi,” he mumbled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“....hi,” you peeped out, suddenly aware of your breath and your weight. You didn't even get the chance to get off of him when the door suddenly shut, causing you to jump.

You looked at him one more time, watching his gaze drop to your mouth, before tossing yourself off of him to open the door—but it was locked, and you were stuck, all alone with the one man you thought about more than anyone.

“Is that….is that locked?” Mingi pushed himself up on his palms, looking so delicious it was eating you up from the inside. 

You tried to open the door over and over again, and after the millionth time, you sighed. “Yep.” 

And then he laughed—a deep, childlike rumble that tickled your brain. You looked at him with wide eyes as he stood up in the small closet, inches away from you. It was dully lit by the lightbulb above, orange hues drowning his strong features. You noticed little specks of gold in his eyes like he was carved by the gods, decorated with glamour. You wanted to reach out and glide a hand down his cheek just to feel his skin. He looked unreal in horrible closet lighting. You wondered what you looked like to him.

“What is it?” his deep voice rumbled, a questioning tone. “Do I…..make you nervous?”

He took a step closer to you, but you did not step back. You tilted your head up more, gazing straight into his intoxicating eyes.

“Maybe,” you admitted, biting the inside of your cheek. “Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Because you're attractive,” you admitted with ease, making him smile even more. You felt butterflies from his gaze, knowing that you were the cause of his grin. “You make a lot of people nervous.”

He looked conflicted—his hand twitched at his side, begging to touch you. The amount of chemistry flowing between you now was more than the amount spilled on the linoleum, and you felt the electric shock simmering through your soul.

He sighed, eyes dancing across your features.  “You're so…interesting,” he whispered, his hand finally breaking the bone-crushing lack of touch. His fingers delicately glided up your arm, but stayed there. You ached for them to move all over you.

You frowned, wondering what he meant. “In a good way?” you asked him, your voice small.

He didn't answer you—maybe he didn't know, either. Maybe his interest was something his brain could not comprehend, similar to how he captivated you. You were both vastly different—from different worlds. But yet….this feeling between you was undeniable.

His hand met your shoulder now, sending a chill down your spine. Why was he…why was he touching you on his own accord, why was he looking at you like that?

Your chest tightened, his expression unreadable. His breath tickled you, his cologne powerful. You closed your eyes on impulse, taking in this feeling, these senses, this ache in your chest that you have never felt before.

Before Mingi acted on his impulses, the door swung open, and you shoved him against the other wall, turning around quickly. 

“There you are. I was wondering if everything was okay,” the teacher huffed, calling you both out of the closet. You couldn't even remember walking back to the classroom, but you vividly remembered the feeling of his hands on you—and wondered about where else those fingers could go.

—

The next few days, Mingi sat with you at your lunch table—which was usually just you or someone else at the end who didn't have anything to do with you. It caused a lot of commotion; his friends were confused at the table across the room, and girls began to chit-chat while glaring.

You didn't mind; it was nothing. People were allowed to look and talk. It doesn't make you any less of a person.

Mingi rested his head on his palm across from you, flipping through his chemistry notebook aggressively. He didn't speak, he just made irritated noises. You smiled at him—probably the only person you ever showed this much emotion to.

“What are you confused about?” you asked him as you took a bite of your lunch, noticing that his tray was completely filled without a single bite taken.

He sighed, looking up at you for a second longer than a friend should've. He blinked, brushing away the hair that covered his eyes, before dropping his gaze back to the textbook.

“I just don't understand any of this,” he mumbled, his tone worrisome. You noticed his feelings more than your own—your heart ached to tell him that it’ll be okay. That he shouldn't worry. 

But you weren't anything to him—he just learned your name while you knew his everything.

You leaned forward, hearing the soft breaths leave his lips. You tried your best to read the backward words, succeeding after a long moment. 

“Ah, Ionic bonds?” you reiterated, meeting his gaze. He nodded, looking at you instead of his book. You ignored his intense stare. “Do you know the linkage?”

He just stared at you, his eyes twinkling. His expression lacked any sort of emotion, but somehow, you felt as if he was captivated—like an artist appreciating his artwork.

“Anyway,” you forced yourself to continue, holding in all of your questions for him. Why was he looking at you like that? Why did you feel a pull to him, a pull like no other? Like you were made just for him in this universe, similar to those oppositely charged ions being pulled together in electrovalence. You were an Ionic bond, two opposites, an undeniable tug, a match made in chemistry.

“Electrostatic attraction,” you gulped, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Despite the room being filled with people, you only saw each other. 

He looked down at your hands, which were quite literally fumbling over your chopsticks. “What?”

You cleared your throat, feeling jittery. You never felt jittery. No one made you feel this way—actually, nobody ever made you feel anything. This scared you but interested you more. “When two ions of opposite charges are attracted to each other. It creates an Ionic bond….”

“A bond?” he hummed, his fingers peeling back the textbook page, causing you to look down. You breathed in deep, composing yourself, but the deep ache to have him ruined everything you ever worked for—your beauty has always been your brain, but he made you feel like your outward appearance was also worthy. 

“Yes,” you nodded, pulling away from him to sit against the back of the seat. “Kind of like….opposites attract. You know, how people are attracted to those different than them?”

He stared at you, his cold gaze somehow warming you more than summer ever could. He may have looked like winter, but to you, he melted the ice off your stone-cold heart.

You looked at each other then, that chemistry sparking and spilling all over you. His lips were downturned in a frown, but oh, his eyes lit the fire inside your barren soul. The things you wanted to say to him ripped through you, desperate to reach the surface, but you held back as you were happy enough to get his attention.

“Why don't we…..why don't we skip next period?” he spoke, biting his lip slightly. You watched his eyes dance across your face, trying to figure you out. 

You never missed a class. You came to school on time. You followed every rule known to man. Everything you did was by the book. But now, oh…..everything you ever knew about yourself seemed to be dwindling over a cliff.

With a short nod, you watched his lips curl slightly, feeling proud that you were the cause once again.

—

It was raining as you both ran through the empty halls, drops dripping down the windows like they were racing to the finish line. His hand brushed against yours, sending a shock through your body. You wondered if he felt it, too.

“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked you as you reached the back door.

You shook your head.

He sighed, contemplating his impulses, you assumed. But you felt in control now, and with a quick motion, you gripped his hand, offering him a questionable look before pushing through the door.

You tumbled through the rain, drenching you as if you were in the ocean. He held onto your hand tightly as if he would drown without you. He let out a laugh, feeling like music to your ears. Without thinking, a smile reached your lips, your cheeks turned red as he pulled you through the rain.

You stopped underneath a small building’s overhead roof, both of you out of breath and soaked to the bone. He looked ethereal—his silver hair now dark like the night sky. His eyelashes were covered in raindrops, delicately taking rest on him. His skin was dewy, his smile brighter than anything you've ever seen before.

You felt the butterflies then—like you were in a movie. However, you haven't seen this film before. The air around you felt serene, the mist of the fallen raindrops splashing all around you. He was close, too close, if that was possible. Your body nearly went into flight or flight at his gaze, his intention. He felt like the rain to you, all around you, soaking into you. You didn't know how to not think of him this way.

“Your face,” he hummed in the small space, your shelter—It was him. “You're dripping wet,” he said, and with a twitch of his hand, his fingers gracefully slid across your cheek, catching the drops in their fall—but he couldn't catch you as you fell.

You swore your soul left your body as he touched you. It was like he was destined to touch you. It may seem silly, especially to your incredibly logical thought process, to be melting under someone’s fingertips. It seemed utterly shameful to your mind that you feel like a puddle as if he was the melting point and you were just….well, mush. It was because of your lack of experience, maybe, that everything he did was heightened.

“Ah,” you fought the urge to lean into his touch. Even after he wiped away the raindrops, his hand still cradled your cheek, his eyebrows knotted in confusion. 

So you reached up, pressing your pointer finger between his brows. You eased his thoughts, resting his expression. “Don't do that,” you blinked up at him, watching his eyes widen at your touch. “You look prettier when you smile.”

He fought off his smile, but you still saw it. “Don't say that.” 

He did smile after he spoke this time, as if he couldn't hold it away.

When he smiled, you felt like you ruled the world.

“Why?”

His touch felt warm against your cold cheek.

“Because,” his eyes—oh, you loved them. They were so expressive, they made up for his lack of emotion. They spoke a million words, like a window into his hidden soul. “You'll confuse me.”

“I don't mean to confuse you, Mingi.” When you spoke his name, you could've sworn he sucked in a breath. “But think I’m a pretty straightforward person.”

He scoffed slightly, looking at his own hand and how it fit perfectly to your face. “You're so oblivious for someone who’s our valedictorian.”

You blinked quickly, the sound of the rain encapsulating the air around you. You were hyperaware of everything—his breaths, the beauty mark on his cheek, his hand on yours. His height, god, it stirred your guts around in more ways than one. 

The moment felt like forever. You stood there, trying to catch your breath, but he kept taking it away. It took you back to the day he saw you in the art studio, how he kept his distance but filled the room with so much care without speaking—he made you feel something no one ever will accomplish. 

When you arrived back at the school, you ended up in detention together, huge grins on both of your faces as you sat across from one another. When he smiled, your whole body tingled, and when he looked at you, you became his.

—

As the days move on, the leaves rot on the ground you walk on. You loved October. You belonged to the season. Your soul only lived during the death of summer.

Mingi, once again, followed you like a lost puppy. He sat next to you at lunch, not across from you, and just….sat contently. You both didn't speak. He watched you eat, watched you breathe. If he were anyone else, they would've been six feet down.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, his body turned to you. 

You shrugged, looking over at him. You met his gaze, feeling those shocks once more. “Probably just studying for the chemistry exam.”

He nodded, sniffling. You frowned at him, now tilting yourself to face him. “Are you getting sick?” you asked him, unsure if you looked concerned or irritated.

He let a small smile reach his emotionless lips. “I don't know yet, it may be my allergies.”

You curtly nodded your head, and then you turned back to your food. He held his head up by his hand, staring at you, his eyes conflicted. You tried so hard not to turn towards him and kiss his lips. You weren't too sure how he would take that.

After another couple of moments of silence, he spoke again. “Do you want to come over tonight? To study, of course,” he interjected, which led your dirty, inexperienced mind into a fit of thoughts.

Were his parents going to be home? What was he planning on doing to you? Did he…did he have an ulterior motive?

Mingi broke you out of your thoughts. “I mean, if you don't feel comfortable, we can meet somewhere else—”

“No,” you cleared your throat, gripping your chopsticks tighter. “I mean, I would love to come over.”

His eyes twinkled as you met them, like shooting stars falling from the sky. He probably didn't realize that they did it, as his face didn't show any other hint of excitement.

“Okay, nice,” he said blandly, but once again, his eyes said otherwise. You dared to smile, causing him to smile back.

The sunlight danced across his honey skin through the blinds, and you just sat there, admiring him, dreaming about not-so-PG thoughts. 

—

Later on in the evening, you stood in your best efforts of an “effortless” look, anxiously looking at Mingi’s monstrous home. You assumed he was rich, but not this rich. 

The home was glorious, a mansion, if you will. You couldn't even count the windows before you started to feel the pit of your stomach growing bigger and bigger. You swallowed hard, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before pushing past the gates of the entrance. 

It took you a solid minute to knock on his door, which was probably bigger than your room alone. He took a while to answer, causing you even more anxiety. What if a goddamn maid opened the door? God, you'd book it so far that he’d never find you again—

“Y/n,” he hummed breathlessly as he opened the door, his hair dripping wet and his whole torso completely unclothed. Your eyes traveled without permission, noticing the droplets of water that dared to drip down his defined abs….down onto the edge of the towel that just barely covered his hips. You held back your animalistic cravings as you noticed his v-line, swallowing hard. “You’re early.”

You did not move your gaze—you continued to eyeball him without shame. He didn't seem to mind. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Should I leave?” you blinked, eyes rolling up from below to his gaze. He almost looked embarrassed, but there was something sinister in his emotional eyes.

He paused, noticing how you were looking at him. He swallowed hard, too, opening the door wider to let you in. “No…just….come in. Let me go put…..clothes on.”

You nearly smiled at his embarrassment. You followed him in, in awe of his broad shoulders and smooth skin, to the curve of his sides. You felt like an animal in heat.

You looked around the home, feeling….empty. There were no pictures on the walls, no mirrors. Not an ounce of an existence of family, or color, or comfort. It was cold—Void of emotion.

You sat on the couch in one of the living rooms, the ceilings a million feet high. The TV rested on the wall in front of you, bigger than your home. You didn't see anyone, or hear anyone other than Mingi. It felt lonely—yet you were only there for a minute or two.

When he came back into the room, fully dressed in a baggy t-shirt and sweats, you wondered how on earth that shirt drowned him. Maybe if you put it on, it would probably end below your knees.

“Sorry, sorry,” he let out a small anxious chuckle. He stood in front of you, causing you to strain your neck and look up at him. “Should we study here or….?”

Some part of you wished that you weren't here to study. It was something about the feeling between you….it was burning red, fiery, and you craved to dive into its flames.

“It doesn't matter,” you shrugged. “Wherever you want, really.”

His presence is intoxicating. Your mind wanders to his gentle expression, to the water dripping down his head, and you begin to question your sanity. The range of emotions you feel for him was alarming—especially for you.

You follow him into the kitchen and set your bag down on the island. He stands and stares, similarly to how you were observing him earlier. 

As you tried to tutor him about chemicals and such, you looked up at him occasionally, only to find him looking at you.

“What?” you asked him softly, meeting his gaze. “Is there something you're confused about?”

He stared at you intently, his lips downturned. “Yes,” he admitted, biting the inside of his cheek.

“What is it? Is it about—”

“You,” he blinked, fiddling with his fingers. “I…you confuse me.”

Your eyes widened, your stomach tightening at his words. “How do I confuse you?”

“You just…” he sighed, setting down his pencil. “I never know what you're thinking, I guess.”

“Ditto,” you shrugged, keeping the eye-contact.

Silence. You just stared at each other, almost desperately, as you tried to understand what exactly was burning between you.

He sighed, breaking the eye contact by looking down at his textbook. “Let’s just….” he swallowed hard, shutting his book with a forced smile. “Let’s study another time. How about we watch a movie?”

You met his gaze, feeling the air burn around you. His expression was indescribable—something you've never encountered before. You nodded, nonetheless, and when he stood up abruptly, you followed him like a lost puppy through his house, which was far from a home.

“Why are you alone?” you asked from behind, watching his large body move with such grace. 

He didn't look back as he responded. “My parents live in Seoul,” he hummed. “I’ve been alone.”

You felt a chill roll down your spine as his cold words echoed through you. He seemed to have bad blood with them, whoever they are, and your flighty personality has you wanting to seek them out to tell them how horrible it is to leave their child behind.

As you walked into the vast, empty living room, you stopped in your tracks.

“It must be lonely,” you murmured, to which he paused for a second. 

He let out a small laugh—a forced laugh—like he needed to pretend to be okay. You wished for the day he didn't need to pretend.

He sat down on the sectional, his long legs sprawling out. You looked at him before sitting down next to him, a reasonable distance away. He looked over at you, his eyes conflicted.

“What…. what's your favorite kind of movie?” He asked you.

You hesitated. You were concerned about what he would think about your opinion. 

“Horror,” you admitted, watching his eyes widen.

“Horror?” he reiterated, his expression grim. 

It was almost too cute. You nearly blushed.

You smirked, sliding in a bit closer to him. “What? Are you scared? I thought you were a big, tough guy.”

“..fine, ahem,” he cleared his throat, running a hand through that silvery hair of his. “I’ll put a horror movie on….since you like them.”

As the movie played, you sat next to each other, still a suffocating amount of space between you. You looked over at him, his expression wary, his hands balled up as if he were terrified. 

You scooted over closer to him, hearing his breath hitch. You weren't sure if it was because of you moving closer or because of the jumpscare on the TV. you leaned in slightly, whispering into his ear. “Are you scared, Mingi?” you giggled, causing him to jump.

“Fuck, he hissed, his eyes frazzled. He quickly tried to calm himself down, and he put a silly little smile on his face. “No, I just don't like getting jump scared, is all.”

You smiled at him, the distance now only inches. You watched how his Adam’s apple bobbed anxiously as the space between you two shrank and how his eyes lingered on your lips. You wanted him to reach out and press them to yours, like how it almost happened in the supply closet. You wanted to feel everything he could make you feel—more than you already felt.

As the movie went on, the loud, atrocious noises filled the space, but all you saw was him. The room was dark, and his features were highlighted by the small source of light coming from the television. You watched his eyes glimmer through the darkness as they landed on you, and you heard his breaths quicken.

And in that moment, you had enough.

You slowly reached out to him, your fingertips meeting the softness of his cheek. He frowned in confusion, but his eyes spoke more words than he’d ever said before.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I….” you swallowed hard, bringing up your other hand to cradle his face gently. “I just want to feel something. I….I want you to feel it, too.”

Your eyes meet his lips; his eyes do the same. You've never been this close to anyone….and he felt just right. Everything about him caused you to ache. To ache for his touch, his attention. You craved every part of him, even before he knew your name.

He shined in the sunlight, even when it rained. 

And with that look in his eye—that deep, desired look—you slowly pressed your lips to his unmoving ones, and after a moment, he kissed back with such passion you could swear you saw stars.

His hands held the back of your head, his lips parting yours. He let out a shaky breath as you kissed, and your hands trailed down to his chest. Something about this sparked something inside you, ignited a flame that was destined to burn for a lifetime. He parted your lips open, his tongue infiltrating your mouth smoothly. You let out a moan, causing him to deepen the simple kiss into something much more…sinister.

“Do you feel something now?” he hummed against your lips desperately. His hands gripped your jaw, the tips of his fingers tangling into the hairs at the base of your ears. “Please tell me that I make you feel something.”

“You do,” you mumbled breathlessly, your hand gliding up his cheek. He leaned into your touch as if he were deprived of it. Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to kiss you like this for a while, to touch you like this for a while. Maybe, just like you, he ached to feel something, too. “God, Mingi, only you can make me feel this way.”

You looked at each other in between kisses. His eyes were lustful, yet, they looked like they could tear up any moment. You didn't know what you looked like to him, so you leaned in again, delicately pressing your lips to his. He wrapped his arms around you, his forehead pressing against yours as he kissed you more and more and more. 

He pulled back ever so slowly; his eyebrows knit together, his brown irises dead center on your eyes. He spoke a million words without ever opening his mouth or even parting his lips. You smiled at him, feeling more like yourself than you've ever felt before. 

He lit up your soul.

His eyes asked you kindly. You agreed with a soft nod, and then he whisked you away into bliss. 

He carried you with grace through the dark hall, dropping you on his bed. Your back hits the cold duvet, sending chills down your spine. For a moment, he just gazes down at you, the only source of light being the floor lamp in the corner of the room. His expression was one you understood for once—he was full of emotion, and he made you feel safe.

He sucked in a breath, and you watched intently as he lifted his shirt slowly over his head. He was nervous—obviously nervous, and you wondered why such a big, strong, stone-like man would be scared of something like this. You were confident he’d done this before—he had to have. 

“I won't bite you,” you breathed, looking up at him with your soulful eyes. However, your innocence only went so far here. You've been watching him for ages, trying not to feel this…whatever this was. A mix of love, lust, longing, belonging….and he finally saw you. 

You were going to eat him up if he let you, of course.

He let out a shaky laugh, standing there so delicately powerful. His muscles rose and fell in the shadows of the dark, his skin looking ever so soft. You sat up on the bed, reaching out to him. You gripped his waistband, pulling him into you. He breathed in as your fingertips touched the bare skin of his waist, and he held his breath as you pushed past that waistband….down his underwear, to find…

Holy fucking shit. 

That’s literally going to obliterate your insides.

You must've looked shocked because he suddenly pulled himself away from you. “W-what? Is something wrong?”

You blinked up at him, tilting your head. You couldn't help but let out a laugh, to which he looked even more confused.

He looked distressed, so you stood up from the bed and walked up to him. He towered over you more than you've ever realized. You stood there in front of him for a moment that seemed to last forever, his eyes frantically searching for your explanation.

“Is something wrong with it—”

“Mingi,” you breathed, basically moaned, his name as you fiddled at the hem of your shirt. He watched your hand, gulping. “You may just kill me with that.”

You flung your shirt across the room, and your hands then danced at your waist to undo your pants. 

He frowned, confused. “Kill you? How—”

Your pants dropped to the ground, and you kicked them aside. You were left in your underwear—a pretty pink set you've kept in your drawer for ages for a moment like this. You completely got him starstruck.

You watched his mouth part as he stared at your body. “What…uh,” he swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair. “I…” You stepped closer to him, gliding your hand to hold his cheek; he shut his eyes and leaned into your touch, taking a deep breath. 

You leaned forward, on the tips of your toes. “Are you going to take the rest off, or am I gonna have to do it for you, scaredy cat?” you teased, pressing a kiss to his neck. He shivered, his hands instinctively gripping onto your hips.

His eyes were lustful, his gaze ripping right through you like a knife would tear a heart. It was as if you offended him, and he grit his teeth as he slid your bra right over your head with one hand.

You smirked, your hands running up the sides of his face to run through his gorgeous hair. You found pleasure in his reactions—the way he savored his feelings as he closed his eyes.

“Is this your first time?” he whispered weakly as your lips found a home under his jaw. “Because I have a feeling it isn't—”

“And if it is?” you interrupted him, still creating your mark on his neck. “Will you not fuck me?”

“Oh, dear god,” he huffed, letting out a groan. He shoved you onto the bed, your back once again hitting the covers. This time, it felt even colder. “Where the hell did you get that mouth of yours?”

You tried to breathe, but you no longer remembered how to. “Why, do you not like it?”

He didn't answer you with words. Instead, he unbuttoned his pants, his hard-on begging to break through his underwear. You laid there, your breasts on full display for him, and your stomach tightened as you saw his dick after he took everything off.

“Oh….” you gulped, raising your eyebrows in hopes that he didn't see your worry. You've never had sex, only with your own fingers, and as you looked down at his massive cock, there was no way in hell that was fitting inside you.

In fact, it turned you on just thinking about how…big he was. How he stood with confidence, turning red, his body physically showing his attraction to you, blood pumping, sweat pooling to the surface of his skin.

His size….you've always been obsessed with his size—it surrounded your every thought. This was the cherry on top of your fantasies.

He knelt over you, his body warmth making you even hotter. You felt his erection press against your thigh, and you shamelessly moaned, meeting his flaming gaze.

“By kill, I mean,” you breathed in, pausing. “I mean, that dick of yours is like a goddamn weapon.”

His face was right over yours, and you watched a sinister smile fill his features. “Is that so?” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss your lips. You moaned into the kiss, biting his bottom lip as he pulled back.

“Mhm,” you whimpered as his dick pressed against your panties, and you ached for him to take them off. He was too captivated by your breasts to even think about the fact that they were still on. You looked down at his hands, and oh, they just completely encapsulated you, mind and body, body and soul. You wished for him to suck the living life out of you, to choke you until you saw whatever was beyond this life, if there was anything. His hands alone caused you to daydream about them bringing death to you and being pleasured by the hands of death. They were so large, so soft, so gentle. You wanted him to manhandle you, to tear you apart, to rip your heart in two and then sew it back together. Your mind was just rambling on now, but one thing was for sure.

You were in love with him.

“Mingi,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around his arm that worshiped your breasts. His eyes met yours, madly, desperately. “Take every part of me.”

He wasn't sure how to respond, and you knew it. He did, however, understand your request, and he kissed you from your breastbone to the mounds of skin, down your stomach, finally reaching where he needed to be. He kissed you there, right there, and you felt his hot breath radiate through the thin fabric. It was gone before you knew it, and he lined himself up on top of you, his chest heaving from breathlessness and desire.

His silvery-grey hair nearly looked black in the moonlight, shining smoothly. He made you happy, everything about him.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he spoke against your lips, the tip of his dick pressing against your entrance. You closed your eyes tightly as his thick cock slid into you. 

“I like the pain,” you said.

Your eyes watered, but the sound of his pleasure made everything better. Truthfully, you discovered something about yourself that you never knew. You loved that he was big. You loved how his cock still had length outside of you, even as he stuck himself fully in. You watched as he moved in, moved out, how his hips bucked against yours, and how he held you underneath him, tenderly, like he was afraid to shatter you like glass. You were his throne, his home, and he was your everything.

“Ah,” you hissed; this never felt before feeling tingling your insides, your stomach filling up with his length. You gripped onto his shoulder blades, tearing into his skin as he sped up. He seemed to like how you inflicted pain, and you continued to pierce his skin, carving your mark like writing initials into tree bark. 

It was bliss, your first time. The feeling of him pumping into you was addictive—you were sure you were going to want this every day for the rest of your life. You arched your back into him, wrapping your legs around him as you felt yourself reach your climax. You've never felt one before, and it was intoxicating. His breaths quickened along with his movements, and his hips rocked back and forth slightly, hitting new spots for your body to learn. He was your tutor, your teacher. Your daydream and your nightmare. You revolved around him as if he were your sun and you were his moon.

His expression changed as he looked at you—eye contact and all. You've never felt so intimate with someone your entire life, and strangely enough, despite your usual ignorance of emotions, you wanted to bask in this feeling forever. To gaze into his eyes forever. Maybe it was your youth; maybe it was your first life. 

“You're so beautiful,” he praised, his face contorted in pleasure. His tone of voice sent ripples through your body—it was deep, raspy. It rumbled through you, all around you. You loved his voice. You loved it so much that you wanted him to speak more and more and more.

“Say that again,” you moaned, sweat dripping down your temple as the top of your head hit the headboard. “Please.”

“You,” he breathed, lifting one of your legs up to burrow in you deeper— as if it were possible with the size of his dick. He hit a new spot, causing you to toss in his embrace, begging for more. “...You are beautiful.”

“God fuck, Mingi,” you quite literally snarled, gripping his shoulders to switch positions, you now sitting right on top of him. You looked down on him, finding gratification in his sexily fatigued expression. His eyes were barely open, his chest heaving, his hands gripping the sheets. “I love the sound of your fucking voice.”

And with that, you began to ride him, watching his features twist with such interesting emotions you've never seen before. When he began to breathe quicker and quicker, you watched how his eyes widened, how his big, veiny but gentle hands came up to fist your hair. You cried out, eyes watering, pain sparking down your neck—but you loved it. 

He grabbed you by the hair and shoved you onto your stomach, face full of pillow and the sweet smell of Mingi’s hair wash. You closed your eyes as he re-entered you, his hands putting pressure on the small of your back.

And as he let out a deep, bone-crushing moan, you squeezed your thighs together tightly. He pulled out quickly, and came on your back, painting himself all over you.

The only sound through the silence was the huffing of your breaths, your face flushed, hidden from him. He let out a slight, rumbly laugh—music to your ears.

“I’ll go grab a towel,” he spoke softly, his fingertips dancing down the side of your waist as if he were appreciating your structure. 

He cleaned you up with such softness as if this weren't the man that was just fisting your hair and slamming his dick into you. You lay in his bed, naked, your stomach aching, your legs weak. 

He laid next to you, his shower he had just taken before this turned utterly pointless, his body covered in sweat. His hair stuck to his forehead, and you reached out, brushing it up. You smiled at him as he stared at you with fascination.

And then, in the comfort of his embrace, you fell asleep, dreaming of him.

—

When you awoke in the morning, he was no longer there.

Your youthful mind didn't jump to conclusions—you slowly rolled out of his California king and picked up his huge t-shirt, tossing it on without anything else. It drowned you, down to your knees like you expected, and you giggled in bliss. It smelled like him.

When you stepped into the kitchen, you saw a cup of steaming coffee on the island. Mingi was facing away from you, the back of his head messy, silver hair standing up everywhere.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. He quickly turned around, a goofy smile plastered on his face. 

You felt the rush of blood reach the tips of your ears.

He inspected your outfit—or his outfit—and that goofy smile widened even more. “My shirt, huh?”

You wrapped your arms around your body. “It was the first thing I picked up.”

“I like it,” he smirked, walking over to you, his arms taking the place of yours. “I love it, actually.”

You embraced him, feeling finally happy. “You're a lot more colorful than usual,” you acknowledged, feeling his heartbeat through his chest. 

“You must've painted me in a new light,” he hummed, resting his head on the top of yours. 

You tried to escape his embrace, but he tightened it, shaking his head. “You're not leaving me.”

You giggled, trying to playfully push him away. “Mingi, what time is it?”

He paused. “Uh….”

You pulled back, looking into his eyes. Your own eyes widened.

“School, oh my god, we forgot about school!”

—

You held Mingi’s large hand as you sprinted down the road to your school. After a pit stop at your home for your uniform and a blissful moment of a makeout outside the door, you barreled as fast as you could, knowing you were gonna get punished. Even so, you laughed the whole way, and when your tardiness landed you in detention, you couldn't of been happier to end up in a room with Mingi.

The teacher left the room for a moment, and as the door shut, Mingi launched out of his seat and attacked you with his lips, his hands in your hair, his teeth clashing with yours as he smiled as wide as ever.

The next day, you watched him sit in the sunlight in homeroom, noticing his hair shine—the same head of hair you ran through as he made love to you a few nights before.

He liked sitting by windows. It brought a curl to your lips, as his dreary-looking ass always was lit up by the sunlight. 

He was the moon during the day, right before the sun sets. And you, well, you were finally a star in his almost-night sky.

—

Winter break was approaching. Students were talking. You didn't care, and neither did he. In fact, he made it painfully obvious, sitting next to you with every chance he got, touching you as much as he could, smiling so wide it was unlike his usual persona.

The question dwindled over your head. Many people asked you, talked to you, and inquired about your relationship with him. You didn't exactly know what to tell them—you never actually labeled whatever this was. Whatever it was, it didn't matter to you, as it just mattered that you were blissfully happy for however long it may last. You were going to enjoy this time you had with him, knowing that college was approaching.

“Y/n!” a loud voice boomed through the study hall class, a few students turning their heads in confusion. You met eyes with Yunho, one of Mingi’s best friends. You frowned, confused as to why he was calling for you. There was no teacher as the class didn't start yet, so you weren't too alarmed.

“What?” you asked him.

He took a sharp breath in, hands on his knees like he ran a marathon. “It’s Mingi—he got hurt on his way to school—”

You stood up quickly, eyes wide. “What? Where is he?”

“In the nurses—”

You didn't even give him a chance to finish his sentence. You ran down the hall, even though class was about to start. 

You let out a loud breath when you reached the nurse’s office. “Mingi? Are you okay—”

With a tight grip on your wrist, he tugged you into the office, slamming the door behind you.

He stood there, perfectly fine, with a boyish smile on his face.

You hit his chest. “What the hell? I thought you were hurt?”

He giggled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. “Mmh. No, I just wanted to do this.” he kissed you again, his hands tilting your chin up with such tenderness. 

You smiled into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You're such a sneak.” 

“Do you want me to kiss you in front of everyone?” he teased, pecking your nose and then your lips. “Because I will.”

You chuckled, kissing him more. “It’ll  probably clear up all the rumors about us,” you shrugged, ruffling his hair as you kissed him again.

“People are so nosy,” he mumbled. “Can't two people date in peace?” 

You pulled back in his embrace, a glimmer of mischief in your gaze. “Oh?” you tilted your head, and as he went in for another kiss, you pressed a finger to his lips. “Were dating, huh?”

He blinked as if you said something completely insane. “Huh?” he furrowed his brows. “Haven't we been dating?”

You smirked, teasing him. “Since when?”

He scoffed, but still held onto you. “Uh, since I literally fucked the living shit out of you?”

You laughed at his vulgarity, pressing your lips to his in a long, sensual kiss. “So were dating now?”

“I thought you knew that.”

“How would I know that if you never said it?”

“Because you're the fucking valedictorian, y/n.”

You stared at his confused face, smiling wider than you've ever smiled. “Okay,” you nodded, watching his eyes sparkle down at you. “Boyfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” he giggled like a child, grabbing both your cheeks and kissing you over and over again. “My girlfriend.”

You never saw yourself as cheesy and didn't see him as the cheesy kind, either. But there you were, in each other's arms in the run-down, empty nurses office, blissfully unaware of how the future will work out for you. But now was the time, not then, not when. It was now, and now you loved him. 

You were his tutor, his happiness, his light, even if you never thought you could ever brighten up someone’s life. 

It was this moment— you declared that you were utterly, irrevocably in love with him. He was all you thought about, all you noticed.

The future isn't guaranteed, but you both will live on, together maybe, who knows? You were young and in love, but who says it won't work? Your hearts will live for each other, whatever the future brings you.

He was the daydream to your nightmare.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez x reader #ateez mingi #song mingi #mingi fanfic #high school au #strangers to lovers

[allysunny]

Hii, firstly I LOVE ur writing so much, you’re really talented 🌟💘

Congrats on 200 followers, SOOOO DESERVED!!!

I was wondering if you could do 27+r for Bruce 🥰 something like he left to protect her, it hurt him more than anything and he realized that it was mistake and wants her back. Happy ending tho, I’m a sucker for that haha 😄❤️

Thank you in advance, much love! 🫶🏻

“You left me” / “I was protecting you” / “You LEFT me” + Protecting you x Bale!Bruce

Words: 15.8k words

Warnings: Angst, infidelity, cheating, lots of angst, pregnancy, break-up, suggestive themes and one (1) very poorly written and short nsfw scene (it's like 5 lines long I think), one (1) death, Bruce Wayne being a mess (relatable), a lot of heartbreak and pining, not proofread. I literally wrote this in a span of like, one week, and it's not proofread, so oh my god I'm so sorry if there's anything wrong with it...

A/N: Oh my god. Hello everyone. Holy fuck. Okay so, I hope you guys are interested to know what the fuck happened here. I don't want to waste any more time (the explanation is quite big), so I'll add it after the fic, in the final Author Note. Small context: I got two requests that were kinda similar, so I decided to mix the two together!

Just a heads up, due to reasons that I'll expand on at the end, I feel like the end drags on a bit. I did not proofread because I was a bit saturated with this piece, and I think that at some point, I actually cried because I was panicking real hard.

Anyway!!! I love Bruce!!!! I hope you guys enjoy this <3

Bruce knew you were the one after you'd first spilled coffee all over his suit.

You just looked so worried, your pretty eyes wide with fear as you tried to think of what to say to this stranger you'd just bumped into – or so he thought. You, in fact, knew exactly what you wanted to say to him.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, asshole!" you'd exclaimed, looking at what remained of your iced coffee. "This thing was almost 10 dollars, what am I supposed to do now?"

Bruce eyed you up and down, honestly surprised you had the guts to raise your voice at him. Didn't you know who he was? Did you simply not care?

Either way, he was enthralled.

"Hey!" you waved your arms in front of him, trying to get his attention. "Look at me!"

"May I be so bold to point out you spilled your coffee onto me?" Bruce asked with a small scoff. "If anything, you are the one supposed to do something about it."

"This wouldn't have happened if you watched where you were going." You were very pretty, Bruce noted. Your eyes seemed to sparkle, and your arms were crossed over your chest, making his eyes dart towards it.

"And what am I supposed to do?" He replied.

"I don't know! Give me my money back or something, that coffee is super expensive! It's my special celebration cup!"

""Your money back?"

"Yeah! You're dressed up all nice, I bet that suit costs more than my rent."

"Oh, really?" Bruce was amused one. You were feisty, clearly. "And what makes you think that?"

"No one walks around Gotham dressed like that, unless they're rich, powerful, law agents, or I don't know, Bruce Fucking Wayne."

"Bruce Wayne? Does he dress like this?"

You scoffed, shaking your head and gesticulating a lot with your arms.

"Probably! I mean, it's not like anyone has ever seen the guy, but let's be honest, he probably dresses in expensive as fuck silk, or like, placenta that's fed to and then shat by babies or something."

You only seemed to get better by the second.

Bruce placed a hand on his chin, truly intrigued by your line of thinking.

"Placenta that's fed to and then shat by babies?" He had to admit, this was pretty amusing. Did you have any sort of filter? If so, he never wished that you turned it off.

"Maybe – I don't know – It's Bruce Wayne, so who actually does know? Maybe he's running a society of baby-shitting placenta. It's Gotham. One day we have masked vigilantes jumping off roofs, and the other, bomb threats. Regular Tuesdays for us Gothamites. But the real question here is," you jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest. "What are you going to do to repay me my very well-earned 10$ worth of iced coffee?"

Bruce was just about to reply, when a very familiar voice spoke up behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!" Lucius's Fox deep timbre was unmistakable, and Bruce turned around to offer him a polite smile. "I'm happy to run into you, there's a few things – " He took one good look at his boss's shirt and grimaced. "Hell, Mr. Wayne, how'd that happen?"

The younger man turned around to glance at you. Poor, poor you, with eyes even wider, and a matching mouth. You blinked several times, looking from his shirt to his face, and from his face to his shirt.

"Oh, that's right. I almost forgot to introduce myself," he put a hand forward, offering you what you thought was the most dazzling smile ever. Geez, women must basically throw their panties at him.

"Bruce Wayne. Baby-shitting-placenta cult leader."

You blinked a few more times, wishing the earth swallowed you whole. You'd literally never done anything wrong in your life. Sure, you talked trash about Suzy Carpenter's sweater in 8th grade, but it was warranted – it did look like vomit – and you had stolen a yogurt from a coworker once, but surely that did not warrant running into Bruce Fucking Wayne of all people, spilling coffee all over his clothes, and accuse him of eating placenta. Maybe Suzy still held a grudge.

"Mr. Fox, how about I stop by your office later today? I'm quite busy this morning. Have something to do."

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. I'll be patiently waiting." Lucius gave him and you an acknowledging nod, before walking away.

You were still staring at Bruce, completely at a loss for words. What were you supposed to say? Was there anything at all you could say?

"I – Mr. Wayne, I – Well, I'm – I," you stuttered and stuttered, and Bruce could only chuckle, before shaking his head. He looked to his left and took a few steps, opening a door before him.

"After you."

Confusion took over your expressions. What was he up to? Where was he going?

"I promise not to kidnap you into a placenta cult," he chuckled, nodding towards the door. You looked at the name written in green letters on the glass. "Coffee House". "I believe I have a cup of coffee to make up for?"

He offered you a very subtle version of that dazzling smile of his, and you couldn't help but return in kind.

"I'm not going to apologize or kiss your ass or anything," you told him.

"That's fine," Bruce shrugged, "I didn't want you to."

You pondered your options.

You didn't know this man. But someone had called him Mr. Wayne, and now that you take a good look at him, he does look like the face gossip magazines and tabloids love to splatter on the cover. And he really did not look like he meant any harm.

And you really wanted a cup of coffee. "Alright, Mr. Placenta Cult Leader."

It did not take long for Bruce to fall in love with you, with your kindness, with your looks, with your beautiful personality. You always maintained that feisty attitude of yours, refusing to treat him or anyone in his world differently simply because you were now a part of it.

And Bruce loved it.

Loved how you couldn't care less what other socialite families thought of you, eating chocolate covered fruit after chocolate covered fruit at fundraisers, loved the way you latched onto him and "claimed" your property so to say whenever other women approached him and tried their luck (not that it would've worked, this man was whipped for you), telling other, more arrogant seniors off whenever they made judgements on yours, or Gotham forbid, Bruce.

But above all, he loved you,

And he made sure to show you just how much whenever possible. He wasn't the best with words, never had been, so he tried to show his devotions through actions. Breakfasts in bed, gentle caresses while you cuddled together on the couch, copies of your favourite books, soft kisses pressed against the hollow of your throat while he brought you to a climax with his fingers. Bruce would never stop showing you his love, for as long as he lived.

Alfred was very fond of you too.

The two of you had gotten along very well immediately after your first meeting, with Alfred telling you all sorts of embarrassing stories from Bruce's childhood. You laughed and replied in kind, and the two of you sort of teamed up to make his life a living hell (in the best way possible), teasing him to no end and cursing him with the worst jokes known to mankind.

Alfred too could see you were the one for his boss.

Saw it in the way Bruce looked at you, like everyone else in the world was gone and the only thing that mattered was the shine in your eyes. Saw it in the way he bent over to whisper sweet nothings into your ear that made you giggle out loud, just the way he saw Thomas Wayne do with his wife.

Saw it in the way Bruce paced holes into his study, pondering on what ring to get you. He bothered him to exhaustion that day, wondering about the colours you'd prefer, what size and shaped rock to get you, how, when, and where to propose.

"It has to be perfect, Alfred," he muttered, shaking his head and sighing incessantly. "I can't just pick any ring. It has to be meaningful. Her birthstone? No. No, absolutely not, that's lame. It's lame – it's dated. She wouldn't like it. Maybe she doesn't even like her birthstone. A diamond. A diamond! No. Out of the question. What if she doesn't like diamonds?"

"If I may give you a piece of advice, sir?" Alfred asked. However entertaining it was to see the mighty Bruce Wayne freak out over an engagement ring, this man was still his boy, and he couldn't bear to see him distressed. "If I recall, it was in your mother's will that her ring was to be stored and kept locked away in the possibility of her passing. I believe it is stored away in her old jewel box, as she was never buried with it. She wanted you to have it."

Bruce's eyes softened, as they often did at the mention of his parents.

"My mother's ring?" he asked to which Alfred nodded dutifully.

"It has been in your family for more than 6 generations now. Your mother wanted you to have it."

Some mixed feeling akin to grief and love passed through his eyes, and Bruce found himself staring at the floor. His mother's ring. A family heirloom, passed on from generation to generation. And now it was his. And would become yours. A million thoughts could've crossed through his mind. "Should I give something this important to her?" or "Is she the right person for this ring?" or maybe even "This is far too important. I need to think twice before making this decision".

But surprisingly, the only thought that came to him was "There is no one out there more deserving of this ring than her".

It was endearing, really, and Alfred Pennyworth was more than happy to see the boy he'd watched grow and loved as his own become his own man, and finally find the love he so much deserved.

When you got home on a warm May night and showed off your ring to him, smiling from ear to ear, eyes red and makeup slightly smudged from the tears you'd no doubt shed, he hugged you tightly and wished you all the best. He was sure the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne would've loved you, and his eyes teared up at the thought.

Bruce caught sight of this and made his way towards the older man, worried that something might be wrong, the answer almost made him cry as well.

"It seemed like only yesterday I was patching your arm up after a rough fall, Master Wayne. And here you are today, carrying the legacy of your family, a man of your own, about to embark on this beautiful journey that's marriage. I am so very proud of the man you have become, and I'm sure your parents would too."

The two of them hugged warmly. Alfred was the only person besides you who got to see the more vulnerable side of Bruce – well, rather, you were the other person beside him. Having grown up with only his butler, Bruce saw him as a father figure. Sure, he'd never be able to replace his actual dad, but Bruce looked up and admired Alfred very much, considering him part of the family. No one seemed to care about him as much, and he was forever grateful.

That very night, you three toasted with champagne, sharing stories and anecdotes from Bruce's childhood, your relationship, and making plans for the future. And after Alfred had long retired for the night, Bruce took you in his arms, carried you off to his bedroom and made sure to remind you over and over again just how much he loved you.

After the engagement, Bruce told you about his double identity as Batman. You'd never suspected it – you were both responsible adults, each had your own job and errands to run. Not to mention that Bruce was the CEO of a whole company. To you, it was normal if he had to cancel one or two dates, or if you went a few days without seeing him. Sure, you missed him, and sometimes it made your heart ache, but you were a busy woman yourself, and always found yourself surrounded by things to do; hobbies, errands, work – you always had a lot going on, so Bruce's absence felt normal.

He was afraid you'd leave him, but in true you fashion, it just made you even more in love. The man you adored more than anything and wanted to spend the rest of your life with was the one keeping Gotham safe at night. You begged him there and then to show you all his cool gadgets, teach you how everything worked, and your mouth watered at the possibility of having sex in what you called "the Batcar".

"Batcar?" Bruce asked, cringing.

"No – that sounds terrible. Hmmm... Batengine?"

"It's called the Tumbler, and that's all. No Bat prefixes."

"No – no, it doesn't work like that. It needs a name. Oh. OH – Oh, holy fuck. Okay, get ready for this." You placed your hands in front of you, smiling. "You ready?"

"Just get on with it."

"I was just making sure you were ready. Okay listen. The Batmobile."

Bruce looked at you.

You looked at him.

Bruce looked at you.

You looked at him.

Bruce looked at you.

And then he made your wish come true, carrying you off towards the Batmobile.

Later, when you were curled up in his arms, you grinned, placing a cheeky kiss on his jaw.

"You're wearing the suit next time.”

Your engagement was happily lived.

You and Bruce tried to keep it a secret for as long as you could, wanting to enjoy some time together away from the prying eyes of Gotham, but as soon as one photographer caught you taking a spoon to your lips, and the beautiful diamond ring caught in the light, it was over.

“So much for privacy,” you muttered, collapsing on your couch, gripping the latest gossip magazine. The words “WAYNE HEIR TO FINALLY SETTLE! Billionaire playboy finally tamed!?” were plastered on the cover, as well as a big picture of you hiding your face with your left hand as Bruce brought you close to him. “I wonder if they’ll ever leave us alone.”

“Probably not. You’ll get used to it; it comes with the name.” Bruce kissed the top of your head, handing you a cup of coffee. You smiled and sat up straight, taking a sip from it and humming in delight.

“This is real good. Did Alfred make it?”

“Why is it so hard to believe that I would make a good cup of coffee?” Your fiancé asked, sitting beside you. One hand snaked around your waist and brought you closer, and the other softly flicked your nose.

“You burned the coffee beans last time you tried. I don’t even know how that’s possible, Bruce,” you sighed.

“I did my best.” Was his response.

“Maybe stick to being Bruce Wayne by day, and Batman by night. I love a good alliteration, but you were not meant to be a barista.”

Bruce chuckled and kissed you, tasting the sweet coffee off your lips. He hummed, gazing at you through his dark lashes.

“You’re right, this is good. Most likely wasn’t made by me.”

“It definitely wasn’t made by you.”

“You are such a hater,” Bruce sighed, playfully kissing your nose. “I’m never making you any more coffee from now on.”

Your eyes lit up and you smiled at him jokingly.

“Is that a promise?”

Bruce just shook his head and bent down to kiss you. You smiled against his lips, and he took the opportunity to give your waist a good squeeze, causing you to flinch.

“Stop that! I’m going to spill this all over the couch!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time – I recall someone spilling coffee all over me and somehow making it my fault,” Bruce joked, raising a quizzical brow. You smiled fondly at the memory. It was your favourite story to tell.

“You weren’t watching your step. It wasn’t my fault.”

“You bumped into me.”

“No, you bumped into me because you weren’t paying attention. And then you made me spill your coffee all over you.” You smiled and kissed him again. When you pulled away, you felt him chase after you, capturing your lips with his own once again.

Brushing his lips against yours, he murmured, “And I’m glad I did. I got to meet the love of my life that way.”

“You’re so corny, Bruce Wayne. I wonder what the public would think of you if they saw you like this.”

“I don’t care what the public thinks of me as long as you’re by my side.”

You smiled, and so did he. Truer words had never been spoken.

Now that you knew he was Batman, you worried more often.

What before was considered simply a “busy night for Mr. CEO” was now “night out in Gotham, fighting criminals and possibly getting injured”. You found yourself pacing circles around your bedroom, biting on your nails, and hoping that Bruce would come home soon.

You’d asked Alfred for some tips – how could he appear so relaxed knowing that the boy he treated as his own son was out there, doing what he did? Knowing that he put himself in the face of danger so often and sometimes with no regard for his own life?

“It’s hard, Miss,” he told you over a warm cup of tea. “But in the end, Master Wayne knows what he is doing. And now he has one more reason to get back home safely. Everything will be alright.”

And thankfully, he usually did.

You two had a sort of unspoken deal.

Bruce would always wake you up whenever he returned, even if just to let you know he was safe and home. Sometimes, you’d wake up, insisting on checking him for bruises and marks, and even going as far as patching them up.

“The kitchen has better lighting, c’mon,” you mumbled, voice still coated in exhaustion. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, yawning as you made your way towards the kitchen to deal with his bruises. It was routine, at this point. Bruce sat down, you opened your first-aid kit, you two had a snack and went back to bed. It was domestic, in a way. Not really something a regular couple would do, but you and Bruce had never really been regular.

“You’re lucky that one isn’t big,” you said, pointing towards the purple bruise forming on top of his right pectoral. You’d seen worse – sometimes he came home with bullet wounds, or deep gashes on his skin. Not that this was any more reassuring, but you were just glad that compared to other nights, he didn’t seem to be suffering too much. “It should heal in a few days, as long as you keep applying the cream.”

“What would I do without you?” he asked, with a soft smile. This is how you knew Bruce had truly returned home. Some nights he’d be far too tired to speak, choosing to kiss you and softly touch you to remind you of his love. Others, he would lock himself up in the Batcave, somehow convinced he wasn’t worthy of you. Of course you offered to talk to him, to help carry his burdens, but he never wanted to drag you into that side of his life, so most of the time, he would keep to himself.

Right now, though, he seemed to be doing fine. He told you patrol was rather easy, there were no major criminals out, and that nothing was wrong. His smiles and chuckles meant that Bruce, your Bruce was back.

“I don’t know,” you said, moving to open the fridge. As soon as you did, you turned away from it and gagged. “Shit – that’s disgusting,” you said, closing the door and shaking your head.

“What?” Bruce turned to you. “Is there something wrong?”

“I think there must be something rotten in here, it smells foul. Fuck, it smells so disgusting, I think I’m going to vomit,” you mumbled, moving away from the fridge as quickly as you could. Bruce got up right after and carefully opened the door. Nothing. Nothing seemed to smell rotten – nor it would make any sense if it did. Alfred was always on top of groceries, and never in his life he recalled a moment where something was rotten or went to waste.

“Are you sure?” he asked, turning to you. “I can’t smell anything bad.” Searching through the items, he opened and closed lids, smelling whatever was inside. Everything seemed to be intact.

“Are you serious? It smells disgusting – close that door!”

“Honey, I can’t find anything in here that smells bad. Maybe you’re just sensitive or something.” Bruce closed the door and walked towards you, wrapping you around his arms. “We should go to sleep. It’s late.”

You nodded into his chest and allowed him to carry you back to bed.

As you drifted off to sleep, you thought of how nice it would be if every single day was like this – patrol-wise. Bruce would come home with barely any scratches, you’d take care of him in about 10 minutes, and before you knew it, you’d be back in bed, hugging him tightly against you.

Unfortunately, the future held other plans.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t The Dark Knight himself,” a very familiar voice said.

Bruce turned around and faced the familiar mask of the Scarecrow, the man he knew to be Dr. Jonathan Crane. And he seemed to be in top shape – last time he’d seen the bastard, he was mumbling incoherently and out of his mind. How he’d gotten himself out of Arkham, Bruce had no idea, but he was sure to send him back there in no time.

“Crane.” Bruce said, ready to fight at any time. He knew Crane used a special toxin to induce fear in his enemies, and although he was immune to it, he had no idea what other people he’d convinced to do his dirty work. Had no idea if he should suspect any surprise attacks and did not want to take chances.

“You know, it’s funny that I find you here, especially after all the… studying I was doing just last night.” Crane paced around the alley, trying to get Bruce’s – the Batman’s – attention. “I was thinking, what is the big bad bat afraid of?” Placing a hand on his chin, he pretended to be deep in thought.

“Cut the crap Crane,” Bruce all but spat, “What do you want?”

Crane – the Scarecrow – however, did not seem in the mood to stop.

“At first, I couldn’t quite get it. After all, you’re just a man,” Crane put extra emphasis on his words. Bruce saw right through him. He wasn’t the first one who tried to make him feel helpless. “But then, it hit me.”

The Scarecrow kept walking around, weaving a narrative to get into Bruce’s head. The latter one stood his ground. He had half a mind to slam Crane against the nearest wall and just hand him over to the authorities, who’d already been called and were on their way, but part of him wanted to hear whatever the maniac had to say.

He shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, but something inside him stirred. Crane looked carefree, relaxed. What had he done?

“Tell me, Bruce,” he said the name with a twisted kind of glee, something that made Bruce’s stomach drop unpleasantly. “Does it worry you when you leave your poor little wife all alone in your Manor? Knowing that anyone could get to her, knowing that she’s defenceless without you to protect her?”

What?

How did he know about him?

Most importantly, how did he know about you? Had he investigated you? Put the pieces together? Had Bruce accidentally left any sort of clue that led him to make the connection?

“Ah – right,” Crane said, removing his mask and offering Bruce a sadistic smile, “You thought no one would figure out your little secret, would you, Batman? How unfortunate.”

In about a second, Bruce was close to Crane, gripping him by the collar of his shirt.

“What have you done to her!?” He snapped, anger clouding his judgement.

“Ah, ah, ah! Now, don’t be crass, Bruce, we’re both respected men and can do this the hard way or the easy way. And I would hate for someone to find out your little secret. Wouldn’t you agree?” The man smiled mockingly, making Bruce’s blood boil.

“Who knows!? Who have you told?” he roared. All judgement and common sense had jumped off the window. Bruce remembered his training; remembered how he was told to keep his emotions at bay. Use his head, not his heart.

“This is where things get complicated now, Batman.” Crane spoke calmly. “I’m the only one who’s aware of your little secret.” Bruce almost sighed in relief. “But that can easily change. Help me get what I want, and I won’t tell a soul. Do anything to stop me, and I’ll let the whole world know who’s hiding under the mask. And believe me – every Arkham inmate would like to know.”

Bruce lowered the Scarecrow onto the ground, breathing heavily. Jonathan Crane knew his identity, knew who he was, where he lived, knew who his wife was. If he didn’t play this correctly, you’d be in great danger.

Reaching towards his pocket, Crane pulled out a small phone.

“In here, I have all the information about you, and the Missus. If you cross me, call for backup, or do anything that would sabotage my plan, I’m sending this file to every phone in Arkham City.”

Bruce weighed his options. He had to be careful. Get the phone out of Crane’s hands, lock him up –

A loud gunshot could be heard through the alley, and the man with the mask in his hand fell on the ground. It took a while for Bruce to understand what was going on, but Jim Gordon’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“I didn’t say you could shoot –“

“Sargeant, we’ve been after Crane for months now, I wasn’t going to let him go this easily!” A younger man in a GCPD office called out, moving towards Bruce and the now dead body lying on the floor.

Jonathan Crane was dead. The Scarecrow was dead. The only person who knew his secret was now dead. Instinctively, he bent down to pry the phone from the dead man’s hands. With a few clicks, he realised he wasn’t bluffing. A message with a large file entitled THE BAT was ready to be sent at any time. Bruce deleted the thing and destroyed the phone with his bare hands.

That had been close.

Too close.

The GCPD had killed Crane, and while normally Bruce would be against the killing policy, part of him kept thanking whatever inexperienced officer had decided to shoot him.

That was too close.

Crane had said no one else knew of his identity. What if he was bluffing? What if the phone was just a means to threaten him, meanwhile, everyone back in Arkham already knew?

“You okay?” Bruce turned to look at Jim Gordon’s worried expression. “It’s not often we see the Batman worried.”

“He knew who I am.”

Gordon took a step back – quite literally – eyes wide as he put his hands on his hips.

“Did he now?”

“He was going to tell everyone in Arkham City should I not help him along with his plan.”

Both men remained silent, staring at each other, before Gordon turned to look at his officers.

“I know you stick to your no-killing policy, but maybe this one was for the – “

The Batman was gone.

“ – Best.”

He’d spent the night at the cave, terrified to return to you.

What was he going to do?

Jonathan Crane had found out about him, so who’s to say someone else wouldn’t? Sure, the average criminal could not simply put together that he was Bruce Wayne, but there were always going to be people like Crane, who held big grudges and had a very high intellect.

It was simply a matter of time before someone else found out about you.

And Bruce couldn’t have that.

He ran Crane’s words over and over again in his head.

Does it worry you when you leave your poor little wife all alone in your Manor? Knowing that anyone could get to her, knowing that she’s defenceless without you to protect her?

He was right. While he was out at night, protecting the city, you were at home, with no one to protect you. He couldn’t bring you along – that was out of the question. And he couldn’t confine you to some secluded area. He knew you’d get upset that he was treating you like a baby, assuring him you could take care of yourself just fine.

You couldn’t.

Bruce had to protect you. He had to keep you safe, out of harm’s and criminal’s ways. Tonight, it was Crane, merely threatening to tell everyone about you. Tomorrow, it could be someone doing good on their promise.

He tried hard to think of what to do.

And the only idea that seemed like it could work, made his heart ache immensely.

He loved you. He loved you more than what he could possibly say. It tore him apart to be away from you, it broke him to simply think of hurting you.

And yet, it would keep you safe.

Bruce loved you.

So, so much.

He loved you so very much, that he was willing to do whatever he had to keep you safe from harm.

It would break his heart, yes. And yours too, surely. But after tonight, he couldn’t risk it. He would go the lengths of the earth to keep you safe and sound. He made his way towards the Manor and thought over his plan.

There was no way you’d believe him if he ever told you he did not love you. No, that wouldn’t work. You knew him far too well to know when he was lying.

He couldn’t say he was trying to protect you either. One thing he loved the most about you, was your stubbornness. If he told you all he was trying to do was keep you safe, you’d laugh in his face and promise you some measly criminals did not phase you. It warmed his heart, in a way, to know you’d stick with him through thick and thin, but it also made him worry.

What could he possibly do to keep you away from him?

And that’s when it hit him.

You had to see it.

It wasn’t an ideal solution – hell, he didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to even think about it. But if it would keep you safe? Bruce was willing to give it a try.

You’d gotten home earlier from work. Bruce knew this. You were supposed to get home around 6 and a half on Tuesdays, but it was currently 6 and you were already hanging your coat by the door.

“Good afternoon, Miss.” Alfred said with a polite nod, hurrying to your side. “You’re home earlier than expected.” A lie. Bruce had spoken to your coworkers earlier, and they’d told him you’d be off work sooner than expected. Alfred was in on the whole plan as well. It didn’t please him one bit, but he knew once Bruce got an idea, he would go through it until the very end.

“I told you to stop with the ‘Miss’, Alfred, my name is fine. It’s been fine for four years, and I’m sure it’ll be fine for the rest of our lives.” You smiled at him. You’d been trying to get Alfred to use your name for all the years you’d been dating Bruce, but to no avail.

“I’m sorry Miss,” he replied. “Old habits die hard. And please, allow me. It’s part of my job.”

“You’re family, Alfred. What would it take for you to call me by my name?”

“A handsome raise by Master Wayne.”

“I’ll see that he takes care of it right away.”

Alfred smiled as you turned to make your way towards the bedroom, and when you were no longer facing him, your expression turned to one of sadness. Was this really what it had come to? Was he about to go on with this?

He didn’t want to, but there was no way he was going against his boss’s rules.

Alfred sighed sadly, before following you.

“I’m afraid Master Wayne is busy.”

“Oh,” you hummed, “It’s okay. I’ll just wait for him to return.” You continued walking.

“No, Miss – he’s in his office. He’s told me not to disturb him, nor let anyone do it, since he’s working on some very important projects for Wayne Enterprises.”

Weird. Bruce never shut you out, even when he was busy. Sure, he might have things to do, but he would always keep his door open should you want to talk to him, or just kiss him.

“Well, that’s fine, I’ll just say hello to him and go take a shower.” You offered Alfred a smile and turned to instead walk towards Bruce’s office. “Did he tell you what work? He never mentioned anything about a project. Is it new?”

“I’m not sure Miss.” Alfred said, his heart beating slightly faster now that you approached the office’s door. He knew exactly what to expect once you opened the door, but it didn’t really make it easier. “He told me he was going to be busy all afternoon, told me not to go in, and closed the door.”

“Weird. Are you sure he’s alright?”

“I suppose so, Miss.”

You furrowed a brow. Odd. And it’s not like he told you anything at all – letting you know he’d be busy or working up until late.

“That’s alright, Alfred. I’ll go check up on him. He must be really tired,” You said, and approached the door. And now, you were even more confused than ever. Weird sounds were coming from inside the office. You could make out two voices – Bruce’s, of course (you’d know his voice from a mile away), and a female one.

What in the world could Bruce be possibly doing behind locked doors with a woman?

You stilled, straining your ears to better make out the noises coming from inside. And you flushed deep red once the realisation hit you. Grunting, groaning, moaning.

No.

It couldn’t be, now, could it? There was no way.

You turned around to face Alfred, whose face seemed to go white as a sheet of paper.

“Y-You said he locked himself inside and sent you away?” You asked.

“Yes, Miss.”

“O-Okay.” You mumbled, facing the door.

The voices got louder. The female voice got higher and shriller, and tears clouded your vision. You mustered up all the courage you could find in yourself, and burst the door open, gasping loudly at the scene before you.

A naked woman was lying on top of your fiancé’s desk, cheeks flushed and hands desperately clawing at his back – Bruce’s back. He was on top of her, hand hidden in the crook of her neck as he groaned, rutting faster against her.

You stilled in your place, completely paralyzed. There were no possible words to describe what you were feeling now. Anger? Heartbreak? Sadness?

The woman let out a loud moan and wrapped her legs tighter around him.

“You like that?” Bruce grunted, lifting his head to look at the woman, who replied with another broken moan and a tug of his hair.

“Bruce?” you said, heart breaking in a million pieces.

He looked up. Really looked up, staring into your eyes. Inside him, something broke as well. He was doing this for your own good. For your safety. He had to keep you away, had to give you the life he knew you couldn’t have as his wife. It was too dangerous.

“Fuck,” he muttered, quickly getting away from the woman on the desk. He stared at you, dumbfounded, scrambling around to quickly get his clothes.

“Hey – hey – what are you doing?” The woman asked, looking at him, before turning to you and her eyes widened. “Oh!”

You scoffed, looking in between the two, and stormed away, tears running down your cheeks.

“Honey!” Bruce called. He quickly managed to put on a pair of pants, and ran after you, heart pounding in his chest. You were mad. This was really happening. He was going to forever ruin the greatest thing that had ever happened to him, and all because of the Batman. He’d betrayed you and broken your heart.

But it was for your own good.

“I can’t believe this,” you said through gritted teeth, walking towards your bedroom and slamming the door shut behind you. Bruce was able to catch it right before it shut closed, and the expression in your face was sure to haunt him forever. Your lovely eyes, usually bright and lively, were dull and red. Your tear-streaked face was something Bruce had never wanted to see in his life – at least not when it pertained to something bad.

“Honey, please, it’s not what it looks like.” He pleaded, walking towards you.

You were quick to move aside.

“Don’t give me that not what it looks like bullshit! I saw you Bruce – God damn it, I saw you with another woman.” You said, trying to remain calm, but failing miserably. “How could you!?”

“Look, darling, if you could just let me explain –“

“Oh! Explain!” You hurried inside the closet, fetching one of your travel suitcases. There was no way you were staying inside this house – his house – any longer. You needed to get out. Needed fresh air, needed to get away from him. “What is there to explain? How you were balls deep inside some woman you’ve found somewhere? Oh, really nice, Bruce, lovely explanation!”

“You have to understand –“ Bruce explained, in between shallow breaths. “You weren’t supposed to find out, you were supposed to be at work.”

“Ah, yes. Of course I wasn’t supposed to find out.” You scoffed and busied yourself with throwing clothes inside your suitcase. “That much I know.”

“I’m sorry – “

“I’m sure you are.”

“I didn’t want it to come to this!” Bruce snapped, and you finally turned to him.

“Come to this?” Your voice was low, frail, frightened. Fuck. What was he doing? What was Bruce doing? Was this worth ruining your relationship over? Yes. Yes – of course it did. If it meant you’d be safe. Everything was worth it if you were safe.

You’d have your heart broken, yes. But in a few months, maybe years, you’d find someone else. A nice, normal man, with no secret identities and no secret life. You’d find a nice man and settle down. He would give you all his time, worship you like you deserved to be worshipped. Would take care of you and love you, and never put you in danger.

And you’d be happy. You’d be so happy; you’d have long forgotten about the asshole Bruce Wayne, who’d cheated on you and broke your heart.

“Yes, come to this.” He repeated. “You weren’t supposed to find out. I was supposed to have ended this long ago, and yet I let go for far too long.” Bruce tried to force some venom, some harshness into his words. He wasn’t used to talking like this to you, nor did he want to – but he had to try.

“What do you mean?” The clothes in your hands were long forgotten, and you just stared at him, like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I just – look, I hate to do this right now, and in these circumstances, but…”

“But?”

“We can’t be together anymore.”

Your eyes widened. What?

“I can’t keep lying to you. I don’t love you anymore.”

These words hit you like a truck.

Didn’t love you anymore?

“What?”

“That’s right.” Bruce sighed, trying to keep his composure. “This relationship is a mistake. You’re holding me back, and I just don’t love you anymore.” His voice was devoid of any emotion, while inside, he could feel everything slipping out of control. He loved you. How could he say such things? How were such words leaving his mouth?

“You – you don’t love me anymore?” You asked, eyes tearing up once more. Your breaths were coming in shallow; you couldn’t breathe, nor believe the stuff you were hearing.

“I don’t. I’ve been miserable – miserable – in this relationship,” He said your name, running a finger through his already unkempt hair. “I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not. Propose, settle down, get married – I can’t do it. I don’t see a future with you anymore. Please, you can’t tell me you haven’t felt the same!”

“No! I can’t!” You didn’t sound like yourself. You sounded sad, broken, out of breath, completely terrified. You thought your life with Bruce was going very well. You loved him, and he loved you. Yeah, okay, maybe he had some more work to take care of as of late, but that didn’t warrant a breakup. Did it? “We – we’ve been so happy, Bruce!”

“Fuck – I don’t love you anymore! This, this – this relationship is killing me here! I can’t keep on doing this, can’t wake up and pretend to be your Brucie, or a family man, or God forbid, someday your husband!” Bruce was fighting hard to keep his emotions away from this. Instead, he channelled all that energy into pretending to be angry with you. He put all the anger he felt towards the outside world and every criminal in Gotham, into this fake argument.

And by the look of your face, he was doing a good job.

“How… How long have you been doing this?” You whispered. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer. Weren’t sure if you wanted to know how long your husband had been betraying you, sleeping with some other woman. Or women. It made you nauseous just to think of that.

“I…”

“Just tell me, Bruce!”

Bruce sighed, looking away.

“Three months.”

A choked sob was ripped from your throat, and you grabbed the nearest thing – a shoebox – raising it above your head. There were a million thoughts racing through your head, a million emotions plaguing your mind. But before you could throw the damned box at his head, you ran into the nearest bathroom, puking your guts out.

The whole situation made you nauseous alright.

As soon as you’d puked whatever you had to, you got up, washing your mouth and your teeth. Then, you turned to Bruce. He was standing in the middle of your bedroom, looking at you with a mixture of sorrow, disgust, and something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You couldn’t stare at him any longer.

“I’d appreciate it if you left the Manor until the end of the day,” he said, looking at the ground. “I would like the master bedroom to be clean of your things.”

How could he speak like this? How could he say all of this after everything you two shared? Every word, every kiss, every touch? Had it not meant anything to him? Clearly not, by the way he was behaving.

You wiped your tears (unsuccessfully, since they just kept on rolling down your cheeks), and walked towards your closet, proceeding to stuff your clothes inside the suitcase. Just as you were about to shut your first suitcase, Bruce interrupted you.

“I’ll have someone else take to you the rest of your things. Just take that right now.”

You stood up, turning to him. First, he cheated on you, then he admitted to not loving you, then he broke up with you, and now he was kicking you out at full force.

You sneered.

“Where the hell am I supposed to stay, then? I live here.”

“Lived. Not live. You don’t live here anymore. Just get a hotel room somewhere, I’ll pay for it. But you have to go.”

“Why? So you can go back to fucking your new girlfriend?”

“Precisely.” The bite in his words shocked you.

There were no words. No words beside three little things you’d never thought you’d utter at the man standing before you.

“I hate you. I hate you, Bruce Wayne.” You said, tears cascading down your cheeks and marring your so lovely face. “Everyone warned me about you, but I didn’t listen. I was too in love with you to care about what anyone said.”

Bruce still refused to meet your gaze. He was sure that if he did, he’d break down too. And he was close, too close to let all of this go to waste.

“Should’ve listened to them.” You whispered.

And walked out, suitcase in hand.

“Alfred, make sure you take her – “

“I’ll see to it myself, thanks. I don’t need your help.”

With these words, you were out the door, and out of Bruce’s life.

As soon as you were no longer in vision, Bruce broke down.

He sat on his bed, hiding his face in his hands. You were truly gone. Forever. He’d done what he had to, and now you were gone. It was for the best, yeah, but that’s not to say it didn’t hurt.

Alfred quietly walked into the room. The sight of his boss leaning forward, looking absolutely miserable was a low blow. Finally, he’d found a source of happiness, of peace, of solace. Finally, he’d get to see his boy grow up, start his own family.

But all of that was over now.

He wouldn’t be there to walk you down the aisle and congratulate Bruce on his wedding day. He wouldn’t be there to see him drop to his knees when he found out you were carrying his child. He wouldn’t get to teach Bruce all the little hacks he learned from caring for him as a baby, wouldn’t get to tell your child the charming love story his parents had.

Master Wayne was miserable before you.

He was sure he’d get worse now.

“Master Wayne, I’ve sent Miss Roberts on her way.” He said quietly, standing on the doorway.

“Did you pay her?”

“Yes.”

“Enough?”

“She won’t tell a soul.”

The two men remained in silent for a while. Alfred did not know what to say. He understood where Bruce was coming from. He’d tried to talk some sense into his young master’s head, but to no avail – Bruce was going through with this madness and that was it. He’d tried telling him it wouldn’t matter; you loved him and would remain by his side forever, but he wouldn’t hear it.

In his head, this was the only solution.

“She’s going to be fine,” Bruce mumbled, dropping his hands, and looking at the ground.

“You’ve broken her heart, sir.” Alfred replied.

“She’ll be fine, Alfred,” Bruce retorted harshly. “She’ll go on with her life, forget about me, and she will be safe and that’s why we’re doing this – so she’s safe!”

The older man closed his mouth. There was nothing else he could do or say. It was done, and there was no turning back.

“Will you be fine, Master Wayne?” he asked at last.

Bruce did not answer right away. He shook his head, and Alfred swore he could make out the shape of his shoulders shaking ever so slightly – was he crying?

After a few moments, Bruce finally managed to calm himself. He took a deep breath, quickly wiped away any tears that might’ve escaped, and nodded, still avoiding his butler’s gaze.

“I will be. All that matters is that she’s safe. I’ll learn to be fine.”

“Is there anything you wish, sir?”

“No, you’re dismissed.”

And so, Alfred walked away, leaving Bruce to think the last few minutes over.

He’d lost you, sure.

But he would keep an eye on you from afar. Protect you from a distance. Make sure you were doing alright and that no harm had come to you. He’d be a silent protector.

And although he was hurting, he would bottle up his emotions.

Nothing else mattered, as long as you were safe.

But keeping tabs on you had proved to be quite harder than what Bruce expected.

You’d gone completely off the map, off-grid. You’d forsaken social media and most electronics and were doing a fantastic job of keeping away from his prying eyes. He knew for a fact you’d left Gotham, but to where, he did not know exactly. His sources told him you’d probably changed your identity, not wanting to be seen as Bruce Wayne’s ex-girlfriend anymore, wanting a life of your own.

At first, Bruce was terrified.

If you changed your identity and moved away, how was he supposed to protect you? This whole thing was meant to keep you safe – how was he supposed to live without knowing if all of his and your suffering had been in vain?

“Master Wayne, I understand your concern for the Miss’s well-being.” Alfred had told him one night as Bruce was drowning his sorrows in some very-expensive liquor. “But sometimes, we must respect the choices people make for their own safety.”

“What if something happens to her, Alfred?” Bruce asked, voice raspy from exhaustion and the drink. “What if she’s in danger and I can’t reach her? What if this whole thing was for nothing?”

“Sir, part of caring for someone is respecting their decisions. Dr. Jonathan Crane is long gone, and you yourself told me the information he had died with him. There is no one after you or the ones you love anymore. And most important, there is no one after her. If she’s changed her name, it only means she’ll be safer.”

Bruce sighed. Alfred was right to some extent – as he usually was. Crane was dead, and he hadn’t told anyone about you. Changing your name and your identity would probably keep you even safer.

“I loved her, Alfred. I still do.”

“I know, Master Wayne. I did too.” Alfred sighed, placing a comforting hand on the young man’s shoulder. “But you did what had to be done, now, didn’t you? You said it yourself. She is safe, and that’s all that matters.”

Bruce tried to follow that mentality.

For months, he tried to forget you.

Unfortunately, not only had you wormed your way into his heart, you’d done the same thing to his mind. He would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, swearing he could feel your lingering touch, hear your heavenly voice.

During meetings, all he could think of was how you’d usually send him funny texts and memes you found on your lunch breaks. He no longer got your calls, telling him all about the gossip you’d heard at your workplace, and how much you missed him.

The manor felt empty without your touch, your laughter, your presence. Just the mere existence of your toothbrush was enough to calm him down, to remind him you were there, and real, and his.

But he was left with nothing.

You’d gone, and with you, taken his heart.

And yet, despite all the pain, all the heartbreak, life went on.

Days passed; seasons changed.

The daily cycle continued, interrupted.

The sun rose and the sun set, a small reminder that life waited for no one. Alfred told him many times that he couldn’t dwell on the past, and while he tried to, it was hard.

Winter became spring, spring became summer.

And Bruce Wayne’s heart remained unmended.

He tried to move on – really, he did. But he wasn’t quite sure he’d achieved it. He didn’t think of you as much anymore, but he also didn’t think of much else. It was as if he was numb to the outside world, going about his daily routine as Bruce Wayne and his nightly duties as Batman automatically.

It was as if he was on autopilot. Charity galas were boring without you to make fun of everyone, fundraisers sucked if you couldn’t talk to whoever was interesting and get him to have a good time.

Life went on, but it was as if his had paused.

Alfred did his best to keep him in check. Did not allow him to go without any meals, made sure he attended whatever events he had to, and patched him up after rough patrols. He too missed your presence but knew better not to mention it to his boss. All he wanted was for the young master to go back to the person he once was.

One day, he was on his way to Wayne Enterprises. It was late in the morning, but as the CEO of the company, he could afford to be late once or twice. Not only that, but it was also only natural for Bruce Wayne to be fashionably late – even if it was to his own job.

The car suddenly came to a halt. Something underneath Bruce seemed to deflate, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Alfred?” he asked, closing his newspaper.

“I’m sorry sir, there seems to be something wrong with the tires. Perhaps you could go out and check?” The butler replied with a cheeky grin.

“Don’t I pay you enough for that?”

“Not nearly, sir.”

“How unfortunate. Well, I’m quite comfortable here, so why don’t you check it yourself?”

Alfred nodded with a small smile and exited the car.

After around 5 minutes, he looked inside the limo and sighed.

“I’m sorry sir, but we have a flat tire. But we also don’t have a spare one in the trunk, so I’ll have to call someone.”

“Really?”

“Really, sir. I’m sorry.”

Bruce shook his head, waving his newspaper dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go by foot.”

“Are you sure, sir? It’s still a few blocks away. Perhaps we should wait until someone comes to fix it. And what if something happens to you?”

Bruce gave his butler a pointed look, raising an eyebrow, to which the older man just sighed.

“Alright, fine, you stubborn, stubborn man.”

Bruce chuckled and exited the limo, quickly making his way down the street.

It would be good, clear his head of all the torment. Walking gave him peace, made his mind feel at ease. It was as if a burden as lifted off his shoulders, even if momentarily.

Unfortunately, this respite did not last long.

He was busy looking around himself – eyes trailing the balconies of older Gotham buildings, taking in every person, every door, every window, every life that lives inside each apartment – to notice the figures before him.

But once he was content with the things he’d seen (and decided to organise some sort of charity event, since his city needed him, especially the older streets, with decaying buildings and lives he were sure must be hanging by a thread), he looked up.

And what he saw stole his breath away.

You were standing a few meters away from him, pointing at a shopwindow that had caught your eye. A friend stood by your side; arm linked with yours. He couldn’t care less about her, eyes focused on you, on the big summer hat resting on top of your head and providing shade to your face, on the beautiful smile you wore, on the way your lips moved as you spoke animatedly, on the lovely white dress you adorned.

But most importantly, his eyes were focused on the pretty swell of your belly, and on how one of your hands cupped it lovingly, and the other trailed circles on top of it. He eyed the swell of your breasts that had grown larger, the way your entire being seemed to glow. Not from the sun, just entirely from you.

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks.

You were back. Back in Gotham, back in his life, back to him.

Don’t be an idiot – surely, she’s not back for you.

And how beautiful you looked, hand protectively over your belly. How dazzling, how breathtaking, how shining.

Without even realising it, Bruce stepped forward, eyes glued on your figure. You didn’t seem to notice him, still paying attention to the store in front of you. He could make out the small chatter you were having with your friend – and how much he’d missed the sound of your voice, the lovely musicality of your laughter – it made him feel lighter, fuller, happier.

“I like the blue one,” you said, turning to your friend, “And it’s rather big, so I’m sure he’ll grow into it.”

Your friend seemed to agree with you, “It’ll last for a few months, yeah. But the yellow one is pretty too, don’t you think?”

“Please. A Batman onesie? The last thing I want is my son to wear one of those. He won’t even know who he is, anyway, it’s not like I’m raising him here.” You scoffed.

The girl you were with chuckled, and only then did she notice Bruce, standing far too close.

“Um,” she poked your arm, and you turned to him.

It was as if the whole world faded away.

Your whole story played on your head. Your first meeting, spilling coffee all over his shirt, having a coffee bought by him, the countless dates you went on, dating, moving in together, living what you thought were your happiest years ever, getting proposed to, and eventually finding your husband fucking someone else.

You quickly dropped your gaze to your stomach before looking at him once again and taking a step back. It was stronger than you, an instinct to get away from this man as soon as possible.

"Hey," the words were tumbling out of Bruce's mouth before he could control himself.

When you didn't reply, he took another step forward, making you step back again.

"I have nothing to say to you," you mumbled, looking at your friend. You whispered a quick "let's go” to her and turned on your back to leave. Before you could do it, the man called out your name. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the worry, the heartbreak, the grief.

Tch, you thought, what is there for him to grieve?  You're the one who lost your relationship, your home, the chance for your child to meet his father.

"Please, listen to me," he said, and you saw in his face such vulnerability it scared you. You didn't remember the last time you'd seen Bruce like this, face looking as if he was holding on by a threat.

You were that thread, Bruce thought to himself.

"Did you not hear her?" Your friend came to your rescue, hand protectively over your shoulders. "She doesn't want to talk to you. Now leave it."

Bruce wondered if she knew him. If she knew what he'd done. Had you told anyone? Had you kept it a secret? Might've been hard to do so –  after all, tabloids had loved to exploit his breakup, plastering it all over every cover of ever magazine in Gotham. He'd paid them off to spare you from the spotlight and public eye, but it was too late. People had already begun talking; and what they were saying wasn't polite at all.

"You need to listen to me," he said softly, "You need to listen to what I have to say."

What was he doing? What was he saying? He shouldn't even be talking to you, should be keeping his distance like he'd been doing the past few months. His head told him to stay away – to turn around, go back to the pain and the sulking and the sleepless nights between empty sheets. But his heart was reaching towards you, hoping so desperately that you'd reach out too and save him from the torment he'd been living.

He knew he had no right doing this. He'd hurt you terribly – but it'd been for a good reason, no? He'd kept you safe long enough, hadn't he?

Was it selfish of him to want you back?

Because he did – desperately so. He missed your warmth and your touch. He missed your smiles in the morning and your giggles in the evening. He missed the way you scrunched your nose whenever you took a sip out of his coffee – black with one sugar. He missed the way you walked around with nothing but his shirts on when Alfred was out, teasing him to no end and relishing in the way Bruce's breath hitched when his eyes landed upon you.

But most of all, he missed the way you always comforted him and promised everything would be alright. He missed your tender touch and your warm embrace. Missed your love, and the effect it had on him.

He needed you back.

That much was certain, and he had no doubts about it.

He couldn't bear to be without you any longer. He would keep you safe – God damn it, he would, even if it was the last thing he ever did, but he couldn't be without you anymore. He couldn't live his days inside a Manor that seemed so dull without your shine, eat at a table that seemed so quiet without your chatter, and sleep in a bed that seemed so cold without your body next to his.

Your voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"There's nothing you could say to me that I would possibly want to listen," you said. But your heart was hammering in your chest, and you were sure if he were to strain his ears just a bit, he'd listen to how fast it was racing.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have places to be."

Bruce's heart fell. He was about to lose you again. He couldn't. His hand dropped to yours, and he held it tightly in between his palms.

"Please," he all but begged, "Just listen to what I have to say. And if you don't care about it, if you don't like what you hear, if you want to go, I'll let you."

"I don't care. Happy? Now let me go."

"Please."

The way he said it made your heart churn. His face was the epitome of heart break, eyes sagged, with deep dark bags under them. You knew Bruce hardly got any sleep as Batman, but this seemed too much. And there was something about the way he looked at you, as if you were some sort of mirage that could disappear within seconds.

You couldn't quite tell what it was. Perhaps it was your hormones feeling nostalgic. Perhaps it was curiosity, making you wonder what the hell he had to say to you that's so important.

Your brain yelled at you though, telling you to stay away from him. This man had ruined your life, used you and thrown you aside. You had no use for him. You deserved better.

And yet, your heart still yearned for him. You couldn't lie – as soon as you laid your eyes on him, it did a little flip, at it usually did.

As it used to do. Not anymore. You're not his anymore.

"Fine," you mumbled, shaking your head. "But not now. I'm busy."

"Yes, yes, of course," he said, nodding desperately. "When can you meet me? Tomorrow? Is tomorrow okay? Is it too soon?"

It's not soon enough, you thought. You really did not have anything else to do today but thought it better not to tell him. You couldn't give him all you wanted at once – you were afraid your poor heart couldn't take it.

Still, something inside you couldn't hide how much your heart still wanted him.

"Tomorrow is fine."

"Great, great. 4 in the afternoon? I could have Alfred pour us something? Maybe a few biscuits?"

It was endearing, how desperate he seemed to get you to sit with him. It was cute.

Stop it. He's not "cute", he ruined your life and tossed you aside. You just want closure. That's it – closure. That's all you want from him.

"Fine. Can I go now?" You asked, before shaking your head and rephrasing. "I'll be going now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait – Should I send for a driver?"

"Unless the Manor has disappeared and teleported somewhere else, I think I can manage." Saying this, you walked away, leaving Bruce at a loss for words, mouth gaping like a fish. There you were, in front of him, and just as quickly as he'd spotted you, you were gone. You were every bit as beautiful as he remembered you. He thought of your pregnant belly, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Whose baby was that? Was it his? Were you carrying another man's child? And why were you back in Gotham? Whatever reason it was, he silently thanked the heavens. It'd brought you back to him, and that's all that mattered. With a newfound sense of determination, Bruce ran back to his limo, where Alfred was still waiting for someone to fix his tire.

"Call the company," he exclaimed, out of breath and panting as he reached the older man. "Cancel all my meetings. Today's and tomorrow's."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. What the hell did his boss get into this time?

"May I ask why, sir?"

Bruce beamed.

"We have company."

Alfred had mixed emotions about you coming to visit.

On one hand, he was more than glad to see you. He missed you terribly, his book club pal, his gossiper, his nearly adoptive daughter. He looked forward to hugging you again, speaking to you, asking you how you were doing and learning how these past few months had been going for you.

On the other hand, he was positively mortified. He knew Bruce hadn't dealt very well with your absence, and he was afraid of what his young master might do now that you were here and willing to listen to him. And what would he say anyway? He knew Bruce was suffering and had never stopped loving you, but he didn't expect for him to actually try and win you back as soon as he laid eyes on you.

Sighing, he adjusted the tray on top of the kitchen counter, smiling when he heard the doorbell. Walking towards the entrance, he fixed his tie – he too wanted to look presentable for his favourite young lady – and opened it. Your sight was enough for his smile to grow wider. He took you all in, and his eyes got larger as he spotted the large bump on your stomach.

"Hey Alfred," you said, sporting a soft smile and another summer dress – this one, light green.

"Hello Miss." He replied, tears in his eyes. It made him emotional, you with your hands slowly supporting your growing stomach. He'd wanted to see this sight for so long, and while it was endearing, and you looked radiant, it was also heartbreaking that he hadn't been there to see most of it, and that neither had Bruce.

The very same question passed through his head: Whose baby were you carrying?

"You've got room for a plus one?" You asked, eyes dropping to your stomach.

"I think we can manage."

You walked inside, and hugged Alfred tightly close to you. You too saw him as family, and it had broken your heart to cut contact with him. At first, you thought about keeping his phone number and calling him occasionally; but after learning how everyone wanted to get their eyes on you, you decided that perhaps it was for the best if you ceased contact completely.

"I missed you so much, Miss. The Manor is not the same without you," he whispered, rubbing your back comfortingly.

"I missed you too, Alfred," you replied, tears forming in your eyes aswell. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I'm so sorry, I – "

"It's alright, Miss." He pulled away, looking into your eyes with that kind, warm, parental gaze of his, "I understand. I'm just glad I got to see you again."

With this, he led you towards the living room, where Bruce was already, pacing back and forth. It almost made you chuckle – big bad Bat by night, reckless playboy by day Bruce Wayne was pacing circles inside his living room, visibly worried sick.

"Master Wayne," Alfred said, signalling your arrival.

Bruce looked up and you'd think you had just offered him the cure to eternal life or something by the way his gaze held yours.

"Hey," he said, walking towards you, but thinking better of it and standing a few steps away from you. He held forward his hand, hoping that you'd somehow shake it. You did not, and he dropped it.

"Would you like something to drink? Alfred prepared coffee."

"I don't drink coffee. It makes me nauseous." You softly placed your hands on your stomach, and Bruce got the hint immediately,

"Yes – yes, of course. I'm sorry." He mumbled, running a hand through his hair. By the look of it, tousled and unkempt, you figured he'd been doing that quite a lot for at least the past half hour. "Is there anything else you'd like, though? A cup of water, perhaps some tea?"

"Tea would be fine, thank you." You turned to look at Alfred when you said these words, although Bruce could tell immediately they weren't for him by the way your voice was coated in sugar –  something he knew he hadn't earned just yet. "You still know my favourite?"

"Of course, Miss," Alfred nodded politely with a smile, "I'll get it for you right away," and made his way towards the kitchen.

You and Bruce remained in silence for a while before he seemingly broke out of a trance.

"Please, do sit down."

You did so, carefully tucking a pillow behind your back, you stretched your legs ever so slightly and sighed in relief, hands resting on top of your stomach. "There, there", you mumbled, "All comfy, aren't we?"

Bruce eyed you and your stomach. There were so many things he wanted to ask you, and yet he did not know where to begin. Should he address the elephant in the room? Should he let you speak about it? What if you did not want to talk about it? Maybe the child wasn't even his – you could've moved on and started a life without him. He has no right to ask.

"You're looking..." he began. You waited for a continuation, and it surely came, seconds after. "Beautiful. Radiant."

"Thank you," was your polite response. You looked around the room – nothing had changed. Still the same paintings up on the walls, still the same portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne holding a very tiny and very happy Bruce, still the same scent of lavender and books.

Still home.

"How have you been?" he asked, sitting down on the couch positioned next to yours, and trying his best to relax.

"How have I been?" you repeated. He wanted to catch up? Really? As if everything you had together in the past had meant nothing?

"Yes," he nodded, gesturing towards yourself. "How have you been these past few months?"

You scoffed. Fine. If he wanted to do this, then he would see it through until the very end.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, Bruce." You said, venom evident in your words, dripping off them. "In fact, these last few months have been the jolliest of my life. The man I was in a relationship with, who's also the man who had proposed to me broke up because he said he did not love me anymore, and was fucking some random woman when I walked in on him, then he kicked me out of our home, had to go live in a hotel room for a few weeks before I finally got a place far, far away from his prying eyes, cutting edge technology and vigilante alter ego, then I have to deal with gossip magazines wanting to photograph my face and get some sort of statement from me, going as far as to trying to break into my house just to find out what truly happened."

Bruce winced at the harshness of your words. You'd had some terrible couple of months, clearly, and he didn't know what to say.

"But hey! How have you been, Bruce? How's life?" You were being sarcastic – that much was evident, and although he did deserve every ounce of cruelty you gave him, it also hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "You can't imagine just how sorry I am... And how much I regret what happened."

"Ah," you sneered, twisting your face in disgust, "Is this why you invited me here? Because you regret hooking up with whoever that was back then? Got into a mess you couldn't undo? Miss me, oh so much, and need me back?"

Each word was like a dagger being plunged into Bruce's heart. Had heartbreak turned you so bitter?

No, not bitter. You were right, after all.

"I'm sorry," he said your name softly, sighing deeply. "I need to tell you something."

"And I'm sure I can't wait to hear whatever it is." You scoffed. Alfred quickly entered the living room, placing a tray with two mugs on the coffee table in front of you. He carefully handed you one of them, before walking away. Bruce's nose scrunched. Ouch.

"Thank you," you smiled at the butler, took a sip out of the mug, and sighed contentedly. "This man makes the best tea I've ever drank."

"He really does. But as I was saying, I need to tell you something."

"Bruce, I don't want to hear sob stories. I didn't come here to hear you whine and moan and complain about your life. I'm sure you suffered a lot, but I am not really interested." There you went again, sarcasm coming naturally to you and your words.

"I just need to tell you what really happened."

Another sneer.

"I saw what really happened Bruce. Stop it with the bullshit."

"Just – " Bruce took another deep breath. "Please. Just listen to me without any interruptions, please. If you want to scream at me and yell and slap me and punch me after, then that's okay."

"Tempting."

"But please, just let me speak."

"Okay."

Bruce looked at you in surprise. Okay? Just like that? So willingly?

"That's why I came here, isn't it? Please get it over with."

The man before you nodded. He wasn't going to sugarcoat things. It was time for you to know the truth.

"Back when we were engaged," he began, "There was this one night I went on patrol. And everything was going fine, until I ran into Crane."

You furrowed your brows. "Crane?" Then, you remembered what he'd said about interrupting, and muttered a quick "Sorry, go on."

"I ran into Crane."

It was almost as if Bruce could see the whole thing playing before him. The darkness of the night, the faint smell of the Scarecrow's fear toxin, the one he was immune to. It was all so clear in his mind – after all, that night was the beginning of the end.

"He started talking to me. Trying to get into my head, as he usually did. But that time was different. He... He started talking about me, my own personal life, my identity. And then he mentioned you." His gaze fell on you, and you were met with hopelessness and despair. It was heart-wrenching.

"He knew you. Knew you, he knew who you were, knew who I am. He threatened to tell Arkham City residents our identities. He threatened to hurt you if I didn't help him."

Your face was pale with worry.

"And what did you do? You didn't help him, did you? It's Crane!"

"The GCPD intervened and killed him on the spot. Some rookie officer convinced it was the best thing to do. Crane was holding a phone in his hand when he died. It contained files, files about all those close to me. I got to delete everything just before he sent it."

You listened attentively. No one had ever gotten as close to unmask Bruce. Well, no one until Crane. You had heard of his death, but only thought it was a good thing that such a criminal was out of the streets.

"And I..." Bruce hesitated. This was the hard part, telling you what he'd done, the hard choice he'd made. "I thought... It was unthinkable to lose you. I just couldn't. Crane had gotten too close. I was terrified darli – " he quickly corrected himself, switching to your name. "I couldn't lose you... I barely slept that night, thinking of what could've happened to you."

In your face, Bruce could see some recognition. Were you putting the pieces together? Did you know?

"I thought..." he continued, "I thought I had to keep you safe. And in my mind, you'd never be safe if you were with me. As long as you were associated with Bruce Wayne, you'd be in constant danger."

"No..." you mumbled, shaking your head,

"And you're so stubborn..." Bruce's eyes shed with unshed tears, voice carrying an amount of emotion you weren't familiar with. "You'd never listen to me. You'd stick by my side and argue that you loved me and didn't care about the danger..."

"You didn't..." you covered your mouth.

"So, the only plausible explanation was driving you away."

The tension shifted immediately in the room. Bruce couldn't tell what was going through your head, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"I paid someone to put on that little show with me, that day. I knew you were coming home early. It pained me so much to do it, I swear..."

"I can't believe this..." you stood up, attempting to do it quickly but failing because of your stomach. "I can't believe you would do that."

Bruce remained sitting, not wanting to distress you any further.

"Please, you have to understand – everything I did was for your protection."

"So you cheated on me to drive me away!?"

"We were going to get married! If you shared my name, you'd share your enemies, and I promised I would never drag you into my other life. I promised to keep you safe."

"Yeah!" You threw your arms up in the air in frustration. "So! You could've taught me martial arts! Gifted me a taser! Taught me how to throw a punch, give me a gun or something! Instead, you thought the brightest idea was to dump me?"

"It hurt like hell; it really did. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat – I was in hell without you." Bruce was getting desperate. This is not how he wanted things to go, not how he'd pictured it going. You were freaking out, understandably so, but some part of him was hoping you would understand. Would you ever?

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" You were getting angry now. This whole conversation was pissing you off.So Bruce had broken your heart because he wanted to protect you!? "We're two responsible adults, Bruce! You could've told me what happened."

"I couldn't. You would've never agreed to stay away from me."

"Exactly! Because I love you! I'd have stuck with you through thick and thin!"

Bruce was so engaged in the argument; he missed your slip. Love, not loved. Present tense.

"And that was precisely what I didn't want to happen! I didn't want to come home one night and found you dead on the ground or kidnapped! I was doing it all for you!"

"By breaking my heart."

"It had to be done."

"It didn't.

"I was thinking of you."

"How old are we, Bruce!? 16? 17? Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Alfred had tried to exit the perimeter. He didn't want to be anywhere near you two, but decided against that decision. Someone had to be able to step in and protect the young master. He was positive that given the chance, you'd throw something at him, and that was sure to leave a mark. He didn't doubt your abilities.

"I'm so sorry," Bruce pleaded, "But once again, please understand. I was just doing what i thought was best."

"You left me!"

"I was protecting you!"

"You left me, Bruce!" You yelled, unable to fight back your tears. Once again, you didn't know what got you so agitated. Maybe your hormones, maybe the lingering feelings you deep down still had for the man sitting down before you. "I loved you; I needed you by my side, and you left me! Because you thought someone was coming after me? You said it yourself – Crane did not send the files to anyone. We were safe. We were fine. And you went and destroyed everything we had because of some fear you had?"

It was Bruce's turn to stand up, defensively placing his hands in front of his chest.

"I couldn't lose you. Please, please, you have to forgive me. I was such an idiot, I shouldn't have done it, I know. I miss you – I miss you so much, I have for the past few months, I can't live without you."

"I couldn't live without you either and had to make do! I still have to!"

"There was an uncomfortable silence as the last few words hung in the air. It was then that Bruce decided to finally ask the question he'd been meaning to ever since he first saw you on the street.

"Is the child mine?"

You widened your eyes, looking away from him. Your hands instinctively went to your stomach.

"You have no right to ask that."

"Please. Just... Is it mine?"

You thought it over. There was no use in hiding it. The child would most likely grow up to look like him, bear his eyes and smile, scrunch his nose in the way his father did when confused. And for all it was worth, Bruce deserved to know. He wasn't a bad person, and you knew he'd be a good father.

"Yes," you mumbled, softly.

Bruce didn't hesitate to ask his next question.

"When did you find out?"

"A few days later. I was all by myself, and so scared, Bruce..." Sitting down, you looked at the floor, finding a sudden interest in examining your shoes. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done... Bearing this child all by myself, without you... As soon as my stomach started showing, I had to get out of here. Tabloids were going crazy, and I didn't want you finding out. I just wanted a normal life for him."

"Him?"

"Yeah. I know for sure, it's a little boy. I love him so much already..."

Bruce sighed, raking a hand through his hair. He knew he'd screwed things up the first morning he woke up without you by his side, but this was simply too much.

"I love you." The determination with which he said it took you by surprise. "I always have. I never stopped. I'm sorry for what I did. Fuck, I'm an idiot. I knew I would put you through hell, and I still did it because it would be the best for you. I'm so sorry."

These words did not fall on deaf ears. You were listening, hung up on every word. Bruce was right there, right in front of you, apologizing and confessing he still loved you. And didn't you love him back? Hadn't you spent countless nights crying over his absence, wishing it were his fingers wiping away the tears that refused to stop, wishing that he was there next to you the moment you realised you were pregnant, wishing he would hug you tightly, kiss your forehead and assure you everything would be fine? That it had all been a very bad nightmare and you were back at home with his body wrapped around yours?

"I... I don't know how I should feel," you said. Which was partially true. Some part of you did still love him, but he'd put you through too much heartache. You weren't about to just forgive him and kiss all his worries away and pretend nothing had ever happened. "You really hurt me, Bruce... I don't know if I can go through that again. What if someone else gets a hold of my information? Of your identity? Are you going to push me away again? Push our son away?"

Bruce looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, and in one quick motion, was down on one knee, hands desperately wanting to rest on top of yours. "I promise," his voice was soft, and it reminded you of your sweet Bruce, of the man you'd fallen in love with and were ready to love forever, "It won't happen again. I'll do better next time. Hell, there won't even be a next time. I promise. I can't live without you."

"Bruce, I... It's not as simple as that..."

"You don't love me anymore?"

"That's not what I said."

"So you do?" A hint of a smile.

"Gosh, Bruce, stop it! What you did was terrible – it destroyed me. Those were the worst months of my life, you have no idea how it felt to be me, alone and pregnant and scared! You can't just waltz back into my life and tell me you love me and are sorry. I don't trust you anymore. It's just not that simple."

"I understand."

Bruce sighed and stood up.

"I just wanted to tell you the truth, anyway. You deserve it. I'm really sorry for what I did."

Once again, you're basked in silence. This time, it was you who broke it, with a question of your own, one that had plagued you ever since he told you everything was staged.

"Did you sleep with her?" Your voice was meek, fragile. Did you want to know the truth?

"No." Bruce answered with determination. "We didn't have sex. I wasn't really naked."

Your eyes widened.

"I guess you were too mad to notice." He smiled sadly.

You looked away at the ground.

Somehow, it did make you a little more at ease that he hadn't really had sex with that woman. It didn't erase all of your pain but gave you some slight respite.

"Have you been with anyone, after..."

"No." He answered again. "There was never anyone else. Never could be. There was only just you. There's always been just you."

You nodded thoughtfully.

"Would you like to feel your son?"

"Huh?"

"He's kicking. Would you?"

Bruce gave you an enthusiastic nod and sat beside you, allowing you to guide your hands to the exact spot the baby was kicking him. Sure enough, he felt something press against his hand repeatedly. He chuckled, automatically leaning forward to feel it better.

"Hey there, little guy," he whispered. "I can't believe you're real."

You stood there for a while, him by your side, hand on top of your stomach. It felt weird, but in a comforting way. It was just you and Bruce and your unborn child, and you somehow felt like things were okay. Everything was fine.

"I've never stopped loving you either," you said after a while. Bruce turned to you, allowing you to speak. "When I found out I was pregnant, all I wanted was to call you, let you know we were finally going to be parents...

"I can't promise that things will return immediately to the way they were. I can't promise I won't be mad at you, because I am, I really am."

You shifted in your seat to face him better. Your eyes trailed his face; how you missed it. The lovely cheekbones you loved to trace on lazy Sunday afternoons, the forehead you loved to kiss on clingy mornings. He looked just as bit as handsome as he did the last time you'd seen him. His eyebags were deeper and more sagged, but that didn't stop him from being the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes upon.

"But... I'm willing to try."

Bruce's head shot up.

What?

"You really hurt me, Bruce. I thought I’d never be happy again, thought my life would be ruined forever. I thought I'd lost the love of my life." Your voice failed. "But... although your idea was just terrible, you might have had the best intentions in mind. I just... Wish you'd have spoken to me first."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It killed me inside, it really did. But everything I do has always been for you. You must know that. Must know that every decision I take, good or bad, light or not, is always with you in thought." This time, Bruce did not avert his gaze. He was done looking away, done hiding, done being without you. Should this be the last time he ever saw you, he lingered on your face, committing it to memory. Your pretty eyes, the beautiful shape of your nose, your slightly parted lips. Had anyone ever been this beautiful?

"I know," you replied, giving him hope. "Which is why... Why I'm..." It took a deep breath and a few circles rubbed on top of your stomach to calm you down. This was a huge decision to make. Allowing Bruce back into your life could either be the greatest thing you would do, or possibly the worst. There was no middle-ground, and it scared you. You needed a middle-ground, needed a safety net, needed something that did not put your unborn son's life at risk.

And yet... You couldn't help but still want Bruce. You knew it. Your heart knew it. It still beat for him as loudly as it did the first time he'd kissed you, the time he'd asked you to be his, the first time you woke up with him by your side. You knew his intentions were good. His idea was terrible – fucking terrible – and it had only cost you pain and sadness. But you also knew Bruce made reckless decisions when it came to you. He was in love, and he was extremely protective. He had no one aside from Alfred and you and knew damn well he couldn't get rid of the old butler even if he tried; but would try his hardest to get rid of you if it only meant you got to live another day.

It was both endearing and soul-crushing, as things often were with Bruce.

"Which is why I'm willing to give you another chance."

Bruce released a sigh of release, and dropped his head to his hands, unable to say a word.

"Again, I can't promise I'll forgive you over night. I've just had the worst few months of my life. I won't fall back into your arms immediately. But I want to give you a chance to make things right."

It was only when you saw his shoulders shake, that you realised Bruce was sobbing. You placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and felt him shake his head.

"Bruce?" you asked, "Please talk to me, are you alright?"

He looked up at you and smiled. You quickly realised they were tears of joy.

"I love you so, so much. And I will spend every day of my life for as long as I shall live showing it. I'll make things right. I know I can't take back these past few months, and I know I can't magically take away the pain – nor can I wish for your forgiveness all at once. But I'll make it up to you. Forever. That is my promise to you. Because I love you. Fuck, it's insane how much I love how much I always have. You're my family, and I never want to be parted from you. Ever again."

He reached towards your face, his fingers wiping away something wet. Were you crying? Surely tears of joy too.

"I love you too, Bruce. I never really stopped."

He nodded and leaned closer to your face, eyes dropping to your lips. It was a small question, but he wanted to be sure.

"Is this okay? Can I?" he asked, eyes never leaving your mouth. "Please?" The last question was whispered so softly, you were actually not sure if you'd actually heard it, or just imagined it.

You replied in kind.

"Please."

And without missing a beat, he pressed his lips against yours.

His kiss was familiar. It felt like home. Bruce kissed slowly, taking his time. He was learning you all over again, tongue playfully fighting with yours. His hand cupped your cheek, and he brought you closer to him. It felt nice, it felt familiar, it felt like home.

You still perfectly in his arms, and the thought made Bruce smile into your kiss, pouring even more of himself into it. You gave back tenfold, pressing against him and wrapping your arms around his neck. You missed this. Missed him. Missed not knowing where you ended and he began, missed feeling the soft beat of his heart against your chest, missed the soft groans that rumbled in his chest, missed being enveloped by him.

When you two eventually parted for air, he did not rest, kissing every inch of your face, until you were smiling and giggling and holding his face in place so you could look him in the eye.

"I love you." You spoke.

"I love you too," he replied, before caressing your stomach. "I promise I'll be here for him. I love him so much already. I'll spoil this boy rotten, give him everything he ever needs."

You smiled.

Your life had taken quite a nasty turn after Bruce had "cheated" on you and dumped you. Back then, you thought it was merely because he was, after all, the billionaire playboy everyone accused him of being. Now, you knew it was only because he loved you more than anything and wanted to keep you safe. Yes, he had hurt you, and you wouldn't forget that so easily – but it had still been an action out of love.

You'd been so lost the day you found out you were pregnant, crying on the bathroom of a hotel, clutching your stomach, and feeling like shit.

But right now, with Bruce by your side, his hands on your stomach and cheek, and his eyes regarding you with such tenderness, such warmth, you knew all would be fine.

You'd finally found each other again.

A/N: Whew!!!! We made it!!! Yay!!!! Okay so, in case you've made it this far and are interested to find out what the hell happened to me, just keep on reading!

So, as I mentioned before, I just got back to uni. It's killing me. It's kicking my ass. I've been sleeping less than 5 hours per day, and am currently losing my sanity. I don't have the time to sleep, to study, to write. There's so much to do and it's only the second week, and I'm really sorry for the delay, but things have been hectic. I can't remember the last time I slept more than like, 5 hours.

So, this fic is a bit longer than my other 200 Followers Event one. Here's the thing: I got a lovely request from @xxemmarldxx, but in my mind, it was far too big, and far too ambitious for a short 2/3k word drabble (which was the point of my event). So I told her I would do it properly some other time, because it was just too good, but would end up being way too big.

A few days later, I get this request. And they're very similar. Like, really, really similar. So I was like "You know what. Let's combine them. How about we combine the two, and write a big ass drabble the way I wanted to?"

This is the result. I've been writing this for the past week, and to be fair, it was KILLING ME. I was writing in every possible break, using every free space possible to get a few words in, and at some point, I started seeing it more as a "chore" than something I wanted to do. It became "the fic I need to finish", sort of like a burden. And it's not the requesters fault!!! It's just, I was so busy that, in the middle of everything, I couldn't find joy in writing because I was so stressed.

I'm sorry if this piece is bad. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I think I've done much better in the past, and this is not my best work. The word count got away from me and by the end I was just freaking out because I couldn't write anymore. And that was a real bummer because I love writing and I loved this request so much.

I hope you guys liked reading it and enjoyed it! I really do! I think that for a while I won't be able to write Bruce hahaha, I got a bit tired.

Anyways, I hope you're all having an amazing day!!! <3

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne x you #bale!bruce wayne #bale!batman x reader #bale!batman #bale!bruce wayne x reader #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #nolanverse #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight fanfic #nolanverse fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman x reader #batman x fem!reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader