#drippy even if his heart broke into pieces

[bbina]

wonbin’s fit when ynbin broke up aka chapt 28

[championleonsslut]

How does Leon comfort his S/O whom he finds crying in their bedroom?

This ask is so CUTE! I would have responded sooner but I got distracted sorryyy

“Please don’t cry, love.”

Leon & reader are dating, female reader, angsty, but also fluffy. SICKENINGLY SWEET

Leon came back to your shared apartment with a large smile on his face. He was holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, for none other than his lovely girlfriend. (Hint hint: that’s you!)

He was quite looking forward to making dinner with you, and then cuddling on the couch to watch something, or maybe make out instead while the tv was on in the background.

But instead, his smile dropped the second he put his stuff away, and put the bouquet on the table. He heard muffled sobbing, coming from upstairs.

Were one of your Pokemon upset? Maybe not, these cries sounded more human than Pokemon like. Why would you be upset?

The last thing he wants is for you to be upset. You’re his girlfriend! The love of his life, the one he’s sure he wants to spend everyday with!

He quietly headed upstairs, and the sobbing slowly got louder. The bedroom door was opened, and he peeked his head in. You were curled up on your side, as your body shook with sobs.

It broke his heart. What had happened to make you this upset?

He slowly headed over, and the bed slightly creaked. You shot your head in his direction, with large, red, drippy eyes. He carefully tucked a strand out of your face, and softly smiled at you.

“Sweetheart… What’s bothering you?” His tone was so gentle and sweet.

You sniffled, “It doesn’t matter.” And turned back away from him.

He sighed, “Babe. It does though! If it made you this upset…”

You were quiet for a moment, still silently crying.

“I’m nobody, Leon.”

“What?”

“Why’d you pick me? I’m nobody! I’m just a… a stupid trainer. You could have picked a model or a celebrity. But you picked me! P-People keep saying things like… I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend, or you could do better… And it’s really getting to me! Because they’re right! You could do better. Actually you should do better. You should be with someone who’s pretty enough or talented enough to be your girlfriend. I won’t be upset, because I can’t blame you.”

Is this how you felt about yourself? You thought he was too good for you? That you weren’t pretty or smart enough to be his? It broke his heart. Shattered it to pieces that you wanted him to move on. Because he only wants you! Nobody could ever compare, not even in the slightest.

He snuggled up against you, practically spooning you.

He sighed, “Oh… Love… I’m so sorry you feel this way, and that people have been talking to you like this… because they’re wrong. You are beautiful! I’m convinced you were a goddess in a past life. And you are talented enough, you’re a great trainer! I love you more than I could ever express, and it breaks my heart that you think about yourself that way. Because I don’t want anyone else but you. Not some stupid model or a celebrity. Because they wouldn’t be as real as you! I love everything about you, and I wouldn’t change a thing.” He turned you around to look at your face.

You blinked, “R-Really?”

He sweetly nodded and chuckled, “Of course. Please don’t ever doubt that we were meant to be together. Because I don’t care what other people say. I only care what you say.”

You sniffled, and wiped a tear from your eye, before pulling him in for a hug.

“I love you, Leon.”

He smiled, “Love you too.”

[rainydayfiction]

Chicken Soup and Window Locks

Tim Drake x Reader

Finally getting around to posting some of the requests ; 0 ; I’m sorry they’re taking so long; I’ve been really busy with school since I got back.

Requested by: @ashleycorreenwilliams

Tim Drake x reader where Person A gets sick and doesn’t answer the phone, so Person B breaks into their house.

Word Count: 1572

Warnings: none

You get sick and drop off the grid for a few days as a result. Your boyfriend panics a little, but at least he brought you food.

Sinus infections were the absolute worst. Your nose couldn’t decide if it would rather be congested and suffocating you, or drippy and drowning you in your own mucus. You were coughing as a result of all the crud draining down your throat, and your traitor of a nose prevented you from tasting much of anything that wasn’t snot, so your appetite was nonexistent and you were starving. To put it simply, you would rather have been dead. Your itinerary for the past three days had consisted almost entirely of sleeping, broken occasionally by trips to the bathroom for borderline-boiling showers and the usual business, half-assed attempts at making and consuming anything that wasn’t juice or cold medicine, and sluggish netflix sessions when sleep wasn’t possible. It was all a tremendous drag, if you were being completely honest.

Naturally, your poor health had lead to the untimely demise of your social life: everyone was busy, at work, at school, or just not awake in the odd hours that you were. And even if they weren’t, your motivation to do anything other than muddle through the unpleasant haze your waking hours had turned into was almost non-existent. In other words, socializing was either inconvenient, or too much work. You could count the times you’d checked your phone on one hand, including to talk to your boyfriend, which you would soon learn was a mistake on your part.

You were finally comatose after a grueling session of ‘You Can’t Breathe and Therefore Sleeping Is Not an Option’ when noise outside your bedroom door alerted you that you weren’t alone in your apartment anymore. At first you thought it was just your imagination—your tired brain was making you hear things. But when you listened closer, you were certain. There were definitely voices in your apartment. Suddenly at least a little more alert, you sat up and looked around for anything that might prove useful in the current situation.

Across the room, one of your heavy textbooks sat on your desk. That was about the only thing you could think of that would make a semi-sufficient weapon. Great. You grabbed your phone off of the nightstand, ready to call the cops or your boyfriend should the need arise before sneaking to grab the textbook.

As quietly as possible, you open your bedroom door and slip out into the hallway, creeping across the floor with the book raised slightly. Now that you’re closer, you can pick out two separate voices, and your stomach churns uneasily. You’re halfway through cursing your luck and dialing Tim’s number when one of the voices swears loudly, and you pause. Your brain’s still a little foggy, but you could’ve sworn you knew that voice. A little less cautious now, you pad out of the hallway to survey the scene in front of you.

Sitting on the floor of your living room is Jason Todd, your boyfriend’s surly older brother. Dick Grayson, the eldest and arguably much better-tempered brother stands behind him, leaning over his shoulder. Jason has a screwdriver in his grasp, and various tools scattered next to him, bickering with Dick about the problem at hand. At this moment, you realize that said problem happens to be your window. Which is currently disassembled and spread across your carpet.

“What the hell?”

Both men look up at you in surprise. For a moment that’s almost comical, the three of you take turns glancing at each other wordlessly before you open your mouth again.

“Why are you in my apartment…? And why is my window on the floor...?”

Dick chuckles awkwardly, one hand finding its way into his hair in a nervous gesture while the other rests on his hip.

“Well, you see, this is all actually very funny. Tim—“

“You didn’t answer your phone for a few days and the replacement thought you were dead.” Jason interjects to summarize, eyes and screwdriver focused on the piece of your window frame again. “He broke the lock on your window trying to get in and called Dick after he couldn’t fix it and panicked.”

You raise a brow skeptically at him, lowering the textbook to rest at your side. “Then why are you here?”

“I didn’t know how to fix it either.” Dick admits bluntly.

“Where’s Tim?”

Before Dick can answer, the boy in question walks in the door, pausing when he spots you. There’s a plastic bag emblazoned with the logo of the diner from down the street in his hand.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

“You broke my window.”

Tim shifts nervously before he approaches you carefully. He holds up the bag a little more, as if to placate you with the promise of food. “Yeah, I did. But uh—I brought you some soup from—“

“You broke my window.”

“On accident—“

“Tim, you have a key.”

“I was in a hurry! And, uh… in costume.”

Jason decides now is a good time to pipe up from his seat once again. “He could’ve broken the door instead of the window, you know.”

You turn to give the man a half-hearted scowl at this comment. However, your attention is diverted soon enough by the gentle weight of Tim’s hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Sorry, (Y/n)... I panicked.”

You open your mouth to retort, but your boyfriend seems awfully keen on preventing you from doing that, as he immediately puts his hand over your forehead and starts checking you over.

“How do you feel? You’re not feverish. When was the last time you took medicine?”

You suddenly find yourself swept onto the couch, Tim still bombarding you with questions while he pulls the blanket off of the back of the furniture to drape over your shoulders. The cushion dips as your boyfriend sits next to you, going through the bag of food now sitting on the coffee table. You don’t comment or complain: all of the sudden excitement has you feeling pretty groggy again.

“For Christ’s sake, kid, let her breathe. She doesn’t look too good, and you’re smothering her.”

Wow, you didn’t want to glare at Jason this time around. Dick stretches before walking over to the coffee table in front of you, plucking the bag away from Tim and picking through it before he finds what you assume was ordered for him. He hands Jason his food as well before he settles into your armchair. Something warm is pressed into your hands, and you look down to find Tim wrapping your fingers around a to-go cup of what appears to be chicken noodle soup. Right, he said he got you soup.

“Here,” he urges, “Once I realized you were just sick, I figured you probably hadn’t eaten much. And you know I don’t exactly cook often…”

You have to snort at that; the last time Tim attempted cooking something unsupervised, the entire apartment building had ended up in the parking lot, waiting for the automatic sprinklers and fire alarms to shut off. Tim looks relieved that you’re laughing, even if it’s at his expense. He assumes it means you’re not too upset about the window.

“Thanks,” you croak, lifting your spoon to start eating. Surprisingly enough, you can taste at least a little bit more than you have for the past few days, so you’re content enough to continue consuming the warm, soothing liquid.

Dick and Jason have both finished their food and are once again bickering back and forth. Setting down your now empty cup of soup, you lean into Tim’s side, sighing when he shifts to put his arm around you.

“I’m still mad at you about the window, you know.” You mumble, and you feel the guilty party flinch slightly.

“Yeah, I figured… I really am sorry, (Y/n)...”

You huff again, turning your face against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. His nimble fingers thread their way through your hair to comb gently through the messy strands in the way he knows will appease you. Damn him.

“You’re just lucky you’re cute… and warm…” you grunt and wrap an arm around his waist, practically climbing into his lap with how clingy you suddenly are. It’s not like you can help it; he really is warm, and now that your stomach is full for the first time in what feels like ages, you’re ready to pass out again. Luckily, Tim seems to figure out what you want and moves to lie down on the couch, pulling you over top of him and tugging the blanket up to your shoulders. You don’t hesitate to snuggle into him again, and a quiet chuckle meets your ears.

“Think you can hold off on being mad until you feel better?”

“Don’t push your luck, Drake. And pet my hair again, while you’re at it.”

Tim laughs a bit louder this time, but does what you’ve asked him to. You hear Jason and Dick both make snarky comments about you and your boyfriend’s current positions, but you’re too comfortable and sleepy to really mind. You still feel horrendous, and your boyfriend broke into your apartment just because you didn’t respond to a few text messages. But Tim’s heartbeat against your cheek is soothing, and this is the most comfortable you’ve been in days. As you start to drift off to sleep, he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, and you decide that maybe you can postpone being upset with him. If only just this once.