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byexbyez · 4 months ago

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love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

➵ read on ao3.

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

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And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.�� Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?”

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

“My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden—though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

“If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!)

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

#leon s. kennedy #leon s. kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #i forgot to post this on tumblr #leon kennedy smut

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euaphora · 1 year ago

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give it to me on the daily!

✎ᝰ toji x reader

as much as toji hated to admit to things, he loved letting people know the ways you made him feel and what better way to admit his feelings for you than alcohol in his system.

He went out drinking with his friends for a couple drinks, his eyes felt so heavy and body felt like it was going to collapse.

It was a good thing Geto had called you earlier since he always knew before hand how much toji would drink.

“…like around twelve is good, we’re at the bar with like the thingy with the outside poster that says “enter if you dare” I think it’s for Halloween or something…so come when it’s time to pick him up.” Geto slurs, alcohol hitting him hard in the face already.

He would rarely go for a couple drinks, especially if it was with his friends, geto and gojo. Though, this week was kicking him in the ass so what better way to end the weekend off than with his friends and a couple drinks.

You got into you and got the car warm with the heater, holding you hands out while you start the car. Checking the time you realize it’s barely about to hit eleven so you get on the freeway and head downtown to the bar Geto mentioned.

Slowly pulling up to the gas station and parking your car, you step inside the store and buy some snacks for your boyfriend to munch on when you would pick up, not trying to get ready to hear his rambling. He would always get so hungry when he would go out to drink and begged you to make food or pull up to a fast food restaurant.

Walking over to the door to the bar you can hear someone whistling in you direction behind you and hear them screaming names at you, getting cat called pissing you off with the way how nasty guys could be. As soon as you enter you could immediately hear the loud laughs of familiar men making you smile.

“She even got me these cute black Uggs for this cold ass weather, I was ‘gonna wear them today but I didn’t want any…beer on them. And don’t even get me started…” toji hazily said, cutting himself from talking when he drops his fry that you were standing a few inches from.

He quickly looked up after realizing who’s shoes those were since you would always wear them with your gold anklet he bought you for your birthday.

He gets up from his seat while Gojo continues with his rant , automatically towering over you, looking down at you with low red eyes and a sly grin placed on his face, “Nice to see you..my sweet girl,” he gives you a passionate kiss on the lips, “did he call you again?” He asks, his hands holding onto your love handles.

“I think we both know the answer to that, you having fun?” You question, tilting your head while you bat your lashes up at him. He slowly nods, making you giggle at his slow demeanor.

“I’m fucking ready to leave, do you mind if we drop off the guys first?” He slid his hands off you and clamps his hands together, with a pout look in his face.

Reminding you of a little boy.

“Well of course, don’t want them to crash either,” you slightly laugh but then stay serious, looking at them you see them still rambling about work,“you guys ready to go already ?”

Heading out the bar, toji’s arm was wrapped around you for support so he wouldn’t fall and it seemed pretty impossible since his body weight was insane, muscles taking up most of his body weight.

Placing him down on the passenger sea, he mouths a small thank you and pulls himself off the seat to give you a hug. On the other hand, as soon as the other two boys entered the car, they knocked out the minute they felt cushions. You look in the backseat, watching them drool in their sleep.

Driving towards Gojo’s house, you feel a pair of eyes on you without having to look. Pulling out the bag full of snacks behind your seat, toji’s eyes lit up and grabs the bag once you pulled it out in his direction.

Fucking knew it.

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hioriri · 9 months ago

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-cuddles!-

featured character ☆ itoshi sae

tag(s): fluff! ☆

divider @cafekitsune

apologies if this is out of character.

༊*·˚

No joke, period cramps hurt a lot. What's included in the monthly cycles are also mood swings, you're definitely ten times extra sensitive when it's that time of the month. Well today, you woke up quite late, maybe around eleven o'clock or so. Next to the wooden night stand, there's a white envelope. You take it and gently ripped off the cute little pink heart sticker on it. Then, you reached for the folded white piece of paper. The note read;

༊*·˚

Y/n, you probably woke up to see this note by the nightstand. Around this time I'm probably not home. I may come home around nine o'clock, do whatever you'd like for the whole day. As always, I love you.

-Sae

༊*·˚

You smiled reading the note and the "I love you" that Sae wrote down in black ink. After being fully awake (maybe lying in bed for an extra 10 minutes), you straightened the bed sheets and comforter then started feeling hungry and so, you headed down to the kitchen and made some breakfast. After eating some toast with avocado and eggs, you decided to take a shower and do some skin care. Finally, you just plop on the navy blue sofa and decided to just binge watch Tales of the Nine Tailed since it seemed interesting. You got your phone and scrolled on Twitter to see if there's anything new. Maybe after one or two episodes of Nine Tailed, you got sudden cramps. It felt extremely agonizing to the point where you thought you were on the verge of death. So now change of plans. For the entire day you're not going to be binge watching some k-drama but you're simply just going to wrap yourself in a blanket, tightly clench on your stomach while lying on the couch, play dead, and wait for Sae to come home.

༊*·˚ around 9 o'clock

You hear the keys jingling and the sound of a door opening and closing. "I'm home" Sae calls out but it was dead silent. "Saeee..." you whine. Sae heads over to the couch and sees you lying down, wrapped in a white fluffy blanket. You sniffled, there were dry tear stains on your cheeks and he could clearly see them, your eyes were also quite puffy and red. "Angel, what happened?" Sae looks at you, a very concerned look on his face. "Cramps..." you pout. Sae gently strokes your head then heads to the kitchen to warm up some milk and a hot water bottle. A few minutes later, he then proceeds to give you a mug with warm milk and a plush-like hot water bottle. "Thank you." you then take a sip of the warm milk from the light colored orange ceramic mug. "You're welcome. Is there anything else you'd like?" "Hug..." you looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. Sae then kisses you on the cheek and embraces you in his arms for a long long time. You nuzzle against his neck, much like a cat. "Is there anything you'd like to do or watch?" your face instantly glows up. "I want to watch Spirited Away with you!!" A smile appeared on Sae's face. "Of course."

About 50 minutes left, you fell asleep against Sae. Sae grabs the remote and turns off the TV, afraid that the sound and brightness would wake you up. This all ends when he whispers a "I love you" and slowly falling asleep next to you.

i have little info about sae's personality so i apologize if it's very out of character. but anyways, tysm for reading :3

-fuyuko

©fuyukohasnocreativity do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

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hwaightme · 2 years ago

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Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.”

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

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hand-picked-star · 5 months ago

Text

The 13th Arshi Anniversary Fiesta

Moodboard : Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 19

DISCLAIMER: The story is set in the early 20th century. While I have made efforts to capture the essence of the era, there may be inaccuracies as this is a work of fantasy. I do not own the characters Arnav and Khushi, and this story is purely fictional with no relation to any real individuals, living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

WARNING : 18+, MATURE WARNING

Chapter 19

It continued pouring cats and dogs outside as the day wore on. Arnav had fallen asleep after their conversation and Khushi lay idly in bed, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His sudden neediness was unusual. He had always been intense in bed, but last night and today, there was an edge of desperation to his neediness. She didn't mind, though. She found comfort in the fact that she could be the solace he needed, the anchor he clung to, providing him with the peace he so desperately sought. Yet, she was worried. She wanted to understand what was happening in his beautiful mind, and the glimpses he shared only deepened her concern about the mental turmoil he was enduring.

The clock was about to strike eleven in the morning. He needed to wake up and have something in his stomach. She reached forward and gently cupped his face, her thumb delicately brushing along his lower lip. He moaned softly before finally stirring.

"Arnav, wake up. It's almost noon," she whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"G'mornin'," his scratchy morning voice greeted her. He puckered his lips slightly and kissed the pad of her thumb.

"I am going to make something to eat."

Khushi was famished. She didn't have the energy to prepare a full lunch, so she quickly whipped up some bread and eggs. She stood in front of the stove, wearing his discarded shirt and a salwar she found nearby. The aroma of cooking filled the small kitchen, mingling with the sound of the rain outside. As she worked, she heard the shower turn off.

She placed the skillet on the stove when two strong arms encircled her waist from behind, bringing her flush against his body. She felt a brush of his hand against her shoulder as he pulled her hair back to reveal her neck. Instinctively, she tilted her head to the side to allow him better access and shivered in his arms as the tip of his nose ran along the length of her neck while he inhaled deeply.

“Damn, that smells good,” he whispered into her ear. “And the food doesn’t smell too bad either.”

He pressed his face in her neck, placing kisses that made her toes curl, while his hands slipped under the shirt she was wearing, gliding across her silky skin. He caressed her soft, supple curves, rolling her aching peaks between his fingers.

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Raizada,” she giggled. “I’m trying to cook, don’t distract me.”

“You made me insatiable, Mrs. Raizada. You deprived me for seven days. It felt like seven fucking years.”

“Don’t come near me with your dirty mouth,” she squirmed, trying to get away from him, but his hands had her caged against the kitchen counter.

"You weren't complaining about my dirty mouth last night." Her protests soon turned into giggles when he whispered, "I even heard you call me God."

He could feel her pulse quicken under his lips as he placed open-mouthed kisses along the tender flesh of her neck. Her head rolled backwards, resting on his shoulder as a sweet moan escaped her lips.

"That’s going to leave a mark.”

“Hmm, good, everyone needs to know who you belong to."

"How you want your eggs?" She asked with an egg in her hand when the skillet was ready.

"Two eggs, sunny side up,” She nodded but instinctively gripped the edge of the counter as his hand slid between her legs, over her clothes.

"Arnav...."

“Shh… start cooking the eggs, Mrs. Raizada. I’m very hungry,” he murmured against her skin. With trembling hands, she cracked the eggshell against the rim of the skillet and carefully dropped the eggs into it, one by one.

Arnav turned her head and pressed his lips against hers, holding her captive in

his arms. Her entire body trembled with desire. When he finally released her lips, she glanced down to see that the eggs were already done, With shaky hands, she grabbed & spatula and flipped the eggs onto a plate.

“Ah, my eggs are ready. Thank you,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek before taking the plate and heading toward the dining table as if he hadn’t just bulldozed her whole nervous system two seconds ago. Taking a shaky breath, Khushi grabbed the plate of toast and sat beside him at the table, glaring at him the entire way. Noticing her stare, Arnav asked around a bite of toast, “What?”

“ You’ll pay for this.”

“Okay.” He gave her one of those smirks that made her cheeks flare, and she ended up laughing, playfully shoving his shoulder.

After finishing their meal, Khushi settled on the sofa with a book, half lying under a blanket. The warmth from the fireplace provided the much needed comfort against the biting cold. Arnav went outside to gather the mail and then flopped down on the sofa, cradling her feet on his lap as he sorted through the mail.

"Hey, do you want to go to this week's Christmas party?" he said as a particular letter caught his attention.

"Only if you don't work."

"I won't. They're staging a play, Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol. I think you'll like it."

Her eyes lit up, crinkling at the corners. "Okay."

“Oh, look, there’s a letter from India.”

“Really? Let me see it.”

Khushi snatched the letter from him, tore open the envelope, and began reading the contents aloud. Meanwhile, Arnav kept sorting through the other mails.

"Payal bhabi delivered a baby boy!!!" Khushi exclaimed, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

"That's a great news!"

But then a thought struck Khushi, something she hadn't considered yet.

“Amma probably expects me to be pregnant by now.”

“Khushi,” he rolled his eyes, setting aside the mail and focusing on her. “Do you expect to be pregnant by now?”

“How can I? We’ve been careful. I’ve been marking the calendar and counting the dates.”

"We'll only try to have a baby when you want, not when your Amma or society expects it. Only when you want it. Okay?"

"Hmm."

"Do you want a baby now?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it. Do you?"

"It's really subjective. I want one if you want one. We're in this together, remember."

Khushi bobbed her head absent-mindedly and they resumed their previous tasks.

As Khushi entered the grand hall of the Inner Temple, she marvelled at the festive transformation of the otherwise formal space. Twinkling fairy lights and rich garlands of ivy draped across the walls gave the room a warm, inviting glow. The scent of roasted chestnuts mingled in the air, creating a delightful aroma that heightened her anticipation for the evening ahead.

The large, beautifully decorated Christmas tree stood at the centre of the room, adorned with shimmering ornaments and a golden star perched atop. Guests in elegant evening wear milling around, engaging in lively conversations and laughter. Their faces were illuminated by the soft, flickering light of candles placed in ornate holders on the tables.

Khushi was a vision of elegance and grace in the stunning black velvet saree Arnav had gifted her earlier that evening. The rich, lustrous fabric clung to her figure, catching the light and creating a wonderous glow that drew every eye. The saree's deep, midnight-black hue was highlighted by delicate, intricate embroidery along the borders. She completed her ensemble with a simple pearl necklace which lay perfectly against her collarbone, while her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders. Arnav complemented her look with an impeccably tailored black tuxedo, a crisp white shirt, and a perfectly knotted black bow tie.

The evening was filled with joyful music. A string ensemble played festive carols, their melodies weaving through the crowd and setting a cheerful tone. Khushi found herself drawn to the dance floor, where couples glided gracefully across the gleaming floorboards.

Khushi attention was diverted from the dancefloor when a branch of Arnav's colleagues and their wives came to wish them a merry Christmas, including Lavanya Kashyap. As everyone moved to the dance floor, Khushi noticed Lavanya approach them with an air of arrogance. She saw everything happening in a slow motion and the music faded, a hush fell over her. She watched as Lavanya lightly placed her hand on Arnav’s arm and asked, “Would you care to join me for this dance, Arnav, like last time?”

Despite all the reassurance, her old friend 'Insecurity' reared it's dirty head to have a peek. Khushi pressed it's head down and scolded it to stay away. She saw him shrug away Lavanya's hand. "Please pardon me for my rudeness, Ms. Kashyap, but this year I am saving all of my dances for my wife. If you’ll excuse us."

Arnav whisked her onto the dance floor and adjusted her in his arms. “I don’t know how to dance like this,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Don’t worry, follow my lead,” he said, drawing her closer. "Notice what others are doing, you’ll do great. I don’t know much myself." He kissed her ear shell and whispered, "Just try not to step on my toes.”

They giggled some more as they slowly twirled around the dance floor, their movements becoming more fluid and synchronized with each step.

"You’ve danced like this before?" eyes tinted with colors of possessiveness.

"It's considered improper to decline a dance if someone asks. You need to know some etiquette to get along," he chuckled. "But I never did something, I am doing right now."

"What?"

"Wishing everyone in the hall would disappear, so I could have my way with you," he whispered against the soft skin behind her ear, earning a deep blush from Khushi.

After the dance, Arnav had to go away as one of his colleagues pulled him aside. He left Khushi by the Christmas tree with a kiss on her head but never let her out of his sight. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Lavanya approaching Khushi and from her body language he could tell Khushi was utterly uncomfortable. He tried to wrap up the issue as quickly as possible. Though he was out of earshot, he kept a close watch on Khushi’s body language, ready to come to her aid if needed.

“You’re looking rather nice today,’” Lavanya said, her eyes hard and boring into Khushi.

Khushi didn’t feel like answering her.

“Oh, Come on, Khushi, you should loosen up a bit. No one is going to steal your husband,” her tone dripping with false sweetness.

Khushi’s eyes narrowed. “Husbands aren’t something you steal, Ms. Kashyap,” she replied coolly.

“You seem very sure of that."

“Why shouldn’t I be? Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ll fall for your lies,” Khushi shot back, her voice steady.

“Lies? When have I ever lied? It’s not my fault you can’t distinguish between fact and fiction,” Lavanya's tone growing sharper.

“I interpreted it exactly as you intended. Don't play all innocent now." Khuhsi took a deep breath. It's not in her nature to engage in public altercation with anybody. "You played a clever game and I have to give you credit for that. But I am done with you now." Khushi's eyes determined, challenging Lavanya to contradict her. "It would a be lie if I say It was nice meeting you, Ms. Kashyap. but I can at least wish you a pleasant evening." Khushi turned away to end the conversation and walked off to mingle with other guests.

Arnav saw two women walking away in opposite directions. His eyes followed Lavanya, who was fuming and heading toward the corridor. Rage surged through him—directed both at his wife for still feeling insecure despite their conversation, and at Lavanya for playing such dirty mind games. He had had enough.

"Lavanya, a word"

“Ah, look at Mr. Raizada, rushing over to fight his wife’s battles.”

“I didn’t realize there's a battle going on. What do you think you’ll achieve with all this?”

“Nothing. You stole my peace of mind, so I’m just returning the favor. And by the look of it, it seems like I succeeded, don’t I?” she said with a smug smile.

“You’re a smart woman, Lavanya. These dirty games don’t suit you.”

“The words of morality don’t suit you, Arnav. I considered you my friend, and look what you did to me. You insulted my feelings, rejected me time and again, and didn’t even give me a second chance. So, I’ll do whatever my heart desires.”

“It’s funny how you flaunt the word 'friend' so loosely. You really considered me a friend? It was you who convinced Kamlesh to talk to me about pursuing you, wasn't it? And all of a sudden, everyone in our friend group wanted us to be together. You knew I would reject you if you proposed to me directly."

It was time to let loose of all the restraint and confront Lavanya. The cat was finally out of the bag. If caught red-handed had a face, Lavanya embodied it perfectly. Arnav continued, "That’s why, despite knowing I couldn’t reciprocate your feelings, you had your father propose marriage to me, creating an awkward situation with my mentor. You never thought I’d refuse, did you? Then you spread the rumor of the marriage proposal and tried to manipulate me, fearing damage to your reputation. Is this how you treat your friends?"

“I fell in love with you and I did what I needed to win you." Her voice suddenly seemed so small and lost.

“It seems you have a twisted view of love in your head, Ms. Kashyap. By all means love can’t be obtained by force. Did you ever realize it's but a shadow and a thought that you love? Anyway, I’m not here to lecture you about love. I’m here to warn you, Lavanya. If you don’t stop playing these dirty tricks against my wife, you’ll have to deal with me from now on. And if I get involved, I promise you, it won’t be pretty."

His gaze tore her to shreds as he drove his point home.

@featheredclover @arshifiesta @phuljari

#ipkknd #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta #arshi #ipk 13th anniversary fiesta #13 years of ipkknd #whispers of the heart

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sweetlikesunflowersandhoney · 7 months ago

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1. Fairytale

From the june prompts. Set in the "accidental baby acquisition" au.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a decade, Anetra did not have a semblance of a sleep schedule, and that was how she liked it. She made her own hours, she was her own man. It meant she could go out in the middle of the week and get fucked up, then sleep it off until past noon and wake up fresh as a lettuce, knowing she had all night to catch up on work. That was the life.

And now here she is, eleven pm and exhausted already, struggling not to fall asleep in her baby sister’s tiny bed, again. It’s so bad for her back.

“Milena, please, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I’m uncomfortable,” Milena complains, tossing and turning under the sheets.

She’s already asked for a glass of water, an extra blanket, a story, but nothing’s working tonight.

“Alright, wanna read another book?” Anetra attempts, rubbing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Goodnight Moon? The Very Hungry Caterpillar? The Cat in the Hat?”

Milena shakes her head at all the options. She’s quickly getting bored of the small collection of books she has, since they need to read at least two every night before she can fall asleep. Anetra should take her to a bookstore soon. That would make a good Saturday. God, she’s gotten so lame.

“Can you tell me a story? A new story.”

“What kind of story? A fairytale?” Milena nods and turns to face Anetra, expectant, curling her hands under her cheek.

“‘Kay. Hm.” Her eyes keep closing on their own. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a princess– no, a queen, ‘cause she had a crown and stuff.”

“Princesses have crowns,” Milena informs her.

And then, Anetra feels tiny hands and feet dig into her body as Milena climbs over her to get down from the bed and go to her costume trunk.

“No, Mile, it’s late, buddy, it’s bedtime,” Anetra says, sitting up. “Come lay down.”

Milena obeys, like always, but she managed to find a tiara and she puts it on as she goes. Anetra sets her in bed again, but then Milena can’t lay down comfortably with the plastic tiara, and when she tries to take it off, she finds it got tangled in her hair and it hurts when she pulls on it. Anetra tries but doesn’t fare better, and Milena’s almost at the point of tears when Sasha appears on the doorframe like she knows she’s needed.

“What’s going on, girls?”

“I can’t take it off,” Milena explains in a wobbly voice.

“Oh, baby.”

Sasha sits at the foot of the bed and reaches for Milena, who immediately leaves Anetra’s side for Sasha’s. Quickly and painlessly, Sasha detangles the tiara from Milena’s hair without pulling on it once. Just another item in the long list of evidence that Sasha is magical in Anetra’s head.

Sasha kisses the top of Milena’s head and they get her under the covers again.

“Can you stay until I’m asleep? Netra’s going to tell us a story!”

“Really?” Sasha asks with too much mirth.

Anetra rolls her eyes and pats the bed, and Sasha lays down so that Milena is in the middle. Her fingers thread through Milena’s hair, and Anetra starts the story again.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a queen with a crown– though princesses can have crowns, too,” Anetra corrects herself before Milena does.

Milena nods approvingly and scoots back into Sasha’s arms, finally relaxing.

“The queen was beautiful, with dark hair and green eyes, and she gave the warmest hugs.” Anetra waits for Sasha to catch on and give her that bashful smile she loves so much. “She also had the prettiest smile.”

Sasha shoves her shoulder for that one, then goes back to playing with Milena’s hair. The queen in the story goes through odd adventures and befriends forest creatures and engages in general queen-ness, and by the time she gets her true love’s kiss, Milena is sound asleep.

“Do you wanna stay over?” Anetra whispers to Sasha on the other side of the pillow.

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, it’s late. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. You need to sleep on a mattress, old lady.”

“Oh, and you think you’re chicken? Who’s the one falling asleep before midnight?”

“The same person who got woken up at six by a tiny creature staring at me from my bedside. I almost had a heart attack.”

Sasha muffles her giggles on the pillow, and Anetra thinks she couldn’t even dream up a queen more beautiful than her.

#m #sashnetra #aba au #babies <3 #d #my fics

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blossomwritesthings · 2 years ago

Text

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. | 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬

pairing: minho x fem!reader (afab)

genre: veterinarian!minho (this includes a few of the skz members working in his clinic). client!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. strangers to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. minho is reader's vet. reader is now his past client. this is the second part of the spicy stuff. 18+ warnings under cut.

word count: 3.1k

summary: dr. lee minho is known throughout your area as the city's hottest veterinarian, and he's also the very man that's been taking good care of your two cats for the past three years. but one day, you're thrown down a dark path of heartache when the cat that you've grown up with - nyx - is diagnosed with an acute form of bone cancer. burdened with the hardest decision of your entire life, you come at a crossroads of what to do. and throughout it all, minho is the single most person who continually stays by your side.

18+ warnings: minho and reader are extremely horny for each other. stripping/strip tease. softdom!minho. subby!femreader. teasing from minho. mutual masterbation (fingering, breast play, jerking off). minho is more demanding in this. pet names (sweetheart, pretty, darling, kitten, good girl, nothing degrading tho). multiple orgasms. overstimulation. hints of possession/ownership. dirty talk. breeding kink is alluded to. reader is pretty hungry for minho's cock lmao and can you really blame her-

a/n: ya'll 🥵 idk know WHY, but in all of the many years that I've written smut for a bunch of different fandoms, I've never written something w/mutual masterbation in it. this was fun to play around with (wink wink 😉) and I enjoyed trying my hand at smth I've never done before. that being said, this might me really bad or really fucking awesome... I have no clue- 💀 enjoy, ya filthy animals, and there is still much more 🔥 to come!! 🫣

🐈‍⬛ - ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ other cool stuff ❜┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌! ࿐ྂ

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The bralette you were wearing slipped off easily, falling down your arms and pooling at your hips. You threw it off to the side, laying back down in your previous position on the bed. You turned to Minho, regarding him in silence. Registering his sharp intake of breath, as he finally laid his eyes upon your near-bare form.

You said nothing, silently awaiting his next orders. Because you didn’t want to do anything wrong. Didn’t want to move too quickly, only for him to step in and put you in your place. Or worse, punish you.

“Keep going.” Is all he said, eyes flicking to the bottom half of you, which was still clad in your nude panties. They were thin and quite sheer, clearly displaying the heat that pooled in the middle of your form.

Shaking your head, you gave him a lazy, shit-eating grin, “Not until you take off your shirt too.” When he gave you a quizzical eyebrow, you shrugged playfully. “Been wanting to see your bare chest all fucking night long- that shirt is such a tease.”

At your confession, he was mimicking your smile, hands already catching onto the sides of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head. “Very well. I suppose it is only fair…”

You felt the drool pooling at the corners of your mouth upon the full reveal of his chest. He was incredibly toned - a lot more than you originally expected. With proud shoulders, and the soft outline of a six-pack lining his abdomen. But possibly the worst part of it all was his pecs, which were incredibly round in muscle with pretty little pink nipples. And you wanted nothing more but to feel him... feel the hard, corded muscle underneath your fingers.

“Like what you see?” His laugh cut you away from your daydreaming - from your drooling - because you honestly couldn’t believe that you were being allowed such a privilege. For so long, you had listened to the women around you fangirl over him and his downright godly body. Never, in a million years, did you think that you’d be the one to ultimately lay your eyes upon such perfection.

And in that moment, you felt like the richest woman in the world. Because although you might not have had money in the monetary form, you had Minho. And that was a whole hell of a lot more valuable than any paycheck you had ever received.

You found your fingers looping into the sides of your panties then, as you slipped them down your legs and cast them aside. And finally- finally, you were completely bare. Showing every part of yourself to this man that you had secretly been loving and pining after for so very long.

Minho flashed you a sly smirk before he was doing the same - taking off those cargo pants of his. And when his fingers caught on his boxers, you realized that it was happening. You were going to see all of him in a few moments.

Feeling lightheaded and a little drunk off of love and arousal, you watched, in bated silence, as he pulled down the thin cotton fabric inch by inch. Purposefully torturing you with the agonizing pace. When you wined out in annoyance, he chucked lowly.

And then it was off.

And nothing else mattered.

Nothing in the entire world.

Not your money problems,

Or your shitty job,

Or your loneliness,

Or your self-esteem issues.

All of your past fears and anxieties and struggles were cast aside - forgotten - as your eyes took him in.

Ounce upon ounce of toned muscle. Thighs that were so thick, each one was bigger than your head. A strong pelvic bone that looked carved right out of a piece of marble with the utmost precision. He was all sharp lines and soft curves simultaneously harmonizing as one.

And… him.

You had never seen anything more gorgeous in your entire life.

In the past, you had always thought that your ex boyfriend in university had the best cock.

But just by looking at him, you were sorely proven wrong.

With the way that it curved slightly upward in his arousal, hardness making him rigid and stiff, displaying the thick course of a vein that ran down the length of him. And the swollen-red tip of him kept drawing your focus to his midsection.

You had no possible idea how it was going to fit.

But you knew damn well that it would feel really fucking amazing, however long it took you to get used to its sheer size.

“If your mouth remains wide open like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to take up measures into my own hands and shut it for you.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, meeting pupils that were blown wide with heated desire. “And maybe I want that.” The retort came tumbling from your lips before you even registered what you were saying.

A dry laugh fled from him then and he regarded you with that swarthy, velvety look on his face. “No, you’re going to do what I say,” his command immediately sent a zap of fire down to your core. You liked him telling you what to do. You liked him controlling you. “And what I want you to do right now is touch yourself.”

Gaze traveling down to his waistline again, one of your hands began to massage the warm skin of your inner thighs. Instinctually, your other palm cupped one of your breasts, squeezing a pert nipple as you looked on at his veiny girth.

The sight of one of his hands coming around to take hold of himself caused your heart to skip over itself in short beats. And soon, your hand was dipping into the front of you, feeling the warmth there, the wetness. It only grew and grew more, as you watched him in halted silence. His thumb toyed with his tip which was already leaking with a string of precum, spreading his seed across his milky skin, fingers tightening ever so slightly around the base of himself.

Your fingers played with your folds, index pressing against your inflamed clit. You had to bite back a flurry of moans, as you pinched down on your nipple at the same time that Minho dragged his palm up the length of himself. His entire body vibrated with euphoria, legs trembling as low grunts dripped out of him like the sweetest coat of honey imaginable.

It was so hot and romantic at the same time.

Having him, touch himself in front of you.

And you, doing the very same thing.

It was like he was inviting you in, to view such an intimate part of himself.

To watch, to listen, to understand-

The things that he did in the dark. In private. In the quiet of his own home.

In this very room.

“Minho.” His name slipped past your lips like a scared chant. Like a prayer said in the wakes of morning, by nuns across the world at their special little temples. Except you weren’t speaking it into existence because of any religious attachments. No, you were uttering his name over and over again because you couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop yourself, once you got going. “Minho.” You moaned desperately again, as two of your fingers dipped into your warmth. As you moved them in and out, ever so slowly, your thumb continuing to press down on that special button of yours.

You couldn’t rip your eyes away from him. The way that his dark brows furrowed with pain - with having to hold himself back. His mouth fell open slightly, lips bitten to a swollen red bruise as he grunted in that low tone of his. He kept your focus, cheeks burning crimson red, as he played with himself. Veiny hand running up his length, before sliding down to do it all over again.

And the sound of him, of his slick sliding across hardness,

And the sound of you, your wet folds squelching every time you pressed your fingers back inside,

Did something to you.

Caused you to lose grasp of the rest of your sanity at that moment.

As you could do nothing more, but hone in on him - and the way he looked right then.

“You’re so fucking pretty, kitten,” he muttered in a gruff tone, pupils engulfed in twin pits of desire and jaw clenched tight as he pulled harder at himself. He was fully leaning back into his chair, freeing himself of all other inhibitions and throwing his entire body into the pleasure of it all. With one hand fondling his balls and the other stroking his perfect cock, teasing the red, puffy tip again and again. “Fuck- keep going… such a good girl.”

His words renewed your fire with a new kind of vigor, and you went further and further, adding a third finger. Thrusting in and out, imagining that it was him- with that solid mass of muscle, sliding in and out of your tight cunt. Because truly, it was all insanely tight. Although you played with yourself often, there was nothing quite as strong as the stretch of a cock.

Which is something that you hadn’t felt in… years.

But was something that you had been irrevocably craving for years.

Ever since you met him, at least.

With the bright, shining eyes, that knowing smile, and the faint laugh that always seemed to rest at the tip of his tongue.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and come, kitten?” His thick tone that kept speaking the excessive pet names caused the fever to stir crazily inside of you. And all at once, you felt the rise of release building steadily in the very essence of your soul. “Are you going to let go for me, hmm?”

You nodded your head frantically, making yourself dizzy with all of the wants and feelings. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, as you pushed yourself closer to the edge of orgasm. And you could tell that he was close too, from the way his face screwed up into a stark grimace and his lips pressed together in a firm, tight line.

“Y-Yes, I’m so good for you,” you breathed out, finally speaking after what felt like an eternity of nothing but moaning out his name as you desperately chased your high. Your fingers curled up inside of you, pressing into that warm, gooey spot, wondering when it’d be his fingers instead. Wondering when it would be that thick, veiny cock of his, reaching into you so far and deep and perfect. “I’ll do anything, just please- please-”

You could tell he liked the begging.

The groveling.

It seemed to travel right to his dick, causing it to stiffen up, forcing out a strangled cry from him. And then you were moving faster, brushing and thrusting, and he was moving faster too, fingers pulling and stroking.

Your entire body seized up, as a string of curses fell from your lips. Tipping off the cliffside, you allowed yourself to experience the plummet in full. “Minho- fuck, Min-” You wailed, as you finally reached your climax.

It tore through you like a tornado, hurtling you into a pit of fiery ecstasy and lust. But you forced yourself to keep your eyes open, wanting to catch the sight of his release too.

And when he finally allowed himself the liberation, a strangled cry was pushed past his lips, head thrown against the cushions of the chair, as his entire body convulsed in a wave of pleasure. "Shit- Y/N, you're so fucking beautiful... just like that…” He panted, as his blown-wide pupils rolled into the back of his head, and wave after wave crested over him, whiteness exploding into his hands and covering his toned stomach and thick thighs in a light sheen.

The sight of him-

Of his violent orgasm,

Did wonders to your own.

And you found yourself pressing down hard onto your clit once more, eliciting a few whimpers before you were nearing the brink again, this time at a faster pace. It came over you in droves, painting everything in colour. The room burst to life - as you felt the warmth spread throughout your body.

You pressed your skull into the pillow at your head, the trembling soon taking over and the fire lighting up your bloodstream in a flurry of beautiful desire. It hurt so much- yet felt so amazing all at once. It hurt, to have it be your hands that your walls were clenching around, and not be his. It hurt, that it was his fingers that were covered in whiteness and not your very insides that were coated in a thick layer.

You wanted him to paint you with it.

Wanted him to take that big, girthy cock of his and shove up into you so hard that you saw stars.

Wanted him to stay there afterward, too, milking you completely dry.

Besmearing you again and again in his very essence.

And something small and sad lit up in your heart at the realization that you would have to wait for such a thing to happen.

Your limbs were a wobbly, liquefied mess, as you began to come down from your high. Your sprawled-out form continued to convulse from all of the bliss, legs a little shaky from your two orgasms. Inside your chest, your heart was swelling against your ribcage, taking up all of the space there and making it hard to breathe.

Minho was getting up from his chair then, nearing the bed and crawling over to you, as you were still laid out atop the mattress. He leaned into your form, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and placing a few gentle kisses against your buzzing skin there. “Did so well for me, lovely,” he whispered, feathery voice fanning against your flesh and forcing gooseflesh to erupt across your entire body. “Loved seeing you like that… like how you’ve been for so many nights in the pat, and all because of me.”

Your cheeks felt like they were still set ablaze from everything, and when he moved away to catch your eyes, you smiled up at him. His hairline was damp with sweat, and you tucked a few long black strands behind his ear. “Do you have any idea how hot you are? How sexy you look when you do that- touch yourself like that?”

He chuckled, pressing a fervent kiss to your mouth and smiling against you when you returned it. He caged in your body with his arms on either side of your head, creating this sacred and safe place for you. Like, no one would be able to invade your area while he was towering over you like that.

“I’ve been told before that I am… quite attractive when pleasuring myself,” he said, as his lips trailed across your face, pecking either of your cheeks and nose and chin. “But surely- I have never reacted that strongly to a naked woman before… but then again, I suppose you, my dear, are the exception.”

You clutched onto his right arm then, nails digging into the skin there as you stared up at him with wide eyes. “When… when can we do this again? I- I want to do so much more with you, explore so much more.”

He brought himself closer again, mouth hovering over yours in a tantalizing, agonizing few seconds. You breathed in the sweet scent of him, of the thick arousal that coated the air of the room in a dense layer.

“In due time my dear, in due time… But I just want to get things right- let’s not rush into anything.”

His voice trailed off, as his mouth pressed against yours. You shut your eyes to the feeling of it all, to the warmth of love that was rapidly growing in your heart. And all at once, you felt the exhaustion of the night - of the party, of the tears, of the argument, of the confessions, of the debauchery, overtake your entire form, lulling you into sleepiness.

“But this does mean that we’re dating now, right?” You asked after he had finally pulled away from your mouth and situated himself so that he was laying on his side. You turned his way, fingers playing with a few of his unruly locks.

He brushed a thumb under your chin, caressing you with the gentleness of a lover who had been there for millennia. “Sweetheart, I never allow any woman to leave my bedroom without making her my girlfriend after the fact.”

That caused you to stop, the thoughts flooding through your mind. Because you were his. Officially, this time. Right from his mouth, he had proclaimed that the two of you were together. And like two puzzle pieces that fitted together in an ordained kind of way, you drew closer to him and nestled into his chest, closing your eyes against the exhaustion that wanted to take over your mind just then.

“I’m yours, Minho… I think I’ve always been yours since we met during my first appointment at the clinic. I was just too scared and too much of a coward to acknowledge and realize it until tonight.”

You felt his hands move up and down your back, fingertips playing at the length of your spine, before messaging into the muscle there. And like a warm vat of chocolate, you melted into his touch, a contented sigh escaping from deep within you at the gentleness of his touches. At the way that you could hear his heart beating steadily just below your ear.

“Yes,” he breathed out in a gruff voice, “you’re mine now, and I never plan to let you go. Not for anything - or anyone - in the entire world.”

The sleep came upon you quickly, after that, as you were comforted by his lovely words and the sweet tone in which he spoke them. In the way that his arms wrapped around your bare waist and his warmth flooded against you, washing your veins in an exuberant, brilliant glow of adoration and contentment.

And soon, you were riding on the waves of dreamland,

Allowing the wave of sleep to crest over your mind,

Letting go of all the pent-up feelings,

And captured thoughts,

And restless limbs.

You softened against him, allowing him to hold you close - cradle your head against his chest and press his fingers into your hips.

Because from the very beginning, that’s all you had ever dreamed of - hoped for, longed for - to be held irreversibly, in his grasp.

Like that, forever.

To be continued...

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biblicallyaccuratecas · 4 months ago

Text

It was another beautiful summer day in Forest Hills with the sunshine beaming in through the venetians and the smell of cigarettes lingering from the ashtray on the bedside table. And Eddie was about to lose his cool first thing in the morning.

"Turn it down, now! I'm serious!"

Moments passed. The music got louder.

Eddie kicked his sheets off and stumbled into the living room. This was the last fucking time he was getting woken up by Joey Ramone. Eleven was upside down on the couch, with her feet in the air and her hair brushing the floor. He slapped one of her feet.

"Turn this shit off, are you for real right now?!"

"What! I can't hear you, Eddie!"

The little brat was laughing at him. She'd just blasted his eardrums out of slumber at twelve o'clock in the goddamn morning and now she was laughing at him.

He slammed the eject button on the tape deck and the trailer became blessedly silent. Eleven let out a little huff, and Eddie was sure she was just going to press play again as soon as he walked away. He cased her tape back up and grabbed the tape deck. He deserved a little Iron Maiden time.

"If Uncle Wayne was home he would yell at you, you know." she called after him, and he snorted. "I walked so many dogs to pay for that."

It was true, El had been picking up odd jobs here and there and storing away the cash in the little piggy bank Wayne got her that was shaped like the cheshire cat. When Eddie had asked her what she was gonna spend her hard-earned money on and she'd said 'music', he'd never felt prouder of her. He thought about taking her straight to the record store and letting her pick something out, but she was insistent on paying for it herself. When she had come home with a Ramone's casette and announced she had discovered she likes punk rock, Eddie decided he was going to put her on some other family's doorstep and they could take her in instead.

"Wayne just takes your side all the time 'cuz you're the little kid, not 'cuz you're always right."

When Eddie looked back at Eleven, he was shocked to see her upset. She was glaring up a storm in his direction. She did that sometimes and he'd stopped being freaked out about it a long time ago. Mostly.

"Whatever, dork, play your pretentious ass music and see if I care. Just keep it down. And stop looking at me like that, what the fuck..."

He let her set the album back up again, careful and gentle when touching the tape deck. She rewound the tape and played it from the beginning. Eddie rolled his eyes. "Of course you would do that, you basic wench."

He dug through the cabinets in the kitchen in search of something to cook and found… not much. The fridge was not much better. He was really going to have to do something about that soon. In the freezer there was a pack of frozen peas and some eggos. Well, eggos were better than nothing.

They came out kinda burned and underdone at the same time, but they had syrup which could mask many things and solve many problems.

Eleven was back in her previous upside down position when Eddie went to go check on her, and she had her earphones plugged into the tape deck. He felt a surge of affection for her and then rolled his eyes at himself. He slapped her foot again.

"What? It is quiet now."

"I didn't know if you were hungry or not, so I made us both waffles."

"Oh?"

She followed him into the kitchen in that mouse-like way she had, and considered the eggos. "It looks wet."

Eddie barked out a laugh, "Not the worst thing you could say about my cooking, honestly. Just taste it, though."

She did, and Eddie held back his remarks because he could tell she liked it. He was going to bask in the feeling of being a good brother for a bit longer before he bullied her more. It was his job.

#freak siblings verse #stranger things #eddie munson #eleven

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alexanderlightweight · 2 years ago

Note

outsider pov for the true blood shadow heir alec, for the wednesday prompt?

Here we go! I hope you enjoy

- lumine

“Ragnor!” A voice yells and Ragnor freezes, chancing a wary glance at Magnus who has gone from relaxed to wary and predatorial.

“Oh? Cabbage, I didn’t think anyone besides Cat and I had portal privileges?” Magnus asks and there is a suspicion to his tone and Ragnor says goodbye to a peaceful night.

“No one else does.” Ragnor admits and then he sends Magnus a piercing glare. “And no, that doesn’t mean he’s a threat. I’ll explain later and for the love of everything, don’t react poorly to his runes. I may be able to replace this cottage but I cannot replace the only nephil company I enjoy.”

Magnus mock holds his hands up and chuckles, a dark glint of humor in his voice.

“I don’t touch your toys, you know that.”

Ragnor sighs and rubs the base of his horns.

“Laddie, I’m in the den.” Ragnor calls out and Magnus gleefully mouths ‘laddie’ at him. “Don’t you start, ducky.” Ragnor says with a long suffering with a sigh.

“I have a present.” Alec yells back and Ragnor perks up, because Alec always has the most unusual things that he brings as presents.

“Do not react poorly.” He warns Magnus, “the lad brings me a variety of odds and ends. Nothing he brings is a threat.”

Magnus says nothing but Ragnor just knows that he’s calculating mentally.

Alec enters and he must know by now that Ragnor has a guest but he doesn’t seem to care, which is quite unlike him.

“I got my excuse.” Alec tells him, almost giddy and the lad is covered with a ridiculous amount of blood and what Ragnor is certain is vampire ash.

“Laddie, my carpet.” Ragnor bemoans and his magic shuffles over Alec; cleaning him off without a second thought. Alec barely reacts other than to send him a sheepish look and then he’s offering a box.

Ragnor is too distracted by how dark the box is, by how it seems almost hungry, to wonder at the contents.

“Is that?” Ragnor asks carefully and Alec nods and Ragnor reaches out to gently take the box. “How extraordinary. I wasn’t aware you’d progressed so far.”

“There wasn’t a reason to show you before.”

“But there is now? The box isn’t the gift?” Ragnor opens it eagerly and stares and he forgets Magnus — a stupid, silly mistake — is there and watching.

“You did it.” Ragnor marvels, “and there will be no political, legal or magical ramifications?”

“Camille Belcourt’s heart is yours, Ragnor.” Alec says with a dark smirk, “it was harvested in defense of a mundane. After Camille violated a magical oath between my Institute and her clan. What I do with it is my own business and I’m giving it to you. Free of ties.”

There’s a hot flare of magic and Ragnor hisses, ready to throw up a wall between Alec and Magnus. Except then he has to look at Magnus and instead of anger, he sees a hungry interest.

Magnus has been after Camille’s heart for almost three centuries now and it’s only because of oaths and the possible backlash that Magnus hasn’t just crushed her unbeating heart.

Not for his own sake, Magnus would have survived the backlash. But Camille was clever and Magnus will never be willing to risk Cat or Ragnor.

Which is why Ragnor — when given the opportunity — may have cheerfully extolled how terrible Camille is and how dearly Ragnor wishes to kill her to Alec.

Because if you want to kill someone who is strongest in the dark, then Alec is who you ask.

Or in Ragnor’s case, imply a level of disdain and annoyance and then sit back and watch the show. Alec has hated Camille since he was nine and been looking for an excuse to kill her since he was eleven.

Personally, considering that they’ve been all trying to kill Camille for decades upon decades, Ragnor is quite pleased with himself.

Alec has proven to be as brilliant as Ragnor hoped and has only continued to endear himself to Ragnor.

Which means Ragnor would rather not have to step in, if Magnus gets a little overly interested.

Which he probably will, considering how much he detests Camille.

“Oh? A present for Ragnor?” Magnus asks, something sly in his tone.

“Yes?” Alec is confused and then Ragnor watches in shocked disbelief as Alec, stoic little star eater Alec, blushes.

Magnus makes a noise that sounds like the distorted cross between a coo and a purr and Ragnor’s protective instincts flare.

“Oh no! No, he’s the Head of the New York institute.” He tells Magnus and it’s a mistake because Magnus’ interest only grows. “No! Absolutely not. I’ve practically had a hand in raising the lad!” Ragnor protests, because while they’ve never even hinted at it, either of them, Ragnor also knows he’s the only adult male Alec respects.

The only adult male that he didn’t first have a crush on, Ragnor reminds himself. Because technically, there are two.

“Oh? And yet you never mentioned him.” Magnus’ gaze is almost malevolent as he eyes Ragnor and if he were anyone else, Ragnor would be preparing to write his own eulogy. Instead he summons a pot of tea and a cup and sighs.

“Matters of confidentiality and children.” Ragnor reminds him and Magnus huffs and sends him a wicked sneer even as his golden eyes roam appreciatively over Alec.

Ragnor settles in and summons his pipe and then he sighs and motions to Magnus. “Just give the box to him, laddie. It was always meant to go to him.”

Alec is curious, but he just turns and he gives another hopelessly shy smile to Magnus and Ragnor has never been so torn in his life.

On one hand, Alec is a shadowhunter and he has an immense and coveted power that even the clave can’t control. On the other hand… Magnus is Magnus.

So perhaps the two can balance each other out, which is better than Ragnor thought to hope for.

Magnus opens the box and reaches out with his magic. For a moment, Ragnor fears it’s the wrong heart but then a blissful, gorgeous smile slowly grows on Magnus’ face.

“Thank you, darling. For bringing me something so incredibly important.” Magnus tells Alec as he closes the lid. His voice is low and intimate as his magic shimmers across the box until it vanishes.

“I… it was for Ragnor?”

“Yes, but Ragnor wanted it for me.” Magnus tells Alec and Alec, suspicious and distrustful Alec Trueblood nods, like he could never imagine Magnus telling him anything but the truth. “Therefore, I would like to thank you.”

Magnus winks and Ragnor would normally wish to be anywhere else, except that Alec is turning pink and he just stuttered. Which is a more genuine emotion than Ragnor normally gets out of him on a good year.

“You're welcome.”

Alec says at the same time Magnus says, “with dinner.”

There’s a pause and Alec looks confused and delighted and even more confused about being both and Magnus looks mildly shocked.

“He’d love to.” Ragnor interjects dryly, “just tell him where and when and he’ll show up. Though use a fire message, his phones rarely last long.”

Alec sends him a flustered, panicked look and Ragnor smirks and blows a smoke ring at him. A little arrow made of shadows pierces the middle of the smoke, scattering it gleefully before dispersing.

Magnus is watching with ravenous interest and Ragnor internally sighs because honestly, he is always on Magnus' side.

And if Magnus wants Alec, then Ragnor will help him get and keep him… with some rules.

#shadowhunters #magnus bane #malec #alec lightwood #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #lumine writes #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets #immortal husbands #star eater

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 2 years ago

Text

HERE, KITTY, KITTY (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnilingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*********

SIXTEEN.

The next morning, as soon as Aizawa awakens, he senses that he isn’t in his own bed or on his couch.

He is slightly confused as to why due to the brief confusion of being asleep, but his body relaxes when the scent of your perfume in the sheets drifts to his nostrils. When his eyes finally adjust, he finds the side of your bed empty and cold, not at all warm like you just got up.

He almost calls to you upon seeing this but stops when he hears the sound of you humming in the shower and the water hitting the tiled shower floor. He sighs, settling under the sheets. Your sheets. That he is naked under.

Suddenly, the previous night’s events come flooding back to him: your body pressed to his on the dance floor; your soft lips finally against his; the softness of your trail and ears that his fingers caressed; the sweet taste of you that still lingers on his tongue; holding you, kissing you, feeling him against him as your hips rocked into his again and again, the heat of your gorgeous, wet pussy grinding down onto his cock.

A dreamy smile curls onto his lips. He still can’t believe last night was real. He still almost feels like it was a dream. A wonderful, fantastic dream. Even the scent of your perfume and your sweet voice humming in the shower can’t prove to him that this is all real. That he finally has you. He has to prove this for himself.

He rises from your bed, still naked, and follows your voice like a sailor enchanted by a siren’s song. He walks out into the living room and into the bathroom that is comprised of only a shower, a sink, and a toilet (not at all like Aizawa’s, but then again, he insisted he get a bathtub for Eri). There you are behind the shower curtain, humming to a tune as the steam from the hot water and the scent of coconut rises from the shower.

Aizawa is quiet and quick as he slips into the shower behind you, peeling back the shower curtain to allow himself inside. It doesn’t take long for his cock, flaccid and soft, to spring to life at the sight of you. You look so damn good naked. His hungry eyes trail over your body and the water cascades off of your skin as flashbacks of last night come drifting back to him.

Unable to contain himself, he moves closer to you and puts his hands on your hips. You shriek and drop the bottle of body wash you have in your hands as you turn around, your eyes wide with fear. “Nice voice,” he snickers, not even fazed.

Realizing it’s him and not a psycho ready to stab you with a knife, you shove at his chest. “Shouta!” you gasp, rolling your eyes. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, boy! I’m gonna have to put a bell on you.”

Aizawa quirks an eyebrow at you, now picturing you in a nice little collar with a bell, all pretty and waiting for him naked in his bedroom. That image definitely doesn’t help his situation down below.

“Collaring? I didn’t know you had a thing for that.” He presses himself up against you, his hands still holding your hips that he has come to adore. “I thought cats hated water,” he snickers.

You pull a face, not at all humored. “Funny,” you deadpan. “I still have to get clean, Shouta. How else am I supposed to smell good?” As you begin to wash behind your ears, he breathes in the faint scent of peach and honey nectar wafting throughout the bathroom.

“You’ve got me there,” he sighs at the pleasant scent. “You do smell amazing.”

Chuckling to yourself, you turn back around to allow the warm water to spill over your suds-covered neck and chest. Aizawa takes advantage of this position, pressing his front up against your back, causing his naked, hardened dick to nudge your thigh. The soft gasp that exits your lips doesn’t go unnoticed. His hands move to cup your breasts as his hips begin to caress your neck, gently sucking on the skin.

“What are you doing?” you softly moan.

“Helping you shower,” he growls against your neck. “Unless you feel like you’re better off doin’ it yourself.” He proceeds to “wash” your naked breasts, loving the way the water and suds drip from them. They’re like the sweetest fruits to him, hanging from a tree for his consumption. And he’s starving.

You softly moan again, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of him playing with your tits. “Is that a yes, kitty?” he teasingly asks. He takes his forefingers and thumbs, beginning to tweak and tug at your hardened nipples. Your wet tail curls against his thighs, making him harder.

“Sho, please,” you whimper. “Don’t you have to get Eri?”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I texted Shinso last night tellin’ him I’d be there at 1 PM,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry about that. You just worry about cummin’ for me.”

He gives you no choice but to listen to him when he kneels on the tiled shower floor, plants his hands on your hips to coax you to bend forward, and spreads the cheeks to your luscious ass apart. His mouth is immediately planted on your pussy, gently lapping and licking at the sensitive folds while his hands massage your wet ass. You’re so wet already. Obviously, his kisses and touches have an effect on you. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“God, Shouta,” you moan, and he peeks up at you. The way you stand above him with your back arched and hands pressed firmly against the shower wall is fit for a wet dream. He still can’t believe he gets to see you like this: so needy and wanton.

He wants to give you everything, and that starts with some good-ass head. He continues to lap at your pussy, tugging ever so softly at your pussy lips with his lips, sucking on them gently. He pays attention to every moan or movement you make as he swishes his tongue this way and that, growing harder by the second when you toss your ass into his face.

When he finally inserts his tongue in the little, wet hole of your cunt, you just about shout with pleasure. “Fuck!” you whine, your voice echoing along the shower walls. He groans appreciatively into your pussy, his tongue flicking between tempos and swirling along your clit. He wants to make you cum. He wants to feel you burst all over his face.

When your moans become more urgent and much louder than before, he knows you’re close and works his tongue a little faster against your little rosebud. “W-Wait, Sho!” you stammer. “Don’t make me cum! Please!”

Aizawa pulls away, your wetness soaking his lips. “Why the hell not?” he asks, not hiding his impatience or irritation at your refusal for him to make you burst. You turn to face him and he sees the lust exploding in those brown eyes of yours. “Because I wanna cum around your dick,” you purr. “I wanna feel you fill me up when I do, and I want you to cum with me. Is that okay?”

Is that okay?! Aizawa nearly nuts right there on the shower wall.

Immediately, he is popping up behind you and gripping your hips, making you giggle at his eagerness. You lift your leg up to help him slide in more easily when he lifts his cock and lines himself up perfectly with your entrance. Slowly, he sinks inside of you, emitting a moan from deep within the both of you.

He immediately begins rocking his hips into you, back and forth, hypnotized by the way your ass bounces against him. He can’t help but touch it; massage it; squeeze it. “You can spank me if you want,” you breathlessly suggest.

He slows his hips down, surprised at your naughty suggestion. “You’d like that?” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow. You turn to look at him, a shy look in your pretty eyes that makes him want to fuck you harder.

And when he gives you that first spank, he does so. The moan you let out when his hand connects to your wet ass is just too good to not plunge deep into your sweet little pussy that clenches so good around him. He gives you another one, causing your pussy to throb enticingly around his dick.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, earning a whine in response. “Naughty little kitty…gettin’ so wet over bein’ spanked.”

He gives you another swift one on your backside as he angles his hips just right and continues to fuck you, stroking your pussy walls again and again. He’s relentless. He’s merciless. He wants you to explode all over him and he won’t slow down.

He can tell you’re about to cum when your moans grow higher and more urgent. You desperately grip his hand still planted on your ass. “S-Shouta!” you stammer. “Slow down or I’ll cum!”

But he just chuckles evilly and begins to stroke your tail in between thrusts, earning a keen from you. “Don’t hold back,” he grunts. “Come on, kitty…you can cum for me.”

He then unhands your tail and lifts your leg up a bit for a better angle to your G-spot. He begins to pick up speed, slamming his hips against your ass again and again, plunging deeper into your pussy with every thrust. He makes matters worse for you when he reaches under and begins to rub your clit in small pulses. The cries and moans that leave your lips are a symphony of pleasure–one that coaxes him further to his own orgasm.

“Gonna cum too, baby,” he huffs. “I want you to cum with me. Make me proud, kitty!”

“God, Shouta!” you whine loudly and give a little shudder as you finally cum all over his cock. Your clenching pussy is almost too much to handle, but Aizawa pushes through and continues to fuck your cunt until finally, his heavy balls have no choice but to empty inside of you.

“Fuck, kitty!” he growls, pressing his face into your neck as he spills his nut deep inside of your cunt. You keen and mewl as he gushes inside of you, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck to keep his close.

He slowly lowers your leg but keeps himself inside you, loving how snug and tight you are around him. You feel like home to him. You slowly turn your head and meet his lips, giving him some soft, orgasm-sedated kisses as you indulge in the rest of the afterglow and the warm water.

Finally, after a few minutes of recovery, Aizawa slowly slips out of you and you turn off the water after washing his cum off of your thighs.

He can’t resist having you in his arms again, so he surprises you by wrapping an arm around your waist and the other scooped underneath your legs. The cute little giggles you let out when he carries you out of the shower are like music to him. He carefully sets you down and grabs the towel you hung up on the shower wall before drying you off himself.

He starts patting your feet and legs dry before moving up to your upper torso, kissing your stomach as he does. You smile bashfully as he does so, even when he moves on to your arms and backside. He even dries your ears and tail, mostly as an excuse to touch them.

He finds himself loving to pamper you. You’re just so small and cute. He has no choice but to make sure you’re always at ease and feeling good. When he finally finishes, he takes the towel and wraps it around his waist while you dress yourself in a robe.

“Well, that was a way to start the morning,” you giggle, moving into his arms and pressing a kiss to his neck. “But coffee always works too. You want a cup?”

He sighs happily, already smelling the roasted coffee beans. “I thought you’d never ask.” You giggle again and go to leave the bathroom with him following after, but you put a firm hand on his chest.

“No; stay and finish dryin’ off. I know how you take your cup.” You give him a wink before you walk out of the bathroom with a sway in your hips, leaving him semi-hard and in the mood for a second morning quickie.

To try and distract himself from the way you looked bent over for him in the shower, Aizawa walks back to the bedroom to get his clothes before returning to the bathroom. As he begins to dry himself off, taking extra time to dry off his wet locks of hair, he hears a buzz from the sink counter.

He looks toward it, finding your phone sitting there face up and charging. He looks toward the bathroom door, wondering if you’ll hear it and come running in. However, your humming and the cling and clang of pots and pans say something different.

He knows he shouldn’t look, but he’s just curious. Who could possibly be texting you so early in the morning on a Saturday? One glance can’t hurt, right?

After doing those mental gymnastics, he takes a look down at your phone while drying off his hair, running the towel through his locks. He does not expect to see a police alert on your phone talking about a manhole that erupted downtown early this morning.

But it isn’t a regular manhole, he realizes, as he reads the report. This is a man-made manhole. Or rather a villain-made manhole. He can tell from the language used in the report which he also notices is not written in a way for simple citizens.

This is a police report.

As he continues to stare at the screen, he realizes that the alert came from a police scanner app; one that is reserved strictly for cops to keep track of time. He had the app before but deleted it because he couldn’t figure out how to work the damn thing.

‘Da hell?’ he thinks, utterly confused. Why do you have this on your phone? Could you be a cop on the side? Wouldn’t you have told him that?

“I’ve got some fruit and Krusteaz in here too!” you call, the sudden sound of your voice startling him. He abruptly looks towards the door, afraid you’ll come in, but the sound of the sink running in the kitchen assures him that you’re too busy. “You in the mood for pancakes?” you ask.

With his heart pounding vigorously, he looks back toward your phone where a text message from Nemuri pops up. “Yeah,” he calls back, still staring down at the phone screen. “That’ll be nice, thanks.” Quickly, he begins to read the first text message just as a second one pops up.

Muri: Hey you :) how’d last night go? Can u still walk?

Aizawa sighs disapprovingly despite his face growing hot. For the record, yes, you can walk just fine.

Muri: You didn’t go out afterward, did u? There was apparently a break-in last night at some billionaire’s house downtown. Just wanna make sure you’re safe and not trying to save the world instead of getting some D

Aizawa blinks in confusion at the text. Then, all at once, the realization of the truth hits him like a freight train, so fast that his head begins to spin.

He mentally travels back in time to last night, to when all he did was stare at you after you came. He noticed your eyes, sharp and feline-like; not at all like the warm, pretty brown eyes he’s used to seeing. But he’s seen those eyes before.

And now he knows where. Because you’re Night Claw.

Putting two and two together is like finally finding a missing puzzle piece that helps him see the whole picture as clear as day. Now he knows why he felt like he knew you. Now he understands why he felt so close to Night Claw. Because it’s fucking you. And you’ve been hiding it this entire time.

‘Oh, that naughty little kitty,’ he thinks, a smirk tugging at his lips. You’re definitely going to pay for this.

“Coffee’s done!” you call. “Come and get it!” His smirk widens and he drops the towel to the floor. He knows exactly how to get you to talk.

Quickly, he dresses, exits the bathroom, and enters the living room, not saying a thing. You stand in the kitchen, putting a beautifully brown pancake on a stack already fixed for the two of you. How long has he been in the bathroom, he wonders?

He enters the kitchen and stands behind you, silent and waiting for the perfect opportunity to catch you off guard. “Okay, so I fucked up the first batch,” you sheepishly say, “but it’s only three! I haven’t made pancakes in a minute, but I think I’m gettin’ the hang of it again.”

Once you put the pancake down, you begin to turn around with a sweet smile. “You want any sugar for the coffee or–”

Before you can finish your question, Aizawa is throwing a punch your way that you instinctively catch with a shocked gasp leaving your lips. You then swipe at him, your claws now drawn, but he dodges them and catches your wrist in his hand. Realizing what just happened, you gape at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“I knew you had those claws,” he says with a smirk. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”

Taking his right knee, he connects it hard to your side, causing you to teeter off your feet and tumble onto the floor. You, fortunately, find your footing by hitting a squat, your hand placed firmly on the ground in front of you. He doesn’t stop long enough to admire your flexibility or your skill.

Quickly, he throws another kick your way, but you roll out of the way before standing a foot away from him in the living room. You look scared and perturbed as to what’s happening, but your balled fists blocking your face tell him you’re not backing down.

He charges at you again and proceeds to throw every single punch he can at you. You block every single one with amazing precision and speed, possibly due to your cat-like reflexes and senses. As you do, he moves forward, pushing you farther and farther into the living room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you demand, irate and confused. He pauses slightly in throwing you punches, giving you the opening for an attack.

You take action, connecting your foot to his chest and sending him sprawling onto the couch. He hits the floor with a thud and a burst of pain shoots into his back. He chuckles at the move. You paid close attention to your last ‘training session’.

Placing his hands on the floor by his ears, he arches his back up and kicks his legs up, flipping back up to stand upright. You are nowhere to be found, but his eyes fix on the last place you were seen: the couch. You’re definitely hiding behind it. ‘Predictable,’ he thinks with a sigh. He’d definitely have to work on hiding places for you if you’re to fight crime.

“Checkin’ to see if our training session had any effect on you,” he replies as he slowly begins to walk over to the couch. He takes his time like a predator stalking its prey, tapping into his senses to hear any slight movement you make. “But then again, a vigilante like you doesn’t need much training…do you, Night Claw?”

You don’t speak. You don’t even move from your spot, even as Aizawa gets closer and closer to the couch. “I know it’s you, Y/N,” he sternly says. “You didn’t a good job hidin’ it for a while, but–”

Before he can finish his sentence, the couch is suddenly tilting toward him and threatening to fall onto his feet. Quickly, he leaps away just as you pounce from behind the couch and kick him in the face with one bare foot. He doesn’t fall but he does falter slightly, using his hand to avoid crashing to the floor.

‘Damn,’ he thinks as pain shoots into his jaw. ‘This girl can move.’

Speaking of moving, you’re already scrambling towards the door in your robe, trying to make a break from it. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he grunts, shooting one arm out.

He instantly grabs the loose tie to your robe and snatches it off of you before cracking it at you like a whip. The tie instantly wraps around you, snatching you up despite your cries of protest. He proceeds to tug you back into the living room toward him, tightening your restrictions enough to stop you from fighting.

“Should’ve known better than to try to run from me, baby,” he tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly at you.

You continue to wriggle around despite your movements being futile. “Shouta, let me out of here!” you grunt, still wriggling like a cute little worm.

Aizawa cocks his head to the side, mockingly thinking to himself. “Hmm…nah, I think I’m gonna let you hang here for a while so you can think over your mistakes.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “What mistakes?” you scoff. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “So lying to me about you being Night Claw isn’t a mistake?” You falter, guilt crossing your face for a brief moment until that hardened mask comes sliding back into place.

“It was none of your business to begin with,” you argue.

But Aizawa thinks differently. “It is when I’m the main one you’re runnin’ into almost every night on the streets,” he protests, “and when we already agreed we were friends…which is now ruined because of what we did last night.” At the mention of last night, the irritation in your face softens, replaced with one of timidness.

“So were you gonna tell me that you were Night Claw after we had sex or…?” He trails off, wanting a real answer.

You advert your eyes from him, instead staring at the wall. “I was gonna tell you eventually,” you sigh. “When I knew it was the right time.” You suddenly groan, wriggling about again. “Dammit, Shouta, let me outta here! I can’t feel my limbs!”

“And that’s only gonna get worse if you don’t start talkin’, brat,” he growls, hands still securely tugging on your robe tie. You keep silent though you whimper and gasp at the feeling of being restricted.

Though it turns him on, he’s more concerned with the truth rather than tying you up with his scarves later and fucking you silly. “I’m gonna leave you here all day if you don’t let me know what’s going on,” he threatens.

You gape at him, mortified. “You can’t do that!”

But Aizawa just glares at you, pining you down with a very intense and fixed look. “Try me,” he growls lowly. You hold his gaze for a long moment before you let out a defeated sigh. “How long have you been doing this?” he asks, still staring you down.

Your brown eyes advert his once more, staring off at a wall instead of facing him. “Since I started UA,” you confess. “Nemuri knows because I accidentally snuck through her window one day and Mic managed to piece shit together. I didn’t want to tell anyone ‘cause I was scared of losing my job or getting arrested since I don’t have a license.”

And there it all is: the truth. Laid out in the open before Aizawa to do with as he pleases. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you weakly say. “I just didn’t want you to tell or have you look at me like I’m pathetic.”

He feels something close to heartbreak as soon as you say that, looking so defeated and saddened. He loosens his hold on you somewhat but doesn’t release you. “Now why would I do that?” he softly asks.

You roll your pretty, brown eyes. “C’mon, Shouta,” you scoff. “You’re a seasoned pro! How would you react if I told you right off the bat that the UA counselor is tryin’ to live out her fantasy of being a hero without a license or the hard work you put in to become a hero?”

Aizawa stares you down for a moment, blankly. Then he decides that he won’t react too kindly. “Well, when you put it like that…” But he also wouldn’t have cost you your job. You’re too good at what you do and the kids need you.

You continue to look completely destroyed, and it tugs at Aizawa’s heartstrings. “I wanted a chance to be more than what I was. Catgirls are always underestimated or made to feel like they’re less just because of something we can’t change. I wanted to prove everyone and myself wrong.”

You begin to sniffle and your face contorts as your eyes well with tears. “And I felt like if I had told you, you’d never talk to me ever again,” you confess, your voice strained. “I just really liked you and…I wanted a chance to get close to you.”

Aizawa stares at you, completely taken aback by your reasons. More than anything, he feels heartbroken for you. All he wants to do is cradle you to him forever, keeping you safe from all. He also can’t believe you kept this from him just to spare your relationship with him. You like him that much? Him?

“So now you know,” you defeatedly sigh. “I wanted to have my cake and eat it too, I guess.”

You hang your head in shame as your shoulders begin to shake, soft sobs leaving your lips. “God, I’m so stupid!” you hiss to yourself. “I’m so sorry, Shouta. If you wanna tell Nezu, go ahead; I deserve it for lying to you and everyone else.”

Aizawa continues to wordlessly stare at you, his confusion and anger at your secrets fading. You’re absolutely broken over this and wracked with guilt. He can see in your eyes. He can feel it in your body with the way it goes limp, submitting to his trap. You are 100% honest and he adores you for that.

With a sigh, he tugs one end of the robe, causing your binds to unravel. “Well, that’s not gonna happen.”

You blink at him, shocked. “It’s not?”

He wraps the tie back up and tosses it onto a nearby chair before placing his hands on his hips. “No. As pissed as I am for being lied to, I can understand why you didn’t say anything for fear of losing your job or going to jail. Plus, we need someone in this school to deal with these little psychos and their problems; that ain’t me.”

Just thinking about dealing with Bakugou’s anger issues more than he already does makes him shudder.

You’re still staring at him like he isn’t being serious or like you can’t trust him. “So…you’re not gonna say anything?” you timidly ask.

“Only on one condition,” he firmly states. You button your lip, eagerly nodding. “I wanna help you train,” he says, earning a confused scowl in response. That definitely wasn’t what you were expecting.

“If you’re going to fight crime, you need to do it right and have some good techniques. Though you’ve got a good connection to your cat senses and reflexes, there may come a time when you need to rely on your skill and not your quirk.”

You slowly nod, taking in his critical advice. It’s adorable. “And another thing.” He moves closer to you and takes your hands into his, squeezing them firmly. “You promise me you’ll be careful. I may not be able to be out there with you on some nights ‘cause of Eri or whatever, so I need to trust that you know what you’re doing out there.”

You pout your soft, kissable lips at him, obviously not liking the idea of training. “But–”

“No buts,” he sternly says, taking a firm hold of your chin. “And don’t be prideful either. You’re talkin’ to a seasoned professional here.”

Your gaze softens, a hint of lust filling your pretty eyes. “You’re so bossy,” you giggle, placing your hands on his chest, and feeling him up. It makes him grow hot in his clothes.

“Alright…but you’re lucky you look good training or else, I’d say no.” He smiles, pulling you closer to him and nuzzling his nose with yours.

After cleaning up the living room, you two venture back into the kitchen. He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee while he watches you finish the last batch of pancakes. “So we’re good?” you softly ask him as if his conditions didn’t make that clear enough.

He smiles adoringly at you and wraps an arm around your front as he passes by you. “I’ll let those pancakes be the judge of that,” he hums against your cheek. “Thanks for the mug.”

He gives your tail a little tug as you turn to kiss him, making him feel as if all is right with the world for once.

An hour later after a pancake breakfast, Aizawa says his goodbyes to you and leaves your dorm with his belongings in tow.

As he begins to walk down to the elevators to pick up Eri, his phone beeps, signaling a text message from Mic. He sighs, already knowing what his friend is on for this morning.

Mic: So you kiss her yet?

*Read at 10:23 AM

Zawa: I’ll tell you later.

*Read at 10:24 AM*

Mic: YOU TOTALLY DID!!! RUMI OWES ME $10!!!

*Read at 10:26 AM*

Aizawa then realizes he needs new friends.

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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