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praisethegabs · 1 month

Text

OLDER

leon kennedy x reader

synopsis: he's getting older, and he knows that. not believing in luck or in love, leon finds himself in a position of complete misfortune. he convinced himself he's not worthy of love, but that changes when he meets you.

warnings: angst with fluff ending, age gap, leon is very insecure about his age and the reader. strangers to lovers, mentions of smut, ptsd, alcoholism, depression, suicidal thoughts. reader is very delicate, kind, and patient. there's parts from the vendetta book and a few scenes from re6. it starts with re6!leon and ends with di!leon

word count: 15k

a/n: guess who's back? to celebrate the 1 year re4r anniversary, I decided to post this one shot I was working for almost two months. I'm into my angst era again. also i wrote this based on this analysis i read, which made me think about the broken part of leon for a while, also this fic contains part of the vendetta book. feel free to leave comments, reblogs, tips, or positive critics. they're always very welcome ❤️

I. THE WEIGHT ON HIS SHOULDERS

Life can be a bitch sometimes.

This is what he says to himself when he finishes another bottle of whiskey. Every day, when he opens his eyes, he tries to stay positive, hoping his day will be different from his usual schedule; in the end, it is always the same bullshit. Over and over again. No apparent ending; always his solitude.

But someday it must end, right? He can’t be fighting B.O.W.'s for the rest of his life, can he? Maybe someday he’ll finally settle down and have a peaceful day. Maybe, on this day, his nightmares will stop, and if he’s lucky, he’ll sleep for the entire night. No one can blame him for dreaming of a perfect life, and no one can take this from him.

The government made him their slave, their deadly pet that follows and obeys every rule and command, and forced him to risk his neck almost every week to keep their country safe. What a bunch of assholes, he thinks to himself. Thing is, Leon hates himself for what he was forced to become.

There is so much pain. So much suffering. He only wanted to be a cop — nothing more than that. He wanted to deal with simple things — not bioterrorists ready to blow up the entire world, not grotesque mutations that defy the natural order of things. Certainly, if he had a choice to go back and change that night, he wouldn’t go to Raccoon City. He would've stayed in his cheap hotel room; he would have obeyed Marvin’s orders to not go in there.

But now he’s something else. The rookie cop who had to survive that night died. He can’t even recognize himself anymore, and sometimes, he blames himself for it. No more than he blames the government for it; if he could go back…

His days are filled with this emptiness — the sensation that he might never see his happy ending. Ada? Yeah, sure. He knows he can’t trust her, and God knows where she is or what she’s doing. He was so naive to fall for her like he did. While on his free day out of the office, he finds himself with a certain envy of happy couples. He can’t stop thinking: why can’t he have the same? Why can’t he be happy for once?

Getting older sucks. At this point, Leon thinks and has already convinced himself that he doesn’t belong to anyone and that he won’t be able to have someone. To experience love and being loved, he wants to be wanted. He’s getting older and still doesn't have anyone by his side. That’s the price he pays for having this life, and he still blames the government for taking it from him. He doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt something for someone, and at this moment of his life, it doesn’t matter to him anymore. Leon had already accepted the fact that he'd die alone. Maybe he’ll get a cat to keep him company. Since he’s not much of a dog person since Raccoon City, maybe he’ll name her a cute name; who knows? That’s probably the closest he’ll get to having something waiting for him at home.

Leon doesn’t remember the last time he actually felt happy. Since Raccoon City, he doesn't know what happiness means, and sometimes, on very rare occasions, he envies people around him. He feels like his entire life has no purpose and no meaning, and he’s completely faded to emptiness, to a sad existence based on killing bioweapons and serving his country. Does he feel proud about it? No, he doesn’t.

It’s been a very long time since Leon felt pride. That feeling died and is now buried in the remains of Raccoon City, inside that police station where his life turned upside down. Now he’s only an empty shell of what he used to be. He’s rotting inside, craving something he knows he can’t have, and there’s nothing but a void inside him, consuming every inch of him.

After serving his country for years, he started to get used to the idea that maybe he wasn’t made for a happy ending, and he shouldn’t bother with such things. He can’t afford the luxury of being with someone, because it means being vulnerable, and it also means he would have to open himself to things he swore he would never feel again. No, thank you.

Things at work aren’t exactly the best, either. Years ago, Leon started to question himself about whether the government cared about their people, especially the ones he had to kill in order to save others. Leon couldn’t forget what happened in Spain — the entire village he was forced to end so he wouldn’t die. Perhaps they could’ve saved them; possibly they could’ve had a chance; maybe if… and this is where he dozes off thinking about the infinite possibilities.

After what happened in Raccoon City, Leon knew he had lost faith. He knew things would never be the same after everything he saw that day. Sometimes, he finds himself thinking about Annette and William Birkin. He feels his body shivering when he remembers he had to fight for his life, clinging to something bigger than him. Survival.

II. RINSE AND REPEAT

He has no social skills, and doesn't know how to interact with people anymore. It all feels weird and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel terrible. Sometimes he feels like he’s stuck in time and can’t have a proper conversation with someone normal. The worst part of his life is that he feels he’s carrying a weight on his shoulders that it wasn’t supposed to be his in the first place. He has the weight of the world with him, and there is no one to help him through it. Life made him depressed, cold and distant. Life has built him this way; he's shaped himself into something he’s not, and he can’t find himself. He’s lost.

Leon can’t stop having nightmares about Raccoon City.

At this point, he just accepted that they wouldn't go away. It feels like he’s trapped inside his own mind, and there’s no turning back. Sometimes at night, he keeps looking at his ceiling imagining a different life, where he was a cop and happy. Usually, his nightmares are so dark and deep that when he wakes up, he finds solace in the sunlight, feeling relieved that he survived another night. When he doesn't sleep, when he’s too scared to close his eyes, he cries quietly, protected by the walls of his room, searching for assurance and a promise that everything will be fine. It doesn’t always work, but now he knows he can control his fears, and somehow, it helps him feel safe.

This time, his mission nearly got him killed. His entire body was full of bruises and wounds, and every part of him hurt. He felt his body swallowing a little, and he felt terrible again. He has blood under his nails, and he washes himself at least three times to make sure there’s nothing more on him than the burden of being a slave for the government.

Leon is paranoid; he can’t stand the fact that he has blood on his hands. If he sees a spot, he’ll clean it until there’s nothing left, and maybe he’s now too obsessed with the idea of being clean. It makes him feel sick to the bones, because he knows what he does and what it means. He knows that this guilt won’t be washed away like the blood on his hands, and certainly won’t get away from his head like it does from his clothes whenever he launders them. It’s a pretty shitty routine, but he’s used to it.

Now he finds himself in a very dark place; he can’t eat without feeling guilty. He can’t do the basics of his chores because he can’t stop thinking about his life, regretting every decision he made. Everything he does seems mechanical, like he’s repeating the process over and over again, a perfect killing machine that has no one to care about. On Fridays, he finds himself sitting on his couch, in complete silence, holding an empty bottle. He knows he can’t drown himself in alcohol, no matter how much he wants it or how tempting it sounds, because the liquid doesn’t affect him anymore. It doesn't make the pain go away or silence the horrors he saw during his life.

After three weeks inside his house, locked inside his room, Leon woke up with a strange feeling inside his chest. Something was telling him that this day would be different, like a big change would happen. For the first time in weeks, he decided to leave his place for a simple walk. He could do that; he could walk into the market and buy some real food or maybe get a haircut. He felt that he was able to allow himself to have an ordinary day.

After taking a long shower, Leon decided to wear cozy and comfortable clothes. He was so used to his brutal routine that he almost forgot what it was like to have a normal day, but this time, he was willing to try something different. He took a deep breath before leaving his house, and when he felt the soft, cold breeze reaching his skin, he knew he could do that.

Step by step, Leon found himself walking towards the market, even enjoying the lovely view he had from his neighborhood. He doesn’t remember it to be so… gray. Sure, he knows what winter is, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually stayed at his home during the winter. His lips turn into a small smirk, and he thinks how silly he is. When he reaches the small market, which is more of a store, he walks slowly, looking at what he might be buying - he’s done with frozen food. He stops at the veggie section and keeps looking at it, confused.

“These aren’t fresh” a sweet voice is enough to wake him up from his trance. He looks in that direction, and all he sees is you.

“How can you tell that?” he asks you in visible confusion, which makes you smile. And that smile was enough to sparkle something oddly inside him.

“Color, smell, texture,” you explained, still smiling and showing him a fresh vegetable. “This one is fresh."

"Thanks,” Leon replied awkwardly, taking the vegetable from your hand and placing it in his basket.

“You don’t come here very often. I know almost everyone who comes to buy food here,” you said next, glancing at him with curiosity.

“I… have a busy schedule,” he says, still sounding awkward.

“Really? Well, you should definitely take some time to buy healthy food. I’m pretty sure you do a lot of workouts to keep your body in shape” you giggle, noticing the size of his muscles, which makes his face turn red.

“I’ll keep that in mind” Leon managed to say, although he wanted to dissipate from Earth.

“I can help with that” you suddenly said, analyzing him more carefully.

“With what?” Leon frowned, already feeling his heart beating ten times faster.

“I noticed you’re having difficulty with your right arm, which makes me think you got it hurt. If you’re planning to buy more, I can help with your bags” you offered, very polite and kind, catching him by surprise.

“Thanks” Leon says, finding himself smiling, which is unusual.

At first, having some company after so much time alone made him think it was strange. He wasn’t feeling ready to have a small conversation, but you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you were enjoying walking to this stranger's house in complete silence. Fifteen minutes later, you were in front of his house in an awkward silence between the two of you.

“I guess this is it” you smiled at him, and Leon found himself lost in your smile.

“Yeah. Thank you” he said for the fifth time, which made you giggle a little.

“Anything for a customer” you said to him, giving him his bags. “My parents are the owners, so…”

“You don’t seem too old” he said, and after a second, he felt more weird. “I mean…”

“Nah, it’s ok. This isn’t the first time people say I'm younger than I look”. You smiled again, thinking that this old man was very silly and cute. “I’m 25, don’t worry”

“I’m Leon, by the way” He finally says his name to you, stretching his hand in a very educated way.

“Nice to meet you, Leon” you said before shaking his hand.

Leon took at least three weeks to return to the market.

His initial thoughts about you were that he definitely felt weird in your presence. Maybe he felt that way because of his lack of social skills and because he really sucks when the subject is social conversation. He caught himself thinking too hard about the visual and evident contrast between the two of you; you were young, bright and smart, with a great future ahead of you, and plus, you came from a loving family. Leon, on the other hand, was an orphan used and abused by the government, their pet and a man who only knew pain and brutality.

However, you were the first friendly face he saw after years. The way you were smiling and giggling at his awkward answers, it definitely made him feel something he thought he would never feel again. It was like you found the rookie cop inside him, and despite the fact that he barely said something, he felt normal around you. And that was more than enough. How could it happen so fast?

“How can I help you?” you said before noticing it was him. “Oh, hi”

“Hi” Leon is welcomed by that smile of yours. “I… um…”

“You came to buy more veggies?” you ask, still smiling at him. You think it’s cute to see him without any words.

“No… I just came because I’m looking for food seasoning” Leon said, his face slightly turning red. “I’m trying new recipes, so…”

“Yeah? What have you been trying?” you ask with sudden enthusiasm, leading him to the part with seasonings.

“Nothing too risky” he answers vaguely, following you closely.

“What kind of seasonings do you like?” You turn back to face him as you show him the shelves with different types of seasonings.

“I’m more into spicy flavors” Leon tells you, his attention going to the shelves.

“It suits you” you said, giving him some space. You saw him smiling again.

"How does spicy seasoning suit me?” he asks with a hint of curiosity.

“You might think I’m weird, but… seeing from outside, you look like someone with a rough agenda and, apparently, whatever you do is dangerous. Personally, I think you suit perfectly spicy things” you said, hoping it would make sense.

“I think I got your point,” Leon said, and then he found himself smiling for the second time.

“Lucky me, right?” you laugh, walking back to the cashier. “Is this all for today?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Leon nods, grabbing his wallet to pay for the seasonings.

“How’s your arm?” you ask, taking his money and counting it.

“It's better. I had to take a few painkillers, but it’s definitely better” he said, avoiding you for a few moments.

“That’s great. I know a few herbs to help with the pain” you said, giving him the change from his purchase.

“How so?” Leon asks with another hint of curiosity.

“A great sorcerer doesn’t reveal her secrets” you wink playfully at him. “You need to earn that, soldier”

“And how could I earn your secrets, great sorcerer?” Leon asks, enjoying your playful mood.

“Maybe you can invite me for dinner and show me your cooking skills” you shake your shoulders and, for the second time, catching him by surprise.

“You would love that, wouldn't you?” Leon said, and a slight smirk appeared on his lips.

“Who knows?” You wink playfully at him, with another suggestive smile on your lips.

The world has gone to hell, Leon thinks to himself.

He starts to contemplate everything that has happened to him. When did this madness begin? It was back in Raccoon City? Oh, no. It is way older than that. Maybe his collapse started when his family died, and he was left an orphan; what happened in Raccoon City wasn’t really the beginning of his nightmare. It was the cherry on top of the torments that would become his life.

Now that he’s coming back home from another mission, he can’t stop thinking how his life could’ve been if Umbrella had never happened. If those bioweapons were never created, defying every natural order. He looks outside his window, and he just can’t stop blaming himself for Tall Oaks.

What has become of this world? Leon thinks. Where did I go wrong?

His life is an entire mistake. It just goes on and on. His family first, then Raccoon City. Tricell, Los Illuminados, Uroboros and, finally, that nightmare at Tall Oaks. Leon takes a deep breath. He feels his hands shaking and closes his eyes, forcing himself to forget. How silly he is!

The future is a hell that’s only getting worse.

III. THE PAIN OF REMEMBERING

You weren't expecting Leon to find the note with your number that you left on his seasonings, the same way you weren't expecting him to call you.

However, something about him got your attention the minute he stepped foot inside the store. He wasn't like anything you had seen before; he was definitely something else.

After almost four weeks since the last time you saw him, you got a call from an unknown number. It was pretty late at night, but your curiosity won the battle within you, and you had to pick up the phone. With a groggy voice of sleep, you saw the number and frowned.

“Hello?” You ask, followed by a big yawning. It was one in the morning.

“Hi… um, it's Leon” he says with some urgency, to which you jump from your bed. “I'm sorry to wake you up”

“No, don't worry. I wasn't sleeping” you lied, forcing yourself not to yawn again.

“I know it's late, but… I was thinking about that dinner…” he says, sounding somehow hopeful. “Maybe you could come later and… talk?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you pick me up?” You ask him, and a smile appears on your lips as you answer him.

“Of course. At seven?”

“At seven, it is,” you smiled again.

As soon as the call ended, he was in complete shock. For some reason, Leon felt you wouldn’t accept his invitation, especially after being alone for so long. His heart was beating faster inside his chest, and he had to remind himself that it was just a casual date between… two friends? Could you possibly be his friend?

Leon felt anxious, something he only felt when he was on his missions.

Suddenly, the mere thought of having you at his home with him sounded terrifying. He felt like it would end in a complete disaster, and you wouldn’t see him ever again. Then, Leon had to stop and calm himself down, knowing it was his trauma trying to get the best of him. After everything he went through in his life, being able to trust someone proved to be a difficult task. He felt scared, and his mind was racing with thousands of different thoughts, each worse than the other.

Betrayal is the word that defines Leon.

He was betrayed before and multiple times, which left him with a lot of insecurities and traumas to the point he feels that he can’t trust anyone, which led to another set of insecurities. Leon feels that he isn’t enough anymore, that he can’t provide the proper attention someone might need from him, and that he can’t be in a relationship because of his problems. The truth is, he can’t be in a relationship until he leaves his trauma behind, and he knows it. That’s the easy part, but the hard one is how to let it go.

Later that day, Leon finally had the courage to clean his house. He needed some motivation to get rid of his depression, and nothing was better than finally allowing himself to have some company besides his solitude. His house smelled pretty good, everything was clean, and his furniture was even shining. He opened the curtains, and the sunlight entered his living room. He took a deep breath with the fresh air that came inside, and smiled, feeling somehow proud and happy.

At seven, you were waiting outside the store, scrolling through your phone, when you saw Leon approaching on his motorcycle. You were gorgeous, wearing a beautiful dress and covered by a black leather jacket — the perfect contrast that suited you well. Leon was completely mesmerized by the sight of you - so beautiful, he thought.

“Hey, there” you waved at him as he parked next to you.

“Hi,” Leon replies, sounding embarrassed. “You look beautiful”

“You too, handsome” you said playfully, taking the helmet from his hand and sitting behind him, your hands holding him tight. You didn’t notice the small blush on his cheeks.

"Are you okay back there?” Leon asks you, making sure you were fine before starting the engines.

“Yeah, I’m fine” you said, nodding your head, and smiling when he started to drive his bike to his place.

You two didn’t take long enough to reach his place. Leon offered you his hand so you had support to get out of his bike, and he even opened the front door for you. He led you inside his house, and everything inside was enough to show you the kind of man he was; his home was big, but simple. He had a lot of comfort there, but it seemed like he didn't spend much time at his place. You saw some photos at the fireplace, a few when he was younger, at some training camp with his possible friends.

“How old were you when you took these?” you asked him with curiosity.

“I was twenty-one” he said, grabbing the wine and the glasses.

“So young” you whispered, noticing that in some pictures, he was sad.

Leon took another deep breath. Why did this have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t he be just normal for once? Why did everything have to happen to him? You were standing there, so gracefully, observing his old photographs, so young and full of life, with no baggage with you. Someone actually happy and alive. If you knew how much he envies this.

“People say that our eyes are the windows to our soul” you turn to face him, noticing his sudden silence. “Yours are so sad and broken… what happened to your neck?”

Instinctively, his hand reaches his neck, and Leon feels the bandage perfectly secured on his skin, with a small spot of blood. Gladly, it was enough to change the subject, because he was shocked enough by what you said about his broken soul. If you only knew.

“I, um… got hurt on my job. It’s nothing.” Leon tries to avoid speaking about his past.

“It seems pretty bad” you step closer to him, your hand gently touching his bandage.

“It’s nothing… trust me” Leon smiles weakly, looking down. His heart is beating so fast inside his chest that he could explode any time. “I’m fine”

“Then explain why you are so nervous around me” you whispered, now softly touching his cheek.

Leon felt he stopped breathing, like his lungs decided to leave him alone and deal with the matter himself; how powerful your touch felt. It was enough to break every wall he built around himself for years; it was enough to make him break. And it was only a soft and kind touch. He slowly closed his eyes, his breath becoming normal again, and he allowed himself to just feel it.

“I don’t know what on earth happened to you…” your voice is full of kindness as you speak, now seeing him hold your hand as you keep touching his cheek. “But I’m always here if you decide to talk”

Leon was reaching his breaking point.

He was used to being a slave, always using his body, mind and soul to provide safety for the others without them knowing one damn thing about it; he was used to always being alone, to the point that kindness was a strange feeling, almost not existing at all and that he didn’t deserve it. But here you are.

“It hurts to remember,” he confessed, his voice a low whisper. “I tried to forget it, but I can’t”

When he felt you wrapping your arms around his body and your warmth embracing him, Leon felt his eyes getting wet. He was so deeply touch starved, craving something so human, that when he got it, he knew he was going to break. His mind was racing, and his body was trying to process the feeling and react in the proper way. He felt so many emotions at once that he thought he was going insane.

“Please, keep holding me” Leon begs, his arms finding their way through your back as he hugs you back. “Because I know I’ll fall if you let me go”

After that night, it took almost two months until Leon decided to show up at the store to see you again. He felt nervous, but at this point, he realized that, for some reason, he couldn’t stay away from you; he felt that you had some type of magnetism enough to keep him close, which made him feel comfortable, something he hadn't felt in a while.

However, before he went to the store to see you, he needed courage. Leon thought you would be upset with him after being ghosted for almost two months, although he felt responsible for it, since he never told you the nature of his job or why he was so absent. Sadly, Leon was again in a spiral of sadness and depression. His last mission was a disaster, and Leon knew he had no control over his feelings again. He was sitting on his bed, contemplating the bottle in his hands. The curtains were closed, and the atmosphere inside his room was darker. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and then, he’s there again.

June 29, 2013. Tall Oaks, USA

“It might create more problems than it solves…” the voice of the president echoes inside his head as he points his gun towards the said person.

Leon doesn't recognize the man in front of him, or what he used to be. He keeps his gun raised, his grasp around the trigger getting tight by the second he makes his decision. His voice comes and goes, creating a tense atmosphere around him.

“Bio-organic weapons are a global threat and we are partly to blame…” Benford said once to Leon when he expressed his desire to expose the truth about the Raccoon City Incident. He looks at the living corpse in front of him. Tick tack. He knows what he needs to do. “I’ve always valued your friendship, Leon… It’s time to take responsibility and end this mess”

He shakes his head, somehow returning to his reality.

“Stay right where you are!” Leon said, his voice sounding cracked and angry. The corpse starts walking towards him and as a reflex, his grip gets more tight. “Mr. President!”

The zombie starts walking towards him and the woman next to him. He hesitates for a moment, unsure and sure about what he needs to do. Every part of him screams and begs, trying to find a solution. He knows it’s too late. He can’t save the president, he can’t save anyone.

“Don’t make me do this” Leon gritted his teeth, trying to find any reason to avoid what needed to be done. It happens fast. Adam Benford, the former president of the United States and now a corpse, throws himself towards her. “Adam!” Leon screams.

He pulls the trigger.

And there’s only blood.

He gets out of his thoughts when he hears someone knocking on his front door. It doesn't take too long for him to finally stand up and see who’s there, and, inside his mind, he’s already preparing himself to tell this person to leave him alone, but his entire demeanor changes when he opens the door, and all he sees there is you.

“You’re back” you smiled warmly at him, your cheeks red because of the cold temperature. “I wasn’t sure you were home”

“What are you doing here?” Leon’s first question isn't as welcome as you thought it would be.

“A friend can’t see a friend?” you answered simply, and the smile never left your lips.

“I’m sorry” he sighs, giving you space to enter his place. “I didn’t mean to be rude”

“Don’t worry” you said, removing your scarf and hat. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, I guess” Leon nods slowly, and you notice he’s not entirely well.

“Breakfast?” you ask him, wanting to confirm your suspicions, and he nods quietly.

You had difficulty finding yourself inside his place, since you’ve been there only once. You notice that he’s quiet, and despite that fact, which is completely normal for him, you know that there’s something wrong. So, you decided to go simple with his breakfast. Almost forty minutes later, you came back with a plate full of pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and some orange juice.

He leisurely used his knife and fork to eat the food you made. The careful manner in which he ate wasn’t due to his cautious nature, but rather because he had a terrible hangover that messed with his coordination, and rushing could easily lead to a slip of the hand and his shaking. Leon was a pretty man, and he could easily take on leading roles in Hollywood blockbusters. However, he currently sported a scruffy beard, exuded a weary atmosphere, and radiated fatigue and discontent.

“I think I reached rock bottom,” Leon finally says, but he avoids your gaze at all costs.

“Then I’ll help you get out of there” you said with kindness, your pinky finger interlocking with his.

IV. GRIEF AND BARGAIN

The path to healing isn’t always easy, and now Leon is aware of that.

The year is now 2014 and he’s struggling to forget what happened a year ago. Sometimes, when his mind is quiet, he starts to wonder. Is it possible that there could have been a world without Umbrella and zombies? Leon scoffed and shook off his sweet dreams. A world without zombies? That's something from a long time ago. The future is only going to become a worse hell. Then, he has to remind himself about the great things he has in life. You are one of these things.

Although he has your support, he knows that he’ll only get better walking this path by himself. The winter deciduous forest looked like branches made of human bones. A mixed forest with a walking path spread out. This is a high-end residential area in Bethesda, Maryland, where congressmen and bureaucrats commuting to Washington spend their nights. In the depths of a thicket, there was a slightly open gentle sloping area where the desired building was located. It was a designer house filled with a sense of openness, with all outer walls covered in glass, and it appeared like a model intended to showcase beautiful scenery rather than a place for people to live in.

The luxury was excessive to the point where it seemed somewhat like a toy. Leon had hidden himself in the thicket away from the road and was monitoring the designer house through binoculars with night vision capabilities. It was an unacknowledged fact, but a traitor to the country was living in this mansion. Senator Steven Air, who had sold information to a bioterrorist organization, was one of many government officials who had been involved in the incident in Tall Oaks where the President became a victim of B.O.W. Simmons, the President's aide, was among those who betrayed the government. And Leon still blames himself for what happened that night.

Currently, fifteen members of the Division of Security Operations (DSO) and two stealth drones have surrounded Steven's mansion. It was necessary to capture him and extract plenty of information before bringing him to trial. According to reports from aerial surveillance, Steven was on his way home by car from Washington. The distance from the White House to Bethesda was approximately twelve kilometers, and it would take about thirty minutes if he drove fast. Leon shifted his focus to his shoulder holster with a handgun. Of course, capturing him alive was best, but there was no hesitation in shooting the traitor if he resisted.

Leon suddenly remembers. This is Bethesda. The name is derived from the Bible. From the Gospel of John–

“Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie — the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years."

Jesus healed the man who had been sick for 38 years. God's love and His miracles. Bravo. That's exactly what this world needs in this hell.

"Target approaching."

As he thinks about the Bible, a communication comes through his earpiece. It's a report from the overhead surveillance team flying a drone. A roadway that weaves through a grove of mixed trees was approached by Stephen's white Porsche, an elegant luxury car resembling a graceful white swan. Perhaps dozens, hundreds of people may have died to buy that car. Such is the life of a villain.

"Visual on the target vehicle. Secure upon my GO signal," Leon whispered into his radio microphone. Both the earphones and microphone were of a bone conduction type that excelled in noise resistance. It converts vocal cord vibrations transmitted through the skull directly into voice signals. It was a perfect gadget for special operations where one couldn't make loud noises or miss instructions in the midst of noise.

The Porsche approached the garage.

"GO," Leon said sharply.

At that moment, two SUVs that had been hiding in a blind spot by the roadway started their engines like barking dogs and closed in on the Porsche at tremendous speed, trapping it in a pincer movement as planned. The driver of the Porsche was Stephen's secretary, with a bodyguard in the passenger seat and Stephen himself in the back seat.

Suddenly trapped from the front and back, they were thrown into confusion. Leon wondered – would the bodyguard or secretary resist? There was no doubt that they were carrying guns. He didn't want to give them unnecessary visibility, but he would deal with it when the time came. The agents jumped out of the trees. In the next moment, Stephen's Porsche exploded.

A deafening roar and shock. The high-performance explosive device planted under the car's body lifted the Porsche several meters off the ground, engulfing it in flames. And caught up in it, the DSO's SUVs overturned as well. The window glass of all the cars shattered into tiny pieces, the car bodies twisted and burned the people inside. All six agents from the team on foot, including Leon himself, were blown backwards by the force of the blast. Leon still thinks like he’s floating in the air, an eerie feeling of weightlessness that ended when he felt his body slamming against a tree trunk. In those fleeting moments, his consciousness waned, and it was the closest he had come to death.

Yet, it seemed the Grim Reaper was not yet ready to claim him.

Pain, intense and searing, jolted Leon’s awareness back to life, a grunt of pain escaping his lips. Leon struggled to his feet, and he threw up, retching repeatedly. His consciousness ebbed and flowed like waves, and he knew that rest was essential. Leon suspected that his ribs and collarbone were either fractured or cracked, but, fortunately, his arms and legs remained unbroken. Gritting his teeth, he managed to force his dislocated left shoulder joint back into place, enduring the excruciating pain, as he tried to work out which way was up.

There are bruises littered across his skin, scratches and abrasions where the bark of the tree tore his flesh. The shock of the explosion and the fear of death… an unpleasant feeling of internal organs turning over welled up. No matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get used to the terror of a close-range explosion. The air was knocked from his lungs; his breathing temporarily stopped; his eardrums were about to burst; and his knees were weak. He can barely stand. Leon finally sits up, willing his agent training to give him a sense of urgency even though his body is screaming in agony. The stench of gasoline fills the air, but Leon can barely smell it. His sense of smell and hearing are both almost gone. What the hell happened? Leon asked himself in front of the burning Porsche.

He feels paralyzed.

It was three in the morning when your phone started to ring.

It was an unknown number, and you had to fight the necessity of hanging up; something inside you told you to pick up the call, which you did. It was Leon, and the way his voice sounded on the phone made you aware that something bad had happened. Terrible, nonetheless. You drove to his location, and you found yourself shocked when you found smoke, fire and the smell of gasoline among a lot of government agents and military personnel. You found Leon sitting in the back of an ambulance, his body covered by a blanket, as he was examined by a paramedic. Not only that, but you had credentials to enter that isolated area, and the way those agents were rushing from one side to the other, talking on their phones, made it clear that someone important had died. You made your way towards Leon, not daring to look around, and when you reached him, you saw tears in his eyes. You hugged him tight, like you were holding the world in your hands.

“It’s ok, I got you” you said to him, your words full of assurance and kindness.

Leon refused to be taken to the hospital; instead, he asked you to drive him back home, since he felt he couldn’t do it on his own. The ride back to his place was silent, and you decided to respect his space, although you saw him trying to find solace in something real. He couldn’t stop playing with his finger, showing an elevated level of stress and anxiety. You have never seen him like this before.

“Can you stay?” Leon suddenly asked when you pulled over in front of his house. “I… don’t want to be alone”

“Yeah, sure” you nodded, noticing how vulnerable he was, which was odd.

You heard him groaning in pain once he got out of your car, but he refused your help, insisting he was fine. Knowing him well at this point, you gently held his hand, offering nothing but your support, and Leon quietly appreciated your effort. You helped him sit on his couch and heard him mutter something only he could understand. Judging by the look on his face and the way his hands were still shaking, you knew he was in shock.

“Do you have any first aid kits or something?” you asked him, hoping you would gain his attention.

“I’m fine” Leon replies, his eyes fixated on his shaky hands. You sat next to him, holding his hands and scratching his skin softly.

“It’s ok not to be okay." Your voice is almost a whisper as you look into his blue eyes. “You don’t have to be tough all the time”

You saw him reach the breaking point.

Feeling embraced by your kindness and safety, Leon finally allowed himself to feel his emotions — the same ones he fought hard to bury deep inside him — in the same place he swore he would never visit again. In the cozy atmosphere of his living room, having nothing but you as solace, the brunette agent gave himself a break, and when he did that, his eyes started to get watery.

After Raccoon City, Leon shut himself up so he wouldn’t be hurt ever again. He used to keep his emotions contained; he used to not think of them. He kept everything bottled up, because he knew he couldn’t handle it. Leon was so traumatized that the way he dealt with his feelings was to pretend they didn’t exist, in the first place. After Spain, it got worse. Nightmares after nightmares, the paranoia of still being infected with Las Plagas, everything that came after this.

But here you are, telling him that it is ok not to be okay, that he doesn’t have to be tough, and that it is okay to feel and to be vulnerable. He couldn’t stop sobbing; his hands were still shaking, but he didn't even care about this at the moment. Gently, you started to play with his hair, your fingers slowly going up and down on his head, providing comfort and care — exactly what he’s been missing his entire life.

“I lost them all” Leon started to say through sobs. “I saw them dead”

“It wasn’t your fault” you assured him with calm words.

“I failed them," he says as he looks at you, his blue eyes shining with tears as they fall through his skin.

“That’s not true. You didn’t know the car was about to explode or whatever happened there” You tried to calm him down.

“We were watching him; it was my responsibility to make sure they would be safe… it was my job to ensure that” Leon sobs again, and you can see he’s struggling to breathe due to his anxiety attack.

“Listen, you’re too nervous right now. Come on, take a deep breath with me” you said, hoping he would listen and cope.

Leon nods between sobs and takes several deep breaths to try to calm himself down. You took a glass of water and gave it to him, then you took his hand into yours, whispering words of assurance and kindness. You decided to put him to rest, and it wasn’t necessary to drag Leon into his bed; the moment you step foot inside his room, you can see how severe his depression is. Successfully, you were able to lay him down and remove at least his boots. Leon curled into his blankets and muffled his sobs with his pillows.

“Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?” you ask, sitting on his bed with him, moving his hair from his eyes. He nodded silently.

Slowly, his sobs turned into sniffs, and Leon finally fell asleep. It took almost an hour to calm him down completely, but now he was safe and sound into a peaceful slumber, or what appears to be. You don’t recall exactly when you fell asleep on his bed, but you certainly remember when you woke up to the sound of his screams. Leon never told you about his nightmares, and you weren’t expecting that. His chest was drenched in sweat, and he seemed like he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were filled with fear, and he was shaking head to toe.

“Fuck” Leon mutters, his hand running through his hair.

“What happened?” you ask him after turning the lights on.

“Just a nightmare…” he whispers, trying to calm down again.

“How frequent are they?” It was a bold question, but you needed to know.

“Every night” Leon ignores your glance, focusing on his shaky hands again.

“Here, drink it” you give him a glass of water with sugar to calm his nerves. You already had that glass with you the moment you went with him to his room.

“Do you even like me?” Leon suddenly asks you.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re so kind, beautiful, and young, with so much in your future” Leon sighs heavily. “Why would you be with a… broken man like me? I have nothing to offer but traumas and the big baggage of my shitty life”

The pressure you put on biting your lip was so intense that it was enough to cut your skin and make it bleed.

“Who says you have nothing to offer? I don’t think that’s true. You’re a wonderful person, Leon. I can see it every day when you come to see me at the store. The way you smile whenever you are around me, the way your eyes shine…” you said to him, hoping it would be enough to give him some comfort. “I don’t see you as a broken person or a man with the baggage of a shitty life. I can’t imagine what must have happened to you, and I know it must be difficult and hard because that's what I see, but, Leon, the darkness around you doesn’t define who you are. Whatever life did to you, it doesn't dictate your present or future."

No matter how many kind words you say, it isn’t enough for him. Leon blames himself for what happened, and you know he won’t forget it so soon. How can he? Those men trusted him and followed him, and now, they’re all dead. Leon thinks he should’ve saved them, even though he knows he couldn’t guess the car was about to explode.

“I wish I could heal your soul so you wouldn’t suffer anymore, but I can’t” you sigh, then look at his hand. “I wish I could fight all of your demons, but I can’t do that. I’m here and I don’t intend to leave you alone”

After holding his hand, it was the first night Leon actually slept without any more nightmares. When he woke up the next morning, he felt his eyes heavy and he instantly remembered how he cried the night before after his entire squad was murdered. Then, he also remembered that you were there with him the whole time. Finally, he noticed how strange that feeling was - the feeling of being comforted instead of comforting others. It was a strange feeling indeed, but it was a good one.

Lazily, he stood up from his bed and decided to look at himself in the mirror, washing his face and taking a moment to see the collateral damage caused by the bomb. There were a few bruises and cuts on his skin, but huge purple marks on his shoulder, which he dislocated. It still hurts, but it’s enough to keep him in the real world. He’s still alive.

“Morning, princess” you greeted him in his kitchen. “I made breakfast”

“You shouldn’t worry about that, y’know?” Leon says, leaning against his cabinet.

“Too late for that. Now is my job to worry about ya” you said, opening the cabinet above your head on tiptoe, which made him smirk. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I guess so” he says, nodding his head and helping you get the cornflakes. “Thank you… for sticking up with me last night”

“You know I care about you, right? Since day one” you glance at him with a warm smile. “I really do”

“I care about you, too” Leon blushes slightly. “More than I can tell”

You know Leon pretty well at this point and you know he has trouble speaking of his feelings. You know he can’t express himself properly, and you ain’t stupid. You know someone has hurt him before and you understand why he is the way he is. Fortunately, you are very patient, and that’s enough for now, because you don’t mind giving him time and space.

“I can look at your wounds; maybe I can help” you offered, finishing preparing the breakfast.

“This means I finally earned your secrets?” Leon asks, a small smile on his lips, as he references the conversation you had with him a few months ago.

“You surely did." You nodded, smiling. “Let’s eat first, then I’ll take a look at it”

Leon seemed to enjoy the breakfast you made for him, and, for the first time since you two met, he genuinely seemed happy. However, you knew deep inside he was trying and fighting hard to hide his true feelings; losing his squad certainly shattered him inside, and caused more damage to him than you could ever imagine.

Leon is a master when it comes to hiding his feelings. All over the years, Leon had built around himself an impenetrable shell, not allowing anyone to get closer, and all of that because he is scared of being hurt again. However, if the explosion never happened, if his men never died the way they did, Leon wouldn’t be pretending he’s fine when you know he’s not. The damage is so intense that you’re afraid he won’t recover. It’ll always be there with him, rotting inside him.

You weren’t expecting so many wounds all at once, but when he took off his shirt and you saw his bruised skin, you took a deep breath. He had so many marks, so many stories. You wanted to ask, you wanted to know, but Leon wasn’t ready to share it yet.

“I got this one back in Raccoon City” Leon quietly says, pointing to the scar on his left shoulder. “I got shot”

“How did this happen?” you decided to ask him as you gently cleaned a few cuts he had.

“I was helping a woman named Ada Wong to get a sample of G-Virus, and only a scientist named Annette Birkin had this sample. We were trying to find her and, when we did, she started to shoot Ada. I jumped in front of her, that’s why I got shot” Leon sighs, recalling the events that happened in the sewers.

“This Ada seems very important to you” you smiled at him, cleaning the other cut he had on his neck.

“She was, but it was a long time ago” Leon avoids your gaze. “Not anymore”

“She was the one that hurt you?” you ask him very carefully.

Leon didn’t answer, but his silence speaks for himself. You can see the extension of the damage and how Leon still struggles to deal with whatever happened between him and Ada. He stays silent, maybe trying to understand how his life turned into this mess. Then, he starts to count every time he was betrayed before until this very moment. His blue irises meet yours and all he feels is… peace. There’s no inner storms inside him, he feels completely at ease.

“If I ask you a favor…” Leon suddenly says, changing the conversation.

“What do you need?” you ask him without hesitation.

“Could you come with me to the morgue? There’s something I need to do” Leon sighs, preparing himself for what’s about to happen.

“Of course. I’ll tell my parents I’ll go to the store later” you nodded, quickly picking up your phone to text them.

Leon partially felt guilty, but you were so willing to go with him that he changed his mind after you helped him dress himself — the way he dislocated his shoulder still hurts and he has difficulty with it. You drove to the morgue and judging by the interior of the building, you found out Leon was some sort of agent working for the government. You were able to read the name of the organization. Division of Security Operations.

“So you’re a badass agent, huh?” you ask with enthusiasm as you walk next to him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a badass” Leon chuckles, still feeling tense.

“Well, if you put your neck at stake to save your country, then you’re definitely a badass” you added, giving him a warm smile.

When you both stepped inside the morgue, he reached out for your hand, seeking any support you could give him. The back wall was a box-shaped cold storage room, and a row of dissecting tables lined the spacious room. And on those dissecting tables were numerous body bags. It's a body bag with the DSO logo on it. Do they really need a logo even on something like this? Irony floated within Leon's chest. Are they planning to sell products with the logo on them, like DSO-branded body bags, DSO-logoed cigarette cases, DSO-logoed pass cases...?

He walked between the body bags to the sound of his boots. Unlike normal bodies, the victims of b.o.w - related incidents were usually sent for examination to specialized research institutions. Although this time the cause of death was due to a bomb, not a zombie attack, the instruction from above was to send the bodies to various laboratories, so they followed suit. This DSO branch’s mortuary was a relay point for passing the bodies from the scene to the laboratory, like a baton in a relay race. It wasn’t easy to simply bury them in a graveyard. The morgue itself wasn’t scary, but the corpses were scary because they stimulated the imagination.

“Would they suddenly start moving? Would I end up like this too?” Leon thinks to himself a little bit loud, enough for you to hear him.

“You won’t” you whispered, squeezing his hand to let him know you were there.

Watching the corpses closely would cause a moment where the elongated shadows would appear like monsters. However, that was before Raccoon City. He had seen too many moments where the dead came back to life.

“I’m not scared of the mortuary anymore; recently, I’ve been thinking about it a lot” Leon frowned as he moved towards the back while swirling his thoughts. He thought he heard a sound from there minutes before.

“What do you mean?” you ask him with curiosity as he approaches one of the bags.

“I was constantly thinking about death and ending everything. I was depressed and thought I had no hope left” Leon confessed, his eyes locked on the body bags in front of him. “But now… I don’t think about that anymore”

He glances at you, finally. Slowly, his eyes meet your hand while you’re holding him and there’s a small smile on his lips, then his blue irises find yours again.

“I used to be scared of the morgue… but coming here with you… is something else” Leon says next. “I couldn’t do this alone”

“I’m glad I can help” you said to him with your usual kindness.

But he stops and turns his attention back to the body bags and sighs. His entire demeanor changed and suddenly, he found himself fighting hard to keep doing this. He needed that. He owed his men at least this final goodbye.

“What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child?” Leon thinks to himself as he approached one of the body bags.

The zipper was slightly open, and the body bag seemed like it was about to move any moment. It’s common for something that seems like it’s about to move to actually move.

Leon carelessly closed the zipper. Was it because of the sharp sound that, suddenly, another body bag bounced behind him? Inside the body bag, the zombie was wiggling and struggling. It seemed unhappy, as if it had been woken up from a deep sleep by force. Leon pulled out his gun from his holster and squeezed the trigger.

“What kind of adult did I want to become? I definitely didn’t want a life like this”

V. ACCEPTANCE

After everything that happened with his squad, Leon knew he needed time off of his office. Decided to get his mind off everything and take a break, Leon chose the Rocky Mountains in Colorado as his destination. Instead of going there alone, he thought it would be good to spend more time with you, mostly because he felt safe around you and due to the nature of his job and everything he saw, he needed to feel that safety only you provided him.

You had to explain to your parents why you would be going on a vacation, but they understood with no problems; they didn’t know about Leon because you were fearing some trouble because of the age gap, so you felt they weren’t exactly ready to meet him. How could you explain to them you were apparently dating a man eleven years older than you? It would be one hell of a surprise.

It was 9 a.m. in the mountainous area near Rocky Mountain National Park, located in northern Colorado. The national park was about a two-hour drive from the state capital, Denver. Along the way, there were several viewpoints where numerous travelers parked their cars to enjoy the scenic beauty. Even in the mountainous region of the Rockies, the mountains around this area were not exceptionally high. They were just before the tree line, covered with spruce and fir trees on the subalpine slopes. The forest appeared like a beautifully groomed brush, while wildflowers bloomed modestly, sheltered by large rocks.

“This place is incredible” you sound mesmerized by the incredible view from the hotel.

“You haven’t been in places like this before?” Leon asks you with curiosity.

“I barely leave my house” you chuckle, leaving your bag on the bed. “I just work at my parent’s store and go to college”

“It feels like I’m dating a baby” Leon chuckles, also leaving his bag next to yours.

“We’re dating, huh?” you teased, taking off your sneakers.

“Yeah, we are” Leon nods his head, smiling. “I know I haven’t officially asked you, but I’m too old for that”

“It’s fine, old man. I’m just messing with you” you said, playing with his fingers.

“Old man? Now I’m offended” Leon teases back, smiling.

“You said it first” you replied to him, your hands reaching his brown hair. “By the way… I have something for you”

Leon glanced at you, frowning. The mischievous smile on your lips immediately told him you were planning something. He sat up on the bed and kept his eyes fixed on you, waiting patiently for whatever you were about to do.

“I got you a birthday present” you said with enthusiasm, catching him by surprise. “I know I’m a few days late, but I wanted to give you something for your 37th birthday”

“You didn’t have to” Leon whispered in shock as you gave him the small box.

He unwrapped the present you gave him and found a beautiful dagger, silver and shining, also pretty sharp. Leon knew immediately that you probably paid a lot on that and he felt bad. He took a deep breath and glanced at you.

“This was very expensive. You shouldn’t waste your money with me like that” Leon says to you.

“It’s a gift. You can’t give it back” you said to him, a hint of playfulness in your voice as you insisted for him to keep it.

“That’s not fair” Leon complains, laughing softly.

“It’s pretty fair to me, though” you said to him, smirking. “It’s just a dagger, not a diamond or something related. I know your job is kind of dangerous and you might need it”

“Okay, you win. I’ll take it” Leon sighs in defeat. “About my job… I know I haven’t been extremely open about it, but…”

“It’s okay, I don’t want you to feel forced to share this with me if you don’t feel ready” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence.

“I wish I could be more open to you” Leon glanced at his hands, feeling bad because of that.

“Start simple and small. You don’t have to tell me absolutely everything at once” you placed your hand on his shoulder, petting him.

“Simple and small? How could I do that?” Leon frowned at the idea. He always thought it was impossible to open up about his trauma.

You pondered for a few moments, thinking about a way to help him talk about his issues in a positive way.

“Start with something like… why don't you like dogs?” you suggested. A while ago you noticed Leon had a certain aversion to dogs.

“I… um… I was attacked by dogs in Raccoon City. They weren’t common dogs, they were infected, something like that” Leon found himself surprised by the way he spoke about this issue so easily. “Then, at Spain, I had a few encounters with wolves also infected with a parasite, monstrous things”

“See? That one was pretty easy” you said, encouraging him to keep talking. “Wanna try to say something else?”

Leon thought about your question for minutes; inside his head, everything that has happened to him was like an endless movie. The trauma, the pain and the events that seem to be haunting him to this day. It was hard to pick one, but then, he reminds himself of your words of being simple and small. He takes a deep breath and quietly, he convinces himself that he can do this.

“Back at Raccoon City, it was my first day at the force and I was 21 at the time” Leon starts, his eyes focused on something else. “I was late, but I think that’s why I’m still alive”

While he was telling you the horrors he saw, you gently placed your hand on his, to let him know you’re there for him. It was a simple and kind gesture, but for him, it meant the world. Leon was only familiar with danger and brutality, so having you by his side providing comfort was enough to penetrate the depth of his former persona. It was enough to rescue the rookie cop buried inside those walls.

“After that night… everything changed. I’m here because of what I did to survive and I’m not exactly proud of it. I can’t stop blaming myself for my past actions, but…” Leon suddenly stops, taking another deep breath.

“You can’t control everything around you, Leon. And not everything that happens to us is our fault. You couldn’t know you were going to be stalked and nearly killed on your first day… you didn't know that there was a virus outbreak in Raccoon City that night…” you said to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “You need to understand that this isn’t your baggage to carry. What happened that day wasn’t your fault”

Leon had your words playing on repeat inside his head. Even though he was early in the morning drinking his sorrows away, he was still thinking about what you said. He also felt partially guilty for leaving you asleep in the bed while he was drinking, but the other part of him told you knew him pretty well and you wouldn’t be judging him for this. His head was a roller coaster and at this very moment, he wasn’t at the top.

Leon sat on the first floor of a lodge-style hotel in the rural town. The hotel was two stories tall, made of reinforced concrete, but designed to resemble traditional log construction. There was only one waiter and one chef, making it far from a trendy establishment — a rather run-down place. He was having breakfast in the first-floor restaurant. Though the restaurant wasn't popular, the food was decent. Approaching footsteps came from behind him — two sets of them.

"--To come fully armed to such a peaceful town," Leon said without turning around.

"Leon S. Kennedy, the ace of the DSO, a special agent organization directly under the President of the United States," a voice replied.

Finally, he turned around to see Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers standing there.

"Chris and... oh, the renowned expert in biohazard research, Professor Rebecca Chambers. What do you want?" he asked.

"It's work. Cooperate," Chris said in an uncompromising tone.

Chris and Rebecca sat across from him. And it was noticeable that he wore an annoyed expression.

"I'm on vacation."

"...In the past, while protecting the President's daughter, Ashley Graham, you fought and annihilated the cult group Los Illuminados. They were using special bio-organic weapons called Plagas," Chris said.

"I've forgotten about that old stuff," Leon replied simply.

"Do you plan on loafing around in this town for another week?" Chris asked.

"I don't know what will happen in the future," Leon retorted.

"Beer, please," Rebecca chuckled at the reference to an old movie, while Chris wore an unamused expression.

Leon called over a passing waitress with a casual wave to place his order, but Chris interrupted him.

"Cancel the beer."

"No, it's not canceled."

“Come on… what the fuck?!”

"I don't need any more alcohol."

"Cut it out. What's going on?"

"That's my line."

The waitress looked between the two of them suspiciously and before walking away. Eventually, Leon pulled out a flask from his back pocket and took a swig as a substitute for the additional order that couldn't be fulfilled.

"You–!" Chris leaned forward.

"Enough, both of you," Rebecca interjected. "--Leon. We apologize for disturbing your vacation. However, we need the information you possess," Rebecca said.

Finally, Leon showed a willingness to listen.

"...What's the situation?" he asked.

Chris and Rebecca had to explain to him what happened earlier at the university. The case was simple. Glenn Arias was a new threat and they needed to stop him at all costs. However, they didn’t know how Leon was suffering inside; they couldn’t know about the recent events. Leon wearily intertwines his gestures and continues,

"Just before I took my vacation... I was involved in a DSO mission in Bethesda to apprehend a treacherous senator who was selling internal information to a bioterrorist organization."

The disgusted irritation was evident in his movements, his expression, and his voice.

"You know..." Leon begins. "Here's the thing: the informant we used betrayed us. We fell into a trap instead. A massive explosion killed many of my colleagues... and then there was the incident with the resurrection of the corpses you guys were involved in... It's all a mess,"

Leon explains, letting out a heavy sigh. It's a sigh that escapes unintentionally, like a burden he carries.

"I had planned to become a police officer in Raccoon City. It was my dream job. But on my first day, there was a massive zombie outbreak, and from there... it never stopped," Leon pauses and shakes his head. "I've been fighting this whole time. There's no end in sight, and it only keeps getting worse. Have I been living just to fight zombies and the people who create them?"

"What are you trying to say? That you don't want to cooperate with us?" Chris asks.

"It's not that..." Leon's tone is uncertain, "Well, maybe it is."

With a hesitant tone, Leon continues

“What exactly is our goal? How far do we have to run? Do we have to keep running endlessly? The villains keep coming, one after another, while the good people keep dying. Maybe it's better to lose our minds."

Then, Chris found himself forced to explain to Leon what they were facing. He showed pictures of Cathy White, the agent that was turned into a bio-weapon. And worse, her son she killed. He showed the photos taken during the autopsy and how Glenn turned people into something else purely because of power.

"Killing him is the goal," Chris declares.

"That's only your goal, not mine," Leon retorts, his voice filled with resentment.

Tension fills the air between them once again.

"Hey," Rebecca interrupts, breaking the silence just as she did before. "So, Leon, you're exhausted," Rebecca points at Leon and then gestures to Chris. "And Chris, you're frustrated. There's one thing both tired people and irritable people have in common."

"What do we have in common?" Chris asks in response.

They both look at each other with a wide-eyed grin.

"You only think about yourselves," Rebecca replies.

"I–" Chris tries to interject, but Rebecca continues.

"Chris, all you talk about is wanting to kill Glenn Arias. After helping me, you didn't say a single word mourning the sacrifices of our colleagues. Leon, you're acting like a college student in their moratorium period. People get tired of running. But if we stop running, more people will lose their lives."

Rebecca takes out a trigger-activated needleless syringe from her small bag. In front of the bewildered duo, she abruptly presses the syringe against her left forearm and pulls the trigger, causing her blood to collect in the test tube attached to the syringe.

"I'll tell you something important. We're already infected," she says.

"What?" Leon's expression tightens in response.

Rebecca continues speaking in a tone reminiscent of a teacher addressing a poor student.

"The truth is, it's difficult to estimate just how many people have been infected by Arias' new virus. The problem is, we don't know the identity of the trigger that activates it."

As she speaks, Rebecca removes the test tube from the syringe and seals it with a cap.

"The virus is activated by something only Arias knows. When that happens, the dead rise, and living humans become bio-weapons."

Rebecca glances lightly at Leon.

"If things continue like this, this city will eventually become a living hell. There won't be any safe places."

Leon remains silent, averting his gaze.

"Just so you know, a prototype of the antivirus has been developed," Rebecca says. "It actually worked on me. However, the effectiveness of the antivirus is unstable without knowing the conditions for the activation of Arias' virus. When to administer it and how long it remains effective..."

Rebecca then places the sealed test tube into a small protective case and puts it on the table.

"My blood should provide valuable data. If I die, make sure it reaches a reputable research institution that you can trust."

"You're not in danger. We'll protect you," Chris says firmly.

"What?" Leon asks, confused.

"It seems like you're misunderstanding, BSAA soldier," Rebecca lightly dismisses Chris's assumption.

There’s a slight smirk on Leon’s lips as he hears that.

"The forefront of pandemic response is not the BSAA, but the research field. How many doctors and colleagues do you think I've seen die in conflict-ridden African countries or small Middle Eastern nations used as testing grounds for bio-weapons?" Rebecca questions.

Chris tries to say something in response, but his voice gets stuck in his throat, and only faint breaths escape.

"After I left the team, you two might have fought against plenty of mad scientists. But science can only be countered with science. Unless benevolent technology advances, we will never have a chance of winning. We fight not only for ourselves but for others. Have you both understood at least a little of what I'm saying?" Rebecca asks.

She stands up and adds, "Cool your heads," before leaving her seat.

"She's a great woman," Leon comments.

"We can't handle it on our own," Chris remarks, watching Rebecca leave, and he and Leon exchanged a wry smile.

And then, here it comes. The urge to talk about what happened one year ago.

"Leon, China was tough," Chris says, referring to that incident.

"Yeah, it was like a zombie version of Black Hawk Down." he nods in response.

"At that time, I wanted to quit the BSAA so badly," Chris admits, surprising Leon, "After getting involved with Umbrella, I witnessed too many deaths. We..."

Chris trails off. His expression was heavy, as if lead had settled in the depths of his heart. Then Chris realized: Why does it make me so angry to see him like this? He was too much like his old self.

"It makes you want to quit... makes me want to quit," Chris says, emphasizing his point. Leon falls into silence. And Chris delivers the final blow. "But, the moment we quit, all of our subordinates and friends will have died in vain. We are the survivors of Raccoon City. We carry that burden."

Chris falls silent, and the air becomes still. The waitress looks annoyed by the silence. For a few moments, there’s nothing but the said silence.

"Leon, I always thought you were a cheerful guy no matter what," Chris breaks the silence.

"No one is like that," Leon replies, “Well… I’m not. I've always been a stress-tolerant guy. I've been able to do what I've done because of it. But now look back on it. In Tall Oaks, I killed the president.”

"Technically, you had to save the President infected with the virus," Chris quickly adds, trying to provide some context.

“But,” Leon shakes his head, "But the fact remains that I pulled the trigger, I shot him, and I was even suspected of assassinating the President afterward. Although I managed to clear my name, the mastermind behind that incident turned out to be the President's aide. The DSO was once called the 'Sword of the President,' but now it sounds ironically fitting."

Chris remains silent, attentively listening to Leon's words.

"Chris," Leon continues. "I've returned to active duty, but every time I face the new President, I feel anxious. I can sense his unease as well. The President's aide had sold his soul to B.O.W. terrorism. Who's next? The Secretary of Defense? The Vice President? What's become of the foundation that supports the soldiers in the field? They keep using us, while the higher-ups continue to flounder, grow bloated... They only think about shifting blame onto others."

He pauses for a moment. There’s so much pain.

Leon furrows his brow and lowers his voice. "Perhaps the reason entities like Umbrella persist is that our society harbors a fundamental evil... I can't help but feel that way now."

Even agreeing with this stupid mission, Leon can’t go without saying goodbye. He feels guilty, but the moment he sees you, everything feels completely right. He sat at the bed, watching you perfectly asleep, imagining what kind of dreams you were having. Leon sighs and shakes his head.

“Hey, sweetheart” Leon says when he sees you waking up.

“Hi” you whisper, rubbing your eyes.

“Listen… something happened and my colleagues need me. Will you be okay here?” he asks you, his thumb trailing your cheek.

“Will you come back?” you ask him, sounding a little groggy.

“And leave my baby girl here all alone? Of course I’ll come back” he smiles sweetly at you.

“Ok… I’ll be here” you nodded your head, closing your eyes to go back to sleep.

Something about you made him see, for the first time, the bright side of things. Maybe it was the fact that you were younger than him, and also the fact that you were full of energy - he was just an old and bitter man. But, hey, he’s learning how to cope with every shit that has happened to him.

Before you, Leon was ready to die.

He was ready to embrace death, he already had made peace with his inner demons. But everything changed when you came into his life. Suddenly, he thought he could live and find happiness and death wasn’t in his thoughts anymore. It was like you were able to bring him back from his darkness. He wasn’t rotting inside. You were able to rescue him from himself and return the light he needed.

But if he thought he wasn’t close to death, he was wrong. Leon never thought he would face something like Glenn Arias and come close to death, but he had his job to do. Chris needed his help and Leon finally found closure to something that was weighing on his head; the death of his squad wasn’t his fault and he found the real culprit. He found the peace he was desperately looking for. And he was able to see another sunrise and come back to you.

It was a repetitive cycle. Leon recently started to wonder if anything he did was futile. That's why he took a vacation and drowned his sorrows in alcohol. It was a kind of protest, perhaps. A protest against the grand concepts of this world and destiny. A statement of "I’m not going on like this forever, I’m not going to do it," or something of that sort. But fate was cruel. In the end, human life rarely goes well by one's own choices. Perhaps humans are merely chosen by fate without their consent. Yet, Leon now felt that it was okay like that. Being chosen doesn't make him a hero by default. He becomes a hero reluctantly because he was chosen. And that's fine.

The merged form approached Leon with an eerie growl, swinging its massive fist. Leon leaped back to dodge it, and the merged form's punch shattered one of the spires on the rooftop into tiny fragments. It had the destructive power of a construction hammer, with each strike resembling the impact of a tank cannon round. Leon intentionally slid and jumped into the merged form's feet, thinking that at such a large size, close range might become a blind spot. He positioned himself beneath the massive body, lying on his back and firing his handgun. The shots were practically point-blank, but they were still deflected by the hardened muscles and exoskeleton.

"Doesn't matter," Leon muttered involuntarily. "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it's futile. Today's a good day to die anyway."

The merged form kicked out.

The enemy's movements were deceptively swift, and Leon was sent flying as if hit by a car. His body tumbled through the air until it finally collided with a gargoyle statue, coming to a stop. The impact was so intense that his breath nearly ceased. However, the merged form continued its pursuit. It threw a straight punch, a blow that would surely result in instant death if landed, but Leon managed to evade it with a jump. Not only did he dodge it, but in mid-air, Leon twisted his body and unleashed a spinning kick. His boot-clad foot connected with the grotesque face of the merged form.

Whether it would have any effect or not didn't matter. This strike was my will. Of course, a kick from a mere human wouldn't have any effect. The merged form retaliated with its opposite hand, grabbing hold of Leon.

"Gah!" A groan escaped Leon's throat involuntarily. The massive fist tightened around him like a vice, and within a few seconds, he felt himself being crushed like a tomato.

"Leon!" Chris emerged from the penthouse.

In his fading consciousness, Leon thought about you. The way you smiled whenever you were with him and the sweet perfume you love to use. The way your hands embrace him at night, helping him sleep safely, without any nightmares to harm him. And then, he doesn’t want to die anymore. Please, God, don’t let me die this way.

Chris picked up the fully automatic handgun that Arias had dropped along the way and unleashed a barrage of bullets at the merged form. For a brief moment, it seemed like the merged form's focus shifted, and its grip loosened slightly, but that was all.

Was my life meant to end here, crushed by this grotesque monster? Leon wondered, his pessimism threatens to shatter him. Leon wasn't the type to easily get this depressed or overthink things too much. Still, he felt more than a little exhausted.

What kind of adult did I want to become when I was a child? I never imagined I would be burdened with the stigma of assassinating a president. At least, I didn't want a life like this ― It doesn't matter what I want. There's no such thing as a person who can live the life they desire. Arias must have felt the same way. In the end…

VI. ABSOLUTION

When he came back, you noticed something inside him had changed.

After the fight with Arias, Leon noticed that life was much more than death, darkness and depression. At least, he started to think like that when he almost got killed. And his only thought was coming back to you. No, he couldn’t die like that and leave you alone. His arm was injured, but he was alive. And he was back.

“What happened to your arm?” you asked him when you saw him entering the room.

“Remember that day in the morgue when you told me I was a badass government agent?” Leon asks you back, sitting on the bed next to you.

“Yep, I do” you nodded, starting to massage his tense muscles.

“Well… I’m not this kind of agent. I work under the president’s orders. I fight bioweapons for a living… since that hell in Raccoon City” Leon sighs, finally opening about his job.

“Bioweapons? Like zombies and shit?” you ask him with curiosity.

“Worse than zombies, but yes” Leon nodded with a slight smirk. “It’s dangerous, and this time I nearly got killed… thing is, my job requires a lot of my time, it forces me to not be around for God knows how long. It scares me because I don’t know if you can live this chaotic life with me…”

“Wait, wait, wait… slow down” you held his hand and squeezed it softly. “Everyone deserves a second chance in life, Leon. You were alone for too much time and I don’t mind if you need to go somewhere else to fight bioweapons. If this means I get to see these pretty eyes of yours and this sweet smile every time you come home… I’m willing to live this chaotic life with you”

Leon couldn’t believe your words. After being deprived of something so human and getting used to it, Leon felt he was about to explode. It was too much for him to handle. At this point, he knew perfectly he was experiencing anxiety. But it was a good one.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If we do this, I’m gonna get you wrapped up in something bad someday… and I’ll never forgive myself if this happens” Leon tells you, sounding extremely worried.

“I know you won’t let anything bad happen to me. And besides, I can take care of myself. I made self defense classes” you laugh sweetly, a symphony to his ears.

“Are you sure?” Leon asks, and those big puppy eyes of his wanting nothing but assurance.

“Honey, if this wasn’t true, I wouldn’t be here” you chuckled, kissing his forehead.

After what happened, you decided to introduce Leon to your family as your boyfriend. But before that, you convinced him he needed to improve a little. Getting rid of the alcohol was the first step. He started to see a therapist and work harder on his issues, which influenced a lot of your relationship. He was more happy and willing to do things he and you both liked. One year after that incident with his squad being killed and his mission with his friends, you noticed he was ready to meet your parents.

“I’m nervous” Leon tells you when you both were entering your home.

“Why? It’s not like we’ve been dating secretly for almost three years. Besides, they’ll think you’re cute, don’t worry” you giggled at him.

“I’m not so sure about that” he muttered, following you inside your parents place.

You could clearly tell how anxious he was. However, he always felt at ease on your side, and it was like you had the power to make him relax, like nothing could harm him and the world was finally at peace. When you stepped inside the house with Leon right behind you for a Christmas dinner, your parents were already expecting both of you.

“Mom, dad… this is Leon. The guy I was talking about” you introduced him to your parents with certain expectations.

“You clearly got my taste for man” Leon heard your mom whispering to you, which made his cheeks turn red.

“So… um… how long are you two hanging out?” your dad asked and you glanced quickly at Leon.

“Three years, I guess. We met at the store” you tell your parents. “I didn’t tell you before because Leon has a busy schedule. He’s not always in town, so…”

“Well, moonpie, if you’re happy, we’re happy too” your mom says with a gracious smile on her lips.

Leon wasn’t expecting to be so welcomed into your family, but the fact that your parents treated him so kindly melted his heart. He got himself thinking about the dinner for at least one week, mostly because part of him was still thinking it was weird to receive so much kindness and affection, especially coming from a real family. He wasn’t expecting to be playing cards with your dad while you and your mom were in the kitching talking about girl’s stuff, but it was enough to make him see he made the right choice. That it was okay for him to finally experience love.

“I like your light brown hair now that you finally stopped dying it” you said, sitting between his legs in the living room.

“My emo era is over” he chuckles sweetly, like a melody.

“May it rest in peace” you made the signal of the cross. “

“Changing the subject, tomorrow I gotta go to San Francisco. Work stuff” he says to you, softly kissing your neck.

“Yeah? Am I getting some gift?” you whisper, feeling the shivers down your spine with his lips against your skin.

“Do I ever go on a mission and come back empty handed?” Leon asks you, his soft lips pressing more against your neck and you can feel him softly biting you.

The thing is, Leon is like a porcelain doll. He needs to be treated with softness and kindness, because deep down, he is vulnerable. The way his lips met your skin was a clear sign that he was ready for you. He was finally ready to be yours. However, loving Leon also needed patience, and after three years, you could tell he wanted that too.

“Do you want to do this before you leave, handsome?” you ask him teasingly, holding his hands as he keeps kissing your neck.

“Yes, I do,” he nods, almost moaning in your ear.

He gently took you to his bedroom, the place was almost a sanctuary for him. He laid you down on his bed and removed his shirt, and this time, he didn’t seem ashamed of himself. You stood up from his bed and sat him on the edge, your hands trailing down his skin like he was a roller coaster. He closed his eyes, his breath soft and calm, although he anticipated what was about to happen. Leon craved for you.

“I’ll take care of you” you whispered, leaving soft kisses across his neck and chest.

You sat gently between his legs, your sweet and soft fingers removing his pants and reaching his already hardened cock. He sat there, observing you with those big and blue puppy eyes, like he was savoring your image. When you took all his length inside your mouth and gently started to suck him, Leon felt he was in heaven. It felt so good, so powerful.

Tears started to fall from his eyes and he cried. Not because you were hurting him, dear lord, of course not! It was because he finally felt that he deserved to be loved. Your tongue did an amazing job on his cock and when he came, he felt his body at ease. Leon moaned with the sudden sensation, it was stronger than he last remembered. But it was because of you.

“I love you” he says when you touch his face, wiping his tears.

Loving Leon needed patience, you knew that already.

However, living with him brought new challenges that you weren’t expecting at all. He would be gone for weeks, then he comes back out of nowhere. He always forgets to send you a message to let you know he’s coming back, but that’s okay, because his lack of patience to deal with technology amuses you. He always sends an emoji out of context, which makes you laugh and you find it very cute when he gets disappointed for misunderstanding those little and yellow faces. He’s getting there, don’t worry about that.

When he’s at home, things turn out differently. He always helps you with the chores, likes to tease you whenever you’re cooking his favorite meal and at the end of the day, you two are together on the couch watching some silly movie while he complains about it and softly scratches your leg. Sharing a domestic life was something he never thought he would have, not after everything he went through alone.

Now that he's back from whatever he did in San Francisco, you have another job to do. Tend to his injuries. It’s a small sacrifice to pay whenever he comes back hurt; this time he has purple marks all over his body and face. You don’t ask what on earth happened, because you know he can’t really give details, but at least he’s safe and sound with you again.

“Stop moving, old man!” you tell him, trying to clean a small cut he had on his neck.

“That hurts,” Leon replied back, flinching slightly.

“I know, but someone has to clean it” you rolled your eyes, applying a Barbie band-aid on his neck.

“Please, don’t tell me I got the Barbie thing on my neck” Leon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Next time I’ll get you a cat one” you wink playfully at him.

After so many death experiences and the inner wish of being dead, he’s glad that he found the absolution that he always wanted. He looks at you with amusement, part of him finds it hard to believe that he’s so lucky to have you, but the other part is glad that you are real and you love him for who he really is. You took every damaged part of him and loved with such intensity that it was enough to bring him back from that dark place he was at. He forgave himself, allowed his soul to heal and to be loved. Life had gifted him with the second chance to live, made him see the beautiful things again. You took him in when he was on the lower part of his life, and your love brought him back. He knows he’s getting older, but he doesn’t mind spending his days with you, because you are the only thing in his life that makes sense.

And he’s fine with that.

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owliellder · 8 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 1: The Sketches

It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.

He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.

Younger agents. More energized agents.

The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.

Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.

Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.

Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.

Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.

Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.

It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.

What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.

He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.

And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.

So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.

The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.

It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.

Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.

How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?

Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.

But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.

The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.

Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.

The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.

After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.

Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.

It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.

He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.

As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.

There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.

The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.

The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.

But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.

About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.

The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.

"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."

Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.

"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.

"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.

The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."

From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.

Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.

He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.

While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."

Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.

The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."

Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.

The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.

He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.

"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.

The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."

The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?

"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."

A painting?

A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?

Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.

Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.

Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.

It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.

The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.

He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.

The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...

"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.

Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.

"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.

You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.

The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.

"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."

Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.

Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.

His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.

After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.

Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.

"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.

Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.

Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.

"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.

"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.

He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"

The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.

"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.

It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.

The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"

"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"

Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."

As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.

Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.

Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.

You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.

"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.

"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.

Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."

Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.

It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.

The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.

"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?

You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"

Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."

You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."

"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.

"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.

Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.

"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.

"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"

Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.

You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.

The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.

You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.

Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.

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honeyhotteoks · 5 months

Text

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

chapter twelve: home is always home

chapter summary: you were planning to tell them how you felt on saturday, but when things go sideways at the studio you find yourself running home as fast as you can.

warnings: this is the chapter i've been warning about for a long, long time. please read responsibly if you're easily triggered by any of the following topics - guy who can't take no for an answer, aggressive/sexist language, physical and verbal assault, panic/ptsd, physical injury/blood, hospitals, police interaction (mentioned), nightmares/night terrors, self harm (sort of?)

notes: please note, if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when i'm posting, i've put up three chapters at once. make sure you don't skip chapter ten and eleven! additional notes under the cut~!

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

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

word count: 11.6k

previous chapter | next chapter | AO3

for my readers who aren't that familiar with a/b/o, i'm introducing something in this chapter that you may not have seen before. i wanted to add some context! if you're new to a/b/o, there is something that alphas have often called "alpha tone", "alpha voice", or just "tone". alphas in many depictions have the ability to lower their voice in a particular way that is seen as a strict command to an omega, and it triggers/activates their submission. this is something that can be used negatively or positively, but in this scene will be negative. there's also something called headspace/subspace that you will see referenced, and an omega can be put into headspace/subspace via alpha tone. it is a bit of a dissociative state where the omega can only really hear and understand commands. this can be used negatively or positively as well, but again, definitely not good in this scene. i hope that helps.... and happy/responsible reading!!

You really, really wish today was Saturday and not Thursday. Thursday just means you still have to get through Friday and then all of Saturday morning before your scheduled dinner with Yunho and Mingi and all the things you want to say are practically eating you up inside. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to tell someone you’ve been an idiot and you’re in love with them, and blurting it out in the middle of dance practice isn’t really going to help make this easier.

God, you hope they still want you.

On the plus side, this week has been insane. With the full crew back things are moving at a million miles per hour, and you’ve been in more meetings about what’s coming up next in the past week than the entire time you’ve worked for BB Trippin and KQ.

Your schedule for the next six months is frankly intense. Between preparing for year-end stages and working on the choreography for the newly debuting girl group, you’re juggling conversations about New World’s next comeback and the next round of touring. With the money coming in now there’s an opportunity to take more dancers, and that just means more late nights and early mornings getting everything right.

It’s after your third concept planning meeting of the week that you find two minutes to talk to Wooyoung, his bag already slung over his shoulder as he refills his water bottle.

“So, you’re going?” You ask him vaguely, trying not to tip off anyone else in the vicinity that he’s got a date.

“Yeah,” He nods, eyes flicking over your shoulder to see if San and Seonghwa are nearby, “I think I’m going to throw up,”

“No, you’re not,” You assure him.

“I might,” He whines, running a hand through his mop of long black hair, “I never know what to say to him,”

“Woo,”

“I know what to say to everyone, y/n,” He lowers his voice, panic evident in his eyes, “but every time Sangie smiles I go fucking blank,”

“Sangie?” Your eyebrow quirks, “Is that what we’re calling him now,”

“Shut up,” Wooyoung blushes.

“Wow,” You prod him softly, “you’re down so bad, it’s been like three days,”

“It’s so bad,” He grimaces, “this is embarrassing,”

“Now you see how I feel,” You smirk, “it’s kind of fun being on this end of things,”

“Please,” He rolls his eyes, “are you telling me you’re not panicking?”

“Oh, no,” You laugh, “I definitely am. It’s just nice to know I’m not alone here,”

“I was never this mean to you,”

You hold his gaze, just blinking, there’s nothing to say to that he doesn’t already know.

“Okay, fine,” He sighs, “but still, feeling like this,”

“Feeling like what?” Seonghwa’s voice shocks you both out of your quiet conversation and you both jump back from each other.

“Jesus,” You breathe, “you scared me,”

Seonghwa smiles, “Sorry,” he shrugs, “everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Wooyoung takes a step back and shakes his head, “totally good,”

Seonghwa’s brows come together in the middle, “You seem like something’s wrong, can I help?”

Wooyoung almost blanches, and you know he’s dreading telling San and Seonghwa about Yeosang, so you jump in to help. “Woo was just helping me figure out Saturday,” You cover and draw Seonghwa’s attention back to you, “you know, figuring out what to say to them,”

“Oh,” Seonghwa nods, but you can see that he doesn’t really buy it, “right,”

“Anyways,” Wooyoung starts walking backwards towards the exterior door, “I have to go, but you know, y/n, call me if you need to talk more later,”

“I will,” You nod, “I definitely will.”

Wooyoung knows that what you mean is that you want detailed date updates, and he almost looks mortified at the idea. He disappears fast, leaving you and Seonghwa relatively alone in the hallway.

“What is up with him this week?” Seonghwa asks, confusion on his face.

“He has a date,” You tell him quietly, “he’s kind of freaking out about it.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa glances towards the door where Wooyoung just disappeared, “that’s not that weird for him,”

“It is if he’s this interested after only a few days,” You say, “but don’t tease him. He’s kind of worked up about the whole thing,”

“Who’s he seeing?” Seonghwa asks.

“He should tell you that,” You beg off the gossip immediately, “just do me a favor and give him a little space to talk to you and San about it,”

“Okay,” He draws out the word, not sure exactly where you’re going.

“He’s nervous about upsetting the delicate balance,” You gesture towards him, referring to the carefully constructed relationship that is Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa.

“He’s seeing another alpha?” Seonghwa jumps to that conclusion with ease, and you can see how he would get there.

You’re shaking your head before you can stop yourself, “It’s not that,”

That does surprise him, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen a bit, “Oh,”

“Right,” You nod, leading him to the conclusion as close as you can without spelling it out, “my point is, he’s nervous and he’s got a pretty serious crush, and he hasn’t said so but I think he’s scared you and San won’t approve.”

“I would never,” He stumbles over his words, “out of anyone, we would never judge him, he has to know that,”

“Hey,” You reach for Seonghwa, stepping a little closer so your voices stay low in the entryway as you brush your hand down his forearm, “he knows, he’s just panicking a little.”

“Should I talk to him?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes earnest.

“Not yet,” You shake your head, “he’ll figure it out, just don’t push him right now. I’ve never seen him this anxious,”

“I won’t,” He promises, “thank you for telling me,”

“Mhm,”

Seonghwa chews over your words a second and then decides to let it drop. With a sigh he refocuses on work, “Are you staying late?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, “I have some things to catch up on. You?”

“I need to track down San,” He says, “but then after that I’m probably heading out a little early,”

“Nice,” You nod, “still shaking off the jetlag?”

He nods, “Unfortunately,”

Down the hall you watch a few of the dancers gathering up their belongings, and then the door to the back office opens to reveal Yunho and Mingi, sitting close together and studying a computer screen as Jaemin leaves for the day.

“Well,” Your feet are already moving, “then I’ll see you later,”

“Sounds good,” He says, and then he gives you a knowing look, seeing exactly where you’re headed.

Before you know it, you’re moving through the people in the hall and trying desperately to come up with a reason for crashing their tete-a-tete.

“Hey,” You knock softly on the open door, “am I interrupting?”

“No, no,” Yunho smiles when he sees you and your stomach bubbles.

“We’re just watching back practice,” Mingi leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Oh, nice,” You say, and your empty words do little to fill the empty space.

“Do you… need something?” Yunho tries.

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” You scramble internally for something to say, “I’m staying late, but I’m kind of starving, I just didn’t know if you still had stuff stashed?”

“Sure,” He gestures towards the cabinets on the side wall, “whatever you want, help yourself,”

“Great,” You dash towards the cabinets, and you can’t even imagine eating right now with how fluttery your insides have been, but you snag a couple of protein bars anyways.

The silence is brutal. Not like before, not like the tense and uncomfortable angry silences of the past, but it’s still sitting there between you. Part of you wants to shut the door right now and just get it all out there, but again, you know you shouldn’t.

Mingi’s warm, chocolatey scent is richer in here, evident after a hard practice of working up a sweat and being given a chance to permeate with the door closed. You feel your body naturally relaxing at it, so comforting and familiar, and then you get the first pang of Yunho’s warm, summer rain.

You can hardly believe how you convinced yourself that this wasn’t scent sympathy when right here and now it’s so obvious they belong to you. You wonder if they feel it too.

“Are you okay?” Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your sudden daydream staring at the cabinet full of snacks.

“Yeah, yes,” You shut them and step back, “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“Not sleeping well?” Yunho says, concern all over his features.

“I’m fine,” You wave him off, “just a busy week,”

“You don’t have to stay late,” Mingi offers, “I’m sure whatever you’re working on will still be fine tomorrow,”

“I know,” You nod, “but if I don’t get it out of my system I’ll just be thinking about it all night, you know how it is,”

Mingi nods, “Still, take it easy later,”

“I will,” You promise, and you start to turn towards the door when the words just bubble up out of your throat, “you’re both still free Saturday, right?”

“Yeah,” Mingi answers for them both, “are you?”

“Definitely,” You nod, “I just wanted to make sure, I’m looking forward to it,”

“We could do tomorrow instead,” Yunho offers, “after practice?”

“As long as you don’t have other plans,” Mingi cuts in, “for a Friday night,”

“Tomorrow works,” You jump at the chance, “I’d actually love that, I just didn’t want to crowd you when you’re adjusting to the timezone again,”

“It’s fine,” Mingi brushes that thought off, “I’d rather see you,”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods, “it’ll be good to catch up,”

You smile, “I want to hear all about the trip,”

“The trip,” Mingi says, just repeating your words like he’s weighing them out on his own tongue.

Something about his voice sends a sharp zing up the back of your spine.

Your body feels a little soft, relaxing bit by bit.

Yunho’s eyes flick over you, “Are you sure you need to stay late?”

Something your primal little brain cannot handle right now is the thought of your alphas being protective, not when you’re standing in this room encased by their scents that feel a little too right. Your stomach tightens and you pray that you’re not blushing pink at the flickering thought in your mind of them taking you home.

You need to get out of this room before they realize it.

“I’m good,” You tell him, stepping backwards towards the door, “but thank you, and dinner tomorrow is perfect,”

Mingi says something, you think he’s agreeing, but you’re giving another excuse over your shoulder about how you need to get back to it so you can make it out of this room.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the office and make it down the hall, heading for the studio room you’ve booked for the afternoon. You nearly run into Dahan and Minseok as you cut around the corner, but you apologize quickly and barely give them a second glance as you hide yourself away in one of the dance studios alone.

With the door firmly shut you lean back against the closed door and take a deep breath. These feelings are going to work you into a frenzy if you don’t get them under control. Scent sympathy is rare, an almost perfect match between an alpha and omega that makes every part of a relationship heightened, especially once that initial sympathetic bond is fulfilled with a claim. While they were gone you came to that conclusion slowly, the steady ache in your chest so clearly informed by the lack of them, but now that they’re back and here the realization of it collides into you full-force.

You love them, that’s true. But what’s more is how much you need them, and how much you hope they need you. You can’t let them realize it before you have the chance to say everything you need to say, and if you had stayed in that room a few minutes more they might have felt themselves. With the dinner moved to Friday you just have one more night to get through. One more night, and one more day of work. And then the chips will fall where they may.

With a deep breath you let the hammering of your heart slow and then you focus back on the work ahead. The more you pour yourself into work the faster these 24 hours will go, so you put your head down and get to it.

You work for a long time, probably too long, until your muscles are positively aching and any thoughts of Yunho and Mingi are drowned out by lyrics to the chorus of this song that just keeps looping in your mind as you try different patterns of footwork. Here in this bubble you don’t know who’s still at work, who’s left for the day, what time it is, or if the sun has set yet. You just know your own body and every which way that it moves to this one singular song.

Your hair is hot around your face, sweat clinging to your brow as you finish out the latter half of the choreography that you’re confident with. It’s fast, and includes so much up and down floor work you’re pretty sure you’d be passing out if you weren’t hydrating properly. Focused on your reflection in the mirror you gather your hair up and away and into a knot and then move to find your towel and water bottle.

The door to the studio opens behind you, and you glance back without really seeing who’s popping in, “Hey,”

For a split second it occurs to you that it might be Yunho or Mingi and your stomach flips as you start to turn.

“Hey, y/n,” Minseok’s voice is a bit of a surprise.

“Oh, hey,”

He looks like he’s just stopping by to grab something from the far desk in the corner. You’re honestly surprised that he’s still here, he had looked on his way out earlier when you bumped into him in the hall.

“Are you heading out for the night?” You take a drink of water and catch your breath, leaning against the mirrored wall behind you.

“Soon,” He nods, running a hand through his dark hair and snagging a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the office chair.

“Well,” You smile, “have a good night,”

“You too,” He says as he walks past you, but then his steps slow and you hear him sigh before he turns on his heel, “listen, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird,” He takes a few more steps back towards you, “but I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something for a while now,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise, and suddenly you can see everything in his expression. You know this look. You know the way men get when they finally rip off the bandage and change the equilibrium of a room, the moment they decide they can’t see you as just a friend. What absolutely terrible timing he has.

“I was thinking,” He says, a little pause before the rest and you hope you’re keeping your face nice and neutral, “do you think I could take you out some time?”

“Out?” The word leaves you.

He smiles, “Yeah, out, like a date.”

“I appreciate that,” You shake your head a little, trying to smile and keep things light, “but I don’t think so,”

His lip quirks and his nose scrunches and you suppose that if you were interested you might find this part of him charming, but you’re not, so it isn’t. “Are you seeing someone?” He asks.

“No,” You tell him honestly, “not right now.”

“So, I can’t get you to give me one chance?” He takes a step forwards, gesturing between you both and keeping his gaze hopeful.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” You shake your head, “we work together.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” He assures you, brushing past the boundary you tried to set with casual indifference, “don’t worry about that.”

“Still,” You shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”

You’re not at all thankful for him asking, but he’s nice enough, and it feels like the polite way to keep the status quo.

“That’s a shame,” He admits, his smile dropping almost entirely, “are you sure I can’t convince you to give me just one chance? I really do like you, y/n,”

“I’m sure,” That should be firm enough.

“I thought we were getting along well,” He cuts off the end of your words, “becoming friends.”

“I thought so too,” You straighten up off the wall behind you, tossing your towel over your shoulder and setting up to walk right out of the studio room if that’s what it would take to end this interaction, “I thought we were friends,”

You can’t help but emphasize the word friends, and you watch the moment his expression drops more, annoyance flicking through his jaw.

“I didn’t think you had such a problem seeing people you worked with,” He says pointedly.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just that,” He shrugs, nodding towards you, “I didn’t think it bothered you. Considering.”

“Listen,” You lock eyes with him, “let it go. I’m trying to be nice about this, but I can be clearer. I am not interested in going out with you.”

“You don’t have to be rude,”

“Goodnight, Minseok,” You’re not staying for this.

“I’m a good guy,” He says as you start towards the door, “don’t, come on just stay a second,”

You keep walking.

“y/n,” He says, his voice startlingly close behind you, “stay.”

It’s like your legs stop working, an echoing strike of nerves down your spine and you stumble slightly as his hand closes around your wrist.

“Let go of me.” You start to turn towards him, pulling your arm back as you do, but he speaks again.

“Stop.” His voice is so low suddenly, situated smack in the center of his chest, a tenor you’ve never heard from him before. Your legs stop working all together, suddenly feeling like lead.

“Take your hands off me.” You blink hard, your head feeling a little full suddenly.

“I just don’t understand,” He bites, “we’ve been flirting for weeks.”

You can’t find the words to tell him that you being nice isn't flirting, but you’re stunned into silence. You can barely even think of a time when you had a sustained conversation with him where someone else wasn’t present. How could interactions that felt so routine to you feel so significant for him?

“And you’re just… not interested?” He scoffs, “You’re what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? You’re going to start running out of good offers.”

So many things about Seo Minseok fall into place with just those words. The way that just a few weeks ago he barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. Always spending his attention on the alphas in the room around you, but never you. How when that tide shifted you thought, maybe naively, that he was just shy. But he’s not shy, not in the least. He’s just another alpha in a long line of alphas who look down their noses at omegas until there’s something they want from them.

“That’s really none of your concern,” You shake your head, “now get the fuck off me.”

“Be quiet.” His jaw sets hard.

So does yours.

A thousand thoughts run through your brain like a wildfire eating up a hillside of dry bark but nothing can make it past your lips. The tone of his voice has you rooted to the spot, his instructions not suggestions but strict commands. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard an alpha use tone, but it’s certainly the first time it’s been directed at you. You’ve heard stories, the way the primal omega brain surfaces even when you don’t want it to. You thought it was a bit of an overstatement, but now on the receiving end you can’t control your response to him and fear floods you.

“You talk a lot for an unmated omega,” He looks disappointed.

Something shrinks inside you.

His fingers tighten, his body suddenly closer, “But we can fix that.”

In a breath his hands push you backwards, your back suddenly cold against the mirrored wall of the practice room. Later, much later, you’ll discover that the reason your memory of this moment is patchy is a combination of your omega’s response to alpha tone and full dissociation. You’ll remember little pieces, quick sensations here and there. The same song still looping through the stereo, the sound of his deep inhale with his face pressed against your throat, the sharp pin pricks of his teeth as he seeks out the soft juncture of your neck and shoulder. The way your mind in one heaving breath both screams in rebellion and folds open in acceptance when he successfully locates your gland.

You suddenly can’t hear right, can’t think right. All you know is his teeth. The hot feeling of breath. He smells like burnt, bitter oranges. He’s talking again, saying something that your conscious mind can’t register, but your omega does, and you stretch your neck long to give him the access he needs.

And then you’re under.

You’re dropping before you consciously register your brain entering a new, hazy middle space. It feels like being at the bottom of a deep pool, the sudden, immersive quiet. You understand that someone is talking to you, or around you, but all you can hear is the echoing tenor of an alpha, the words unclear, all cocooned in the water around you.

There’s a bang somewhere but it feels far away, and you feel pin pricks against your throat.

Minseok’s overwhelming acrid scent and heavy pressure against you is gone, the sudden loss of his weight leaving you off balance. You think you’re falling, or maybe you’ve already fallen. The world feels tilted, something hard and cold under your back. You smell something sharp and tangy, and there’s something loud in the room but you can’t understand it. Everything is white, bright and intrusive.

Mingi’s face swims into your vision, and you feel his hands on your cheeks. It takes you a minute to understand anything, but he looks upset, stricken and his cheeks are tinged pink with panicked anger. You want to reach up, soothe his brow and see what’s wrong, but you can’t lift your hand. Don’t move an inch.

“Jesus,” Mingi glances to his side, “he put her in subspace,”

Someone responds, but it’s muffled to your ears.

Mingi’s face darkens entirely, his hands leave you, “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He’s gone. There’s a scuffle to your side, but you can’t turn your head, you want to, you just can’t. Tears bubble in your eyes, emotion pulsing through you and your breath is tight and thready in your throat. A sharp, whining sob bubbles from your lips.

Warm rain swims through you, and Yunho’s there, sliding right into the spot Mingi left. His eyes dart over your face and then he looks to his side, his voice firm, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,”

There’s a long beat, noises to your side again but you can’t understand it. Your stomach flips nervously, the place you’re stuck in your head throbbing a sharp spike through your brain.

Yunho’s warm, brown eyes settle back on yours, his face calm and easy, “Can you hear me, y/n?”

You can, but you can’t make your mouth work. Don’t move an inch.

“Can you hear me? y/n?” He asks again, his thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re safe, he’s not going to touch you again,”

The hard feeling of Minseok’s hands on your hips pushing you into the practice room mirror snaps inside you and you release a soft sound.

“You can hear me,” Yunho nods, “come on, wake up,”

“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is close again, hard and steady, “that’s not going to work,”

“Why?” Yunho looks up to his friend, “she can hear me, she’s okay,”

“She’s in subspace,” Mingi pushes his friend to the side, coming into your eye line, “she’s dropped so far under it’s going to take more than that,”

“W-what do we do?” Yunho’s voice is shaky.

“Let me try something,” Mingi murmurs, and then his eyes lock squarely on yours.

Yunho slips his hand into yours, holding you tightly, but you can’t squeeze him back.

“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and it’s the clearest thing you’ve heard since sinking under the water, “Come up now.”

Don’t move an inch.

“You need to come up now,” His fingers tighten on your cheek, “listen to me.”

Don’t move an inch.

“Why isn’t this working?” Yunho asks, squeezing your fingers.

“I’m not sure,” Mingi’s voice is low, and then he shifts closer to your face, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,”

All you can do is manage to make a quiet, tight noise, and even to your muddled brain you can hear the tenor of distress.

“Come up now,” Mingi repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega.”

You’re being torn in two, your primal brain fighting you every step of the way.

He swallows hard, his voice dropping low in his chest, “Don’t disobey your alpha,”

Suddenly nothing but his voice exists.

Mingi’s expression is cold, tight and ruthless, his rich tone cuts straight to your core, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it. Now,” He locks his hands on either side of your face and his next words are a pointed and perfectly clear command, “Come. Up.”

The room is so much louder than you thought a moment ago. There’s shouting outside and you vaguely register San’s voice amongst the mix. The music from practice is still on low. Yunho’s leg is bouncing nervously, the athletic fabric making a rhythmic swish with every bob of his knee. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, the first feeling that floods back into your body is intense shame.

“Oh my god,” Mingi’s expression crumbles and he pulls your limp body into his arms “you’re here? You’re with us?”

“M-Mingi,” Your vision clouds with tears again and every feeling that tried to course through your body while you were in subdrop crashes into you sideways.

“Shh,” He rocks you in his arms, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”

A dull throb radiates through your skull and Yunho takes a sharp inhale, “She’s bleeding,”

“What?” Mingi pulls back, his hand searching your body.

“Here,” Yunho brushes the back of your hair, his fingers coming away with a small line of blood, “it’s not too bad,”

“What happened?” You reach for the cut at the back of your head, nervous tears coming up as you try to understand.

“You don’t remember?” Yunho asks.

“I’m,” You swallow hard, “it was practice? Or I was practicing? I had the room booked.”

“Yeah,” Yunho nods and squeezes your hand, “what else?”

The date. The hard set of Minseok’s jaw when you said no. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, the soft drag of his teeth and the flat of his tongue over your gland. Your shirt tearing when he hauled you up against the mirrors. Hands everywhere. Hands nowhere. The white ceiling. His voice, harsh and direct in your ears, the alpha tone unmistakable. Submit. Heel. Don’t move an inch.

Your mouth is suddenly hot and watery, and your hands are shaking, “I’m… I’m going to be sick,”

“Shit,” Yunho moves fast, sliding across the floor to grab the wastebasket that sits under the desk, pushing it into your hands.

You wretch instantly, shaking and heaving, losing the contents of your stomach into the plastic bin.

“Okay,” Mingi soothes, gathering up your hair into one hand and holding it away from your face, “you’re okay,”

“He touched me,” Your hands won’t stop shaking, his voice flooding back, and you heave again, “the things he said,”

“Shh,” Yunho shifts closer, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “you’re safe. None of that is true,”

“He talked to me like a dog,” You sob, “and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”

“No.” Mingi’s voice is harsh and you twitch under his hands, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else. You didn’t let him do anything,”

“I’ve never,” You wretch again, a dry heave with nothing to give and it makes your eyes watery.

“We’re right here,” Yunho murmurs, “you’re safe.”

When you’re sure your stomach will hold, you push the wastebasket away and drop back to the floor, your head throbbing, “I’ve never been in subspace,”

“You’re not there now,” Mingi soothes.

“I don’t remember,” You manage, looking down at your mussed clothes, “it’s so muddled I can’t remember,”

“What can’t you remember?” Yunho asks softly.

You’re pretty sure you’d register it if his attempt at claiming had been successful, if the word attempt should even be in consideration at all, but the end is so fuzzy you just have to know. “Did he… did we?”

“No.” Yunho’s firm, sliding in front of you so he can make you look into his eyes, “absolutely not,”

Your mouth tastes terrible, but it’s the overwhelming bitter smell of him on you that doubles it and makes you want to throw up again even though your stomach is empty.

“All I can smell is him,” You scrub your hands under your eyes to wipe away tears, “I can’t even breathe,”

“Take her,” Mingi says, “I’m getting water,”

Yunho pulls you into his arms, sitting back against the mirrored wall for some support and cradling you to his chest, “Come here, is this okay?”

“Make it go away,” You hold onto his shirt and sigh into his neck, “please, Yunho, please,”

“Just breathe,” He soothes you, “I have you,”

He smooths his thumbs over the glands in your wrists, easing the initial panic inside you, and then gently draws your head back with his hand, “It’s only me,” He murmurs, “you know I’d never hurt you,”

Yunho licks a long stripe up your neck, and instantly your body starts to release, tense muscles unlocking and your fingers falling slack. His scent washes over you, enveloping you tenderly.

“Y-Yunho,” you shudder as he licks another long stripe, moving to suck softly on the fleshy part of your neck that narrowly avoided teeth marks.

“Yes?” He kisses your neck softly, and licks again.

“Thank you for coming for me,” You exhale slowly.

He stills, sinking closer and resting his closed lips on your shoulder. When he breathes in you hear the catch of emotion, “I thought we were too late,”

“I’m okay,” You murmur, and it’s starting to feel true now that he’s washing away Minseok’s scent.

“God,” He sighs into your skin, “when I heard you scream… I’ve never heard anything that terrifying in my life, I’ve never run so fast,”

“Did I scream?” You don’t remember it.

“Bloody murder,” He nods, pulling back to look at your eyes.

“Yunho,” Your eyes flick up towards the open door of the practice studio, “where is he?”

His hands tighten on you, “Probably nursing his broken ribs. The guys have him,”

Your eyes widen, and the realization that he’s still under the same roof has you trembling in his arms, “He’s still here,”

“Not for long,” He murmurs, “we called the police,”

“But,” Your mind is spinning and you feel the weight of him on your chest once more, “what if he comes back?”

“y/n,” Yunho draws your eyes away from the door, “San and Seonghwa have him, and he’s in rough shape. He’s probably focused on trying to breathe, not thinking about you anymore. And even if none of that were true and he did come back,” he says, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.”

Your muscles start to relax again, “Okay,”

“You are completely safe,”

Mingi reappears a few moments later, bottles of water in hand, and he smiles warmly, “Hey, you,”

“Hey,”

“Feeling a little better?” He asks, settling on the hard practice room floor and passing you an open bottle.

“I don’t know,” You murmur honestly, shifting in Yunho’s arms so that you’re resting on his lap with your back against his chest. You take a long drink of water and sigh.

“Listen,” Mingi smooths a hand across your thigh, “the police are going to want to talk to you. They’ll be here within the hour and then we’ll go to the hospital.”

“Why?” You tense.

“Your head,” He nods.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” Yunho assures you, “but he’s right, you could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,”

“I didn’t realize you had a medical degree,” Mingi says, a little edge to his voice.

Hot tears well in your eyes at his tone, and you shrink back into Yunho’s arms. You know rationally he didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just worried about you, but after the day you’ve had you can’t help but shrink back in fear.

“Hey,” Yunho presses his lips to your neck, “it’s alright, Mingi didn’t mean it like that”

Mingi’s eyes blow wide, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything,”

“I know,” You tip your head to the side to offer more of your throat to Yunho’s soothing touches, “I’m just not myself,”

“It’s okay,” Yunho says again, returning to your neck and peppering kisses across your gland, and something about this should feel intimate and awkward when you haven’t talked to them yet, but all you can feel is safe.

“Really,” Mingi reaches for you, but doesn’t touch you, “I just want you to let us help, and I’m so angry with Minseok I could kill him, but I didn’t mean to put that on you,”

“Mingi,” You take his outstretched hand, “I’m okay, you just startled me, and you’re right anyways. I’ll come to the hospital,”

He sighs in relief.

“After,” Yunho murmurs, “would you - I mean, will you please come home with us tonight?”

It’s strange how much you feel like it is home, despite only spending your heat there, months ago, so long ago now you shouldn’t still feel this preternatural pull.

“I don’t know,” You say, even though your body is begging you to agree, to stay with them and only them.

“I know it’s been different between us,” He murmurs, arms tightening around you, “but you know how I feel. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, someone should be with you,”

“Someone you feel safe with,” Mingi adds, “if that’s us,”

“It is,” You lock your hand down on Mingi’s, “I’m sorry, this is… of course you’re safe, of course you are. I’m just,”

“Let’s talk about this later,” Mingi smiles, shooting a look at Yunho you can’t quite make sense of, but brushing your fears to the side all the same, “for now, let’s just get you taken care of.”

You shudder out a breath, letting the warmth and safety of their bodies sink into you. You turn into Yunho, resting your cheek on his chest and matching your breath in time to his. Your thoughts spin, bubbling over as threads of the incident come back to your mind and you press your eyes closed before the question slips out, “Why did he do it?”

Yunho wraps his arms around you a little tighter, dropping his lips to your hair, “I don’t know,”

Mingi clears his throat, “He’s about to hit his rut,” he says, “that’s what his excuse was. He said he’s… he kept saying how sorry he was, but,”

Your eyes snap open, “Sorry? He’s sorry?”

“Sorry someone interrupted him, maybe,” Mingi’s voice is hard, his eyes firm and unrelenting, “a rut doesn’t make you do that. Not like that.”

Yunho shakes his head in agreement, “Definitely not,”

You know that, of course you know it, but after seeing Minseok’s black eyes you’re not so sure. You had never felt completely comfortable with him, but in the past you would have chalked that up to personality differences, and in the past few weeks that had all started to change. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t date, but you wouldn’t worry about bothering you.

You sigh softly, “He didn’t seem like himself,”

“Mm,” Mingi hums, non-committal.

“A rut doesn’t make it impossible to hear the word no,” Yunho says firmly, “you don’t become some mindless animal. What he tried to do… that’s… a rut’s an easy excuse.”

You tense up in his arms, a brief flicker of what could have been. His teeth in your neck, your mind spinning into submission.

“Yunho,” Mingi shakes his head at his best friend, glancing down at you to indicate that it’s not something you can hear right now.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho soothes, holding you closer if it’s at all possible.

Your chest tightens, “Can I… I need to get up,”

His arms relax immediately, hands shifting under your elbows to help support you while Mingi jumps up and offers you his hands to pull you up. Back on your own two feet you waver a minute, but you shake off the dizzy spell and try to get your bearings again. They're waiting on a razor’s edge, hands out and ready to intervene, but you’ve made it clear that for the moment you don’t want to be touched.

A shout from the hall leaves you jumping, but you register Wooyoung’s voice a moment later, “Where is she?”

“The studio,” San’s voice replies, “slow down,”

“Is he in the back office? Give me a fucking minute alone with him,” Wooyoung’s voice is murderous and you smile at how ready your best friend sounds to do battle on your behalf, “I’ll show him what an omega can fucking do,”

“Youngie,” San’s voice is even and warm, keeping things soft, “you need to calm down,”

“Calm down,” He scoffs, his voice getting closer as he travels down the hall and you know he’s almost at the door.

“I hardly think y/n needs,” San starts to say, but then they round the corner.

Wooyoung’s eyes are wild, searching and terrified, and something inside you shatters. San’s words die on his lips when he sees you, and in a startling moment of clarity you rush forwards and into Wooyoung’s arms.

“Shh, shh,” He wraps you up tight, one hand at the back of your head as he rocks you back and forth, “you’re safe, you’re in one piece,”

“Woo,” Tears come fast, and you bury your face in his chest.

“Stupid fucking alphas,” He curses into your shoulder and you can hear his breath hitched and clouded with tears of his own, “acting like they can take whatever they want,”

You’re sure the rest of the room is bristling at that comment but you couldn’t care less.

“You want me to break the rest of his ribs?” He kisses your head, “I’ll make it look like a fucking accident, I swear to God,”

“Woo,” You laugh into his chest, vision blurry with unshed tears, “stop, that’s insane,”

“I am nothing if not a little insane,” Wooyoung squeezes you, “and you and me? We protect each other, right?”

“Always,” You grip the back of his shirt like a lifeline.

The bond between omegas can’t be understood by a single other person in the room, maybe even in the building. You cling to each other in the middle of the studio floor, encased in this moment of shared grief. Of what you are and what that means. He shifts you in his arms so he can look at your face, cupping your tear stained cheeks.

The sight of his own tears makes yours come faster, “What did I do?”

His expression hardens and he shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, “Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Do you hear me?”

“Woo,” You want him to let you go. You want him to tug you close again.

He shakes your shoulders hard, and in your periphery you see Mingi take a half step forward as Wooyoung pushes back on your words, “You didn’t do anything. You’re existing, and he tried to take advantage of that. This isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could have or should have done.”

You open your mouth to say something but he plows forward.

“Alphas take, alright?” He shakes you again, more gently this time, “We’re lucky. You and me, we found good ones, but alphas are programmed to take, and we’re programmed to give. He used it against you. Nothing else.”

Your breath hitches, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him cradle you again.

“Shh, shh,” He rubs your back, soothing you again.

“I hate this,” You manage, your face buried in his shoulder.

“I know,” He eases you, “I fucking hate it too,”

You hold each other a little longer until both of your tears start to subside. You stay steady in his grip, his fresh salt and cotton scent lulling you into safety. The buzzing of your brain starts to release, and the fear is still there under your skin but at least for now it’s low and letting you breathe.

Nuzzling into his shoulder you sigh, “What are you doing back here anyways?”

“San called,” He kisses your hair, “I broke several laws getting here,”

You laugh against his collarbone where his oversized t-shirt is pulled down, no doubt from the way your hands grip whatever part of him you can.

He rubs a warm hand up and down your back and when he speaks again it’s not to you, this time he addresses the alphas in the room. He clears his throat softly, head lifting up and away from yours, “So, who busted his nose?”

“Uh,” Yunho makes a small sound behind you, “that would be me,”

“Good,” Wooyoung says, “when she stops crying I’m giving you a handshake,”

You smile against his damp skin and shake your head, “I’m not crying, I’m fine,”

“Sure,” Wooyoung murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go, just strokes your back more until you settle further into him.

“The police will be here soon,” San murmurs, his voice staying relaxed and steady to make sure everything stays level in the room.

“Right,” Wooyoung sighs, “y/n, can I let you go? I don't have to if you’re not ready,”

You nod immediately though, unwinding your arms from him and taking a ginger step back. He gives you a soft smile, and you scrub the last of the tears from your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. He gives you a minute to stand steady and then turns to Yunho and Mingi who both look frozen and unsure of what to do or what to say.

“You both got him off her?” He says, matter of fact.

“Yeah,” Mingi’s voice is tight, like he had been choking back tears of his own, and Yunho simply nods.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung tugs Mingi into a hug and squeezes him tight before shifting to Yunho to hug him too, “seriously,”

Once they break apart, you’re left all in a haphazard circle, and you can feel all the eyes on you. It makes you so tired, dizzy, ready to be done and just crawl under a blanket for the rest of the week. In the back of your throat you still taste bitter orange.

“Um,” Your voice comes out a little more scratchy than you want, and you clear your throat, letting everything fade.

“What is it?” Yunho asks gently.

You don’t know how to ask this, how to beg them to keep holding you together so you can just get through existing in this room. You sigh, the deep exhale making you dizzy again, and step towards him, “C-can I,”

He opens his arms immediately, letting you close the space so he doesn’t assume your needs, but as you collide with him again he responds perfectly, scooping you up into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He supports you with ease, an arm under your thighs and another situated high on your back.

“Better?” He murmurs, smiling a little as you bury your head in his neck.

You nod into his neck, and then you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness, listening to your body and what it needs for once over your anxiety. You mumble it into his neck, but he hears you when you say, “Yunho?”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is so soft, quiet like he’s afraid of what you might say.

You don’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high at the endearment, but you ignore him and focus instead on the man holding you up, together, in one solid piece. You lift your head so he hears you clearly, “Will you please take me home?”

He goes still and turns his head just a little, “Your apartment or,”

“Take me home with you,” You repeat, “I want to go home,”

This will surely just make everything more muddled and foggy between the three of you tomorrow in the cold light of day, but you don’t care. Right now you just want to be home, in whatever form that means.

He exhales low and shaky, “Alright,” he murmurs, kissing your throat softly to help calm your trembling, “I’ve got you, let’s go home,”

A warm wide palm rests on the center of your back, and Mingi leans in close to catch your eyes, “y/n, can you look at me a second?”

You pull your head up from the crook of Yunho’s neck where you’ve just been taking deep steady inhales of wet earth and meet his eyes.

“Hey,” He smiles.

Your eyes dart between him and Wooyoung, who seems suddenly ancy. “What?” You straighten up a little more in Yunho’s arms.

“You can go wherever you want,” He starts off, “but do you want us to take you home, or would you feel more comfortable with Wooyoung? Or… Seonghwa, if… if that would be better for how you’re feeling,”

Yunho tenses a little, his fingers tightening where he holds you, and you can feel him physically holding himself back from saying a single word, from begging you to come with them.

You’ve made up your mind though, and within a second you’re shaking your head, “No, I want you,”

Yunho relaxes, his lips returning to your throat and you sigh.

“Then you have us,” Mingi assures you.

The sound of the elevators in the hall stop you all cold though, and San holds up his hands, “I’ll go see, it’s probably the police,”

The idea of talking to them suddenly makes you sick, and you’re sure it shows all over your face.

“It’s going to be fine,” Wooyoung jumps back in, “don’t worry, we’ll be there the whole time.”

You need this to be done. You grip down on Yunho’s shoulders, “I want to go home,”

“I know,” Mingi nods.

“Y-Yunho,” You’re scrambling a little in his arms, sudden panic swirling in your gut, and you twist to find his eyes, “please, get me out of here, please take me home,”

You feel it the minute he chooses you over anything else, “Okay, alright,”

“You need to talk to the cops,” Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to reason with you.

You’re trembling in Yunho’s arms and he shakes his head, “She needs to go,”

Mingi senses your heightened emotions too and you feel it when he moves closer, both of them shifting to protect you, “She can do this later,”

“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” Wooyoung insists.

“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Yunho grips you tighter, “we’re taking our girl home,”

“Your-” Wooyoung scoffs when he hears the words, “fucking alphas,”

“Who she wants to take her home,” Mingi points out, a distinct edge to his voice.

“Stop arguing,” You beg them, hanging onto Yunho’s shoulders, “please, please,”

“Fuck,” Yunho relaxes, stroking your back, “I’m sorry, of course we won’t, I’m sorry,”

Mingi brushes his hand over the back of your head and Wooyoung gives you an apologetic face, his defensiveness over you is understandable, but he also knows how you feel about these men and you watch him choose to hold his tongue.

A knock on the door brings you all back to the present, San handling the situation with more grace than any of you combined, “The police said that they can speak with you at the hospital and make it brief.”

You exhale heavily and nod against Yunho, “Okay, fine,”

“Are you sure?” Mingi strokes your cheek.

“I just want to be done,”

“Should we stay with you?” Yunho murmurs.

“Please,” You grip his shoulders.

“Alright,” He sighs, “Woo, could you… I’m sorry, can you grab her things? Let’s just try to make this quick for her,”

Wooyoung clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours, “Yeah, I got it,”

“Uh,” San interrupts as you all try to gather your things, “Yunho, they want to talk to you first, they’re waiting in the back office,”

“Oh,”

“They have some questions,” San explains quietly, “but she she doesn’t need to be there for that,”

“Right,” Yunho nods and then presses a kiss to your hair, “can I put you down, sweetheart?”

Your chest warms.

“No, here,” Mingi cuts in, his hand sweeping over your back and you feel them shift you from Yunho’s arms to his, “come here,”

He settles you against his chest and you wrap around him just the same, soaking in the warm scent of cocoa and cinnamon. You let your eyes drift shut as you rest on his shoulder, “Hey, Mingi,”

“Hey,” He says softly.

“Thank you,” You sigh.

“Mhm,” He rocks you a little as he takes your bags from Wooyoung and slings them over his shoulder, the combined weight of it and you not fazing him at all, “I told you once I’ll always be here, I meant it,”

“I believe you,” You murmur into his throat.

You rest here, Mingi’s thumb rubbing a comforting line over the back of your neck.

“Time to go,” Wooyoung’s voice pipes back in, “there’s a car ready, Yunho will be there in a a few minutes,”

“Alright,” Mingi presses a soft kiss to your hair, “here we go,”

He carries you with ease, and you sink into the steady thump of his heart under your palm that’s keeping you grounded. Over his shoulder you watch Wooyoung walking with you and you see police officers down the hall. The door to the back office swings open and Yunho is leaning against the desk as he speaks with an officer. Seonghwa sits in a chair next to him, his head in his hands, blood coating his knuckles and the sleeves of his shirt. Something pulls in your gut, begging you to go to him, but then you’re outside and all you can feel is Mingi holding you as he ferries you into the car.

“Do you need anything?” He asks as he settles you into the passenger seat

“I don’t know,” You tell him honestly, letting your head drop back against the seat and taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Wooyoung jumps forward, “keep your eyes open,”

“I’m fine,” You tell him, but you still do what he asks.

“Just in case,” Wooyoung presses, “you shouldn’t fuck with head injuries,”

“He’s right,” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you just outside the car, “and I’m sure you’re fine, but let’s just be sure, okay?”

“Okay,”

A noise just past the two of them makes you jump.

“It’s just Sannie,” Wooyoung assures you.

You nod and Mingi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

“Yunho’s almost done,” San announces, but he hurries to the car and leans in to check you, “doing okay?”

“Yeah,”

“Can you do something for me?” He cups your cheek to bring your eyes up to his.

“Mhm,” You nod again.

“I need you to just focus on us for a minute,” He moves to crouch next to Mingi, and then Wooyoung steps closer too, blocking out some of your peripheral vision.

“Why?” You fight the urge to turn around.

Red and blue lights flash in the car mirrors and you reflexively glance up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of an ambulance, and tension fills your stomach.

San reaches up and catches your face again, “Hey, look at me,”

You pull your eyes away, “Are they here for him?”

“Yes,” San nods.

“Is he badly hurt?” Your mouth feels dry.

There’s a pause and then Wooyoung sighs, “Don’t lie to her,”

Mingi clears his throat softly, “He’s pretty busted up,”

“Good,” You breathe.

San smiles, taking your other hand in his and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. The sound of the doors catches your attention again, and you resist the urge to turn around once again. San shakes his head a little, “Just keep looking at us,”

“He really picked the wrong person to fuck with,” Wooyoung says, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder.

An image of Seonghwa and his bloody knuckles flashes through your mind and your breath quickens, “Is Hwa okay?”

Mingi’s brows draw together.

“He’s fine,” San assures you immediately.

“I saw blood,” You can’t articulate it exactly, the image is just static in your mind.

“It’s not his blood,” San promises, “we’re all fine, Seonghwa is fine,”

The sound of the ambulance doors swinging shut makes you jump.

“Shh,” Mingi squeezes your hand, “you’re safe, you’re with me,”

Everything in your body feels tense and stretched thin, but Mingi’s hand is solid in yours and you grip down on it, letting it tether you.

You listen as the ambulance pulls away, your muscles unclenching one by one as the sound of the vehicle fades.

“Woo,” You manage, “can you check on Hwa for me? And text me?”

“Yeah,” He assures you, “I got you,”

“Take a deep breath,” Mingi instructs you, “please, for me,”

You take a long inhale and meet his eyes and he nods as you let the breath out low and slow through your nose.

“Again, please,” He nods.

You breathe again, the same steady pace, “I’m tired,”

“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Mingi tells you, “but as soon as a doctor says you can sleep, you can rest,”

“Okay,” You nod.

San’s hand disconnects from yours and he starts to stand, “Yunho’s done,”

You twist in your seat to see him, Wooyoung stepping out of the way, and you can see Yunho jogging towards the car, “Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” Mingi keeps himself calm for you.

“That took forever,” He says, “I’m sorry,”

“It didn’t,” You shake your head, “don’t be sorry,”

“You should go,” Wooyoung interrupts, “get her looked at,”

You find your best friend’s eyes, “You’ll text me?”

“Of course I will,” He nods, “but right now just focus on yourself. We’re all okay,”

You nod, and your eyes feel heavy again already. You know they’ll be trying to keep you awake in the car at this rate.

“Let’s go,” Mingi nods, “can I have my hand back for a minute?” He smiles at you.

“Sorry,” You drop his hand, almost embarrassed at the way you’re clinging to him.

“Go,” San ushers Yunho towards the driver’s side, “if you need anything, we’re here,”

Before you know it everyone’s moving and your car door is shut. Yunho slides into the driver’s seat to your left and Mingi moves into the backseat behind you.

You meet Wooyoung’s eyes through the window and he rests a hand over his chest. He mouths a simple message - I love you, okay?

You nod and the car starts to move, but you know he knows you love him too.

Mingi shifts forwards in his seat as Yunho starts to drive, and his long arm reaches around to find your hand again. He laces your fingers together once and this time he doesn’t let go.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Later that night, the warm, rich scent of their apartment almost takes you out at the knees when you finally cross the threshold, so overwhelmingly comforting and enveloping that you want nothing more than to bury yourself inside the feeling for days. Mingi nearly runs into your back when you stop short in the entryway and Yunho’s watching you carefully as he hangs up your jackets.

“What?” Mingi nudges you gently.

There’s a million things to say. Things left unsaid after your last conversation, that fight you wish you could forget. The letter. All the things you were planning on confessing Saturday. The way you want so badly to erase today and just be with them. Every ounce of their soothing physicality after Minseok brings all your emotions up tenfold. Their tenderness almost chokes you. All the things you want to say are stuck in your throat. You need to get your head on straight. You need sleep.

“Hey,” Yunho waves a hand in front of your dazed expression, “are you alright?”

Not really. The hospital was long and awkward, seeing a glimpse of Minseok’s name on a hospital room door even worse, and the police had so many questions that all sounded fairly judgemental. Not to mention the probing questions from the hospital staff about your cycle and if you’re close to pre-heat. As if that matters at all. You settle for something a little less dire though, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been a while,”

Yunho’s ears darken to a deep shade of pink and he nods.

“You can sleep in my room,” Mingi offers, “like before. We can stay or not stay, it’s up to you.”

“I’d like to be alone,” You tell them, “if that’s alright,”

“Of course,” Mingi smooths a hand down your arm, “whatever you want.”

“Um,” You sigh heavily, “honestly I’m exhausted. I think I might just shower and sleep as long as you don’t mind,”

Yunho shakes his head, gesturing towards the hall, “Not at all, just… call if you need anything,”

You start back towards the bathroom, your eyes down and away from them, but Mingi calls out, “You remember where everything is?”

There’s no way you could forget, and you call back that you’re fine. You got it. You just need to be alone, alone is good, alone feels safe.

In the shower you scrub your skin raw, spending extra time and attention on your glands even though it makes your skin there puffy and red, pinpricks of blood at the surface of your skin and lilac bruises surrounding every edge. It doesn’t matter how comforting their scents are, nothing is taking away the deep intent of Minseok’s mouth on your neck - and the bitter, burnt citrus smell takes ages to wash away. By the time you finish, you’re about ready to collapse.

Mingi leaves you clothes again, folded neatly on his bed and ready for you. They’re nowhere to be seen, taking your plea for time alone seriously. He’s laid out a clean pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, both fresh from the wash. The hoodie you had stolen during your heat lies next to it, and it’s a kind gesture, but suddenly you don’t want it. You want nothing.

You toss the hoodie to the side and start to climb into the bed, but that smells so heavily of cinnamon spice that you can’t think straight. You had just gotten used to blissfully smelling nothing after your shower, and so you strip the bed entirely, discarding all of the pillows and blankets and sheets into the farthest corner of the room.

The mattress is bare now, but once you turn the circulating fan off you fix the issue of the cold and his scent washing over you every time you try to close your eyes. You can still sense him, sense them, somewhere in the background, but here on the stripped bed in sterilized clothes with your skin rubbed raw, you can rest.

You drift into sleep this way, your head clear.

It doesn’t stay that way for long.

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before you wake in abject terror, but it must be at least a couple of hours with the sky outside pitch dark and the apartment completely quiet around you. It’s obvious you’re the only one awake, but your brain can’t quite process it right. All you feel is shaking fear and the echo of hands pressing you into the wall, fingers in your hair yanking your head to the side, teeth grazing against your throat.

You scramble back, only to find the edge of the bed and you collapse off of it, ending up on the wood floor with your head spinning, Mingi’s bedside table lamp crashing down after you, a harsh flash of light pulsing through the room as the bulb breaks and gives one final dying flicker.

The pleading whine that’s caught in your throat sounds like a trapped animal to your ears, the pounding of your heart threatening to break your chest, blood rushing through your ears like a train. You can’t grasp reality, everything feels hazy and disconnected.

The door to your right bangs open, Yunho bleary and confused, but responding to your heightened state of fear within a moment. “Mingi!” He calls over his shoulder, “Mingi, get up right now,”

There’s a faraway faint noise from the other room.

Yunho skids to your side, careful not to touch you as he tries to meet your eyes in the dark, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare.”

Part of you knows that you’re awake, safe and home, and not trapped in subspace with a threatening hand in your hair, but you can’t quite grip back to reality. You stutter out a reply, “I-I can’t breathe,”

“Mingi,” Yunho calls back over his shoulder again, “right now!”

“Please,” you whimper, part of your brain still lodged in the nightmare, “I can’t breathe,” Your hands cling onto the edge of the rug.

Mingi stumbles into the room now, half asleep but forced into consciousness and he’s shaking himself, catching up quickly, “What’s going on?”

You hear him, but your body is stuck remembering and you feel like there’s a weight on your chest, pressing you down harder, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” you stutter.

“Sweetheart,” Yunho comes closer now, his body curling around you carefully with his face directly at your side, “it’s a nightmare, you’re safe.” His arms loop around you gently, but stay open in case you need to move.

“I can’t,” you shake your head, images swimming before you.

“You’re not there,” he tells you, “we’re home, you’re with us, me and Mingi,”

You wheeze, trying to regulate your breath.

“Get a light,” Yunho pleads suddenly to the dark room, and you can hear scrambling, “she can’t see where she is, get a light on.”

Mingi trips over the discarded lamp on the floor, and fumbles back to the lightswitch on the wall near the door, searching for it with his hands but reluctant to tear his eyes away from you. Suddenly the room floods with the overhead light, a stark fluorescent glow, and the black spots across your vision start to clear.

“I have you, I have you,” Yunho repeats, holding you to him.

Your hand searches blindly for Mingi on the other side of you and he collapses next to you both, taking your hand and moving in to cradle you from the opposite side, “Baby,” he murmurs, “look around, look where you are,”

Yunho’s hand on your thigh grounds you, and then Mingi softly touches your jaw to draw your gaze to him, “Look at me,”

Your eyes flick up. He looks tired, exhausted even, his hair a wayward haystack. You blink hard, “What happened to you?”

“To me?” Mingi’s brow furrows and he glances up past you to Yunho.

“You need sleep,” You manage.

Mingi laughs sharply and cups your cheeks, “I’ll sleep later. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Your place,” You manage, and you feel the nightmare receding back into your mind inch by precious inch, your breath steadying out.

“Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s right,”

“I’m home with you,” You repeat, your fingers sinking into the plush rug beneath you.

Yunho swallows hard, fixated on the way you’ve called their apartment home, not their home, for the third time tonight. You watch the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he lets it pass and so do you.

Tears well up in your eyes again and you sigh, “I’m sorry about your lamp,”

“What?” Mingi’s brow furrows, “Who cares about that?”

“Still,” You manage, “I’m such a mess right now,”

“If you weren’t a mess I’d be more worried,” Yunho takes your hand in his, squeezing your fingers, “and you can take all the time you need to be a mess, we’re here.”

You slump forwards onto his shoulder, “I’m… so tired,”

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Yunho soothes, his voice soft.

You nod, letting them both ease you up to your feet, but when they turn to the bed Mingi makes a soft, confused noise, “Where?”

“Oh,” You gesture towards the corner where all his bedding is wrapped up in a ball, “I’m sorry I was just… it was too much,”

Mingi’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck jumping as he swallows hard, and you know he’s holding down so much anger, that someone could have scared you enough that any alpha’s scent became overwhelming, that your fear might extend even to them.

“Okay,” Yunho cuts in easily, “whatever you want,”

He eases you back onto the mattress, but the idea that they might be gone again strikes a deep lance of panic through your stomach and you grasp his arm, “Don’t go,”

“Are you sure?” He murmurs.

“Please,” You insist, tugging his arm again.

He eases down beside you, and Mingi crosses to the opposite side of the bed so he can follow suit, sidling up to your back but careful not to touch you until you make it clear that you want him to. You fold your arm underneath your head and rest yourself down, and when your hair shifts off your neck you hear Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of your tender gland.

“Baby, what,” He reaches for you, fingertips hovering, “sweetheart, what did you do?”

“I’m fine,” You murmur but when you feel fingers gently coast over the raw skin you hiss sharply in pain and both their hands pull back.

“y/n,” Mingi’s voice is low, shaky, and he scoops up your arm to check your wrists, finding them as swollen and bruised, “oh my god,”

“I know,” You murmur, letting your eyes drift shut.

“This is not okay,” Mingi sounds pained, “you can’t hurt yourself like this,”

“I’m okay, I promise,”

“We could have helped,” Yunho insists, “we could have scented you again, both of us, or called Seonghwa, or something, anything,”

“Seonghwa?” You start, but Mingi cuts you off as he pushes your hair further to the side to see more of your neck.

He makes a tight noise with his tongue against his teeth, “These look tender, Yunho’s right,”

“You scented me plenty,” You shake your head, letting your hair fall back into place, “but I promise, I’m okay,”

Mingi wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking you close to his chest and dropping his head onto yours, “You’re scaring me,” he confesses into your hair.

“I know,” You murmur, “but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,”

“And now?” Yunho asks softly.

“I’m a little better,” You pull him closer, “I was overwhelmed earlier and… even you both I didn’t want, but now? I feel safer, clearer,”

Yunho kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger as you all get your emotions back in check, “Okay,”

“Can we stay just like this?” You nuzzle into him, pulling Mingi in closer behind you until you’re snuggled up so tight you might overheat .

“I’ll be wherever you want,” Mingi wraps his hand around yours and tucks them into your chest.

Yunho murmurs his agreement softly and you nod, letting their heat soak into your body and releasing your tense muscles bit by bit. You were supposed to tell them how you felt already, you need to get it out in the open before things get too blurry again, but right now you have to let it go.

Silence stretches between the three of you, their breathing even and low, and you’re not sure if they’re asleep or awake when you make your quiet plea in the dark but in a whisper you beg them to never, ever let you go again. At least for tonight, they hold you fast.

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

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insanelyadd · 9 months

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#LetSansRest Day!

Hello everyone and welcome to year two of Let Sans Rest Day! Same as last year it's August 9th.

Before we get into some prompts, a little bit of a mission statement. Last year I said this day was for everyone who's a fan of Sans Undertale or anyone who's tired of every image they see of him being him Suffering. This is still true, but I do want to additionally address something I saw a few different people mention.

I have actually received criticism for daring to suggest that Sans not be tormented to the point of insanity, and that this day where I implore people to make realities where Sans doesn't become a creepypasta insane murderer man from the agony he is subjected to, isn't a stand against ableism like Let Papyrus Say Fuck Day is. *stares in bipolar psychosis and PTSD directly into your eyes* Obviously that's a load of shit, and even though Sans is more popular than Papyrus (I say, as a Papyrus Enjoyer) a lot of the content around Sans is very specifically about him suffering. So simply out of spite for these comments (including someone who saw last year's announcement and directly commented "No <3" on the post) I will be continuing this holiday indefinitely, just like LetPapyrusSayFuck Day. Die mad about it.

Just like how I have ADHD and relate to Papyrus and see the way the fandom treats him as the infantilization of neurodivergency like autism and ADHD, I can look at works in this fandom of Sans that demonize traits of mental illness like trauma, hallucinations, delusions, and mania. And I can say these are both bad actually. Not going to call anyone a bad person for engaging in these things, of course, that would be a bit goofy of me, I'm just saying the imagery used for these things is Very Loaded and a lot of people are mishandling them.

So anyways August 9th is the day we let Sans Undertale out of his Torment Nexus so he can:

Have lemonade at the beach or pool

Go stargazing while camping out in the woods with friends and family

Get smothered in cute baby kittens and puppies

Go to therapy and play with one of those magnetic sculptures all therapists seem to own

Take a nap on an inner-tube on a lazy river

Get to see the leaves change color for the first time

Play basketball with Papyrus

Fall asleep in a basket of freshly dried clothes

Go to a public greenhouse to look at all the different flowers on the surface

Perform stand-up for humans who all love his terrible puns

Please tag the post with #LetSansRest, #Sans, and #undertale as well as any other applicable tags for characters, relationships, etc. This day is primarily for classic Sans but it's not like I can stop you from drawing Fell Sans not being subjected to his own, personal, goth-themed Torment Nexus.

This is meant to be a day for everyone who wants Sans Undertale to go to therapy and feel better. People who want to put him in a hamster cage with plenty of things to prank for enrichment. People who want to win him one of those massive stuffed animals at the county fair.

If you want to participate please be mindful of some things:

I will be monitoring the tag to reblog things! I have ptsd and would appreciate if ships involving Papyrus or Frisk (and similar) with Sans are avoided. This is simply for my mental health and I greatly appreciate it. <3

Do Not post angst to the #LetSansRest tag. It is meant to be an angst free tag for him.

Don't worry if you can't participate on the exact day! Just like with #LetPapyrusSayFuck Day you can use the tag and post to it any day! :>

Hope you're able to participate and have fun! <3

#letsansrest #undertale #sans

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professionalsimpforgeorgeweasley · 19 days

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Begin Again (Masterlist)

"You throw your head back laughing like a little kid, I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause he never did." - Taylor Swift

Pairing: Post Prison Spencer x Single Mom Reader

Summary: Spencer decides to get back into the dating world with the help of miss Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau. And when they set him up with you it feels as though his world was turned upside down especially when he learns that you have a seven year old daughter at home.

Warnings: SMUT, post prison Spencer cause he's so fine he needs his own warning, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of post partum depression, toxic family situations (readers family), mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of violence (just Spencer talking about cases he's working on.), there will probably be more warnings added on as the fic progresses.

A/N: I'm gonna be 100% with y'all I'm kind of just going with the flow on this fic so I don't have a planned number of parts but I do have a rough idea of the events that will be happening so I hope you enjoy this fun lil story I'll be putting together as I go. Also this might not be updated as frequently as I would like considering I'm working on my other fic rn but I'm still very dedicated to this one as well.

Feels like

#my writing #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid imagine #emily prentiss #david rossi #aaron hotchner

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ponyosmom35 · 3 months

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he's gone

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

synopsis: reader finds out that Simon passed when Price, Johnny, and Gaz show up at her house.

warnings: angst, death, PTSD, panic attack, crying, I'm so sorry

Link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

She holds her hose tightly in her hand as she sprays her blooming flowers with water. The sun was beginning to set and she felt at peace. Allowing her mind to wash away the stress of the day. The sunlight hits her face and she sighs, imaging that somewhere in the world, Simon was looking at the same beautiful sky. She recalled their conversation earlier that day, a small smile coming to her lips as she remembered his voice.

She stood in the kitchen, intensely focused on her measuring cup as she attempted to fill it with the correct amount of water. She turns off the water after allowing it to reach ⅓ and carefully moves over to her mixing bowl. She dumps the water in and moves the mixer down, flipping the switch and watching as her kitchen aid whips the cake mix together. The loud noise drowns out the sound of her phone ringing and she carries on. A few minutes later she finishes putting the batter into a pan and throws it into the oven, hoping that a lemon cake would distract her from how much she missed Simon. She looks down at her small ragdoll kitten who plays with her feet and laughs, she picks him up and kisses his little face gently. Still deciding how she was gonna come clean about adopting a pet without permission.

It had been two weeks since he’d gone. So far she’d been doing better than she expected, managing to keep herself quite busy all day. It was the nights that were the hardest. She struggled to sleep without him. She tried to pretend like her body pillow was the same, but nothing could beat the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. When she came across a post about the little guy needing a home, she volunteered without a second thought.

He was quite good about calling, he would try to call every other day when in between missions. But as they got new intel he wouldn’t be able to reach out for several days at a time. This week she had not heard from him once. She knew he was going on their first mission. She worried about him, she knew that he could handle himself, better than anyone in the world.

She picks up her phone to set a timer when she realizes she’d missed his call. Her heart drops and she calls him back instantly.

“Si?” she asks anxiously

“Hi my love”

“Oh thank god, I thought something may have happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t hear my phone I was baking and it was on silent”

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t expect you to pick up every time I call”

“Of course I will” she says

“How are you doing darling?”

“I’m doing good, I decided to bake a cake for whatever reason” she says staring at the mess of flower and egg shells on the counter.

Simon chuckles and leans back in his chair as he imagines her in the kitchen trying to bake. Tears fill his eyes and he attempts to keep his voice steady.

“Is my kitchen still standing?” he asks

“The kitchen smells wonderful thank you very much” she responds

“What have you been up to this week? Catch me up”

“I wanna talk about you, where have you been the past week? Are you any closer to coming home? How are you doing? How are the boys?” she says rapid firing her questions

“We’re all good. But I don’t wanna talk about work, tell me about you distract me”

She nods to herself, understanding that he didn’t want to talk about it, meaning that their mission didn’t go as planned. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“just talk to me baby, anything”

“Well it’s been pretty gloomy today so I started reading a new book, it’s about grief. I’ve only read a few chapters but so far it’s been very reassuring and comforting to know that grief isn’t linear, you go through ups and downs just like anything else”

“That sounds wonderful love”

“Yeah, so I’m gonna try and read for a few minutes everyday. Kylie and I have started a jazzercise class, you should see how awful I am. I can’t look at myself in the mirror because in my mind I’m absolutely killing it, but then I look at the mirror and it looks like i’m half dead” she laughs

“I’d pay anything to see it”

“Don’t worry, when you come home you’re gonna get a full performance” she promises, causing him to laugh. The lump in his throat is tightening as the tears fall down his cheeks. He runs his hands through his hair and covers the speaker as he sniffles.

“I’m counting down the minutes”

“Me too” she muses “so I think we should get a cat”

“What?” he asks

“Let me rephrase that, I brought home a kitten last week”

“Did you now?” he chuckles

“Before you freak out, he’s so cute and cuddly, he was abandoned and my friend found him but she couldn't take care of him, I just had to bring him home!” she defends herself

“I’m not mad love, I’m glad you’ve got someone to keep you company. What's his name?”

“Junie”

“Why Junie?”

“Because june is the month we met” she admits

Simon puts the phone down and covers his face. His heart was crushing at her words. He receives a knock on the door, he wipes his eyes and picks the phone back up. “I love it”

“We’re about an hour out from departure, so I’m gonna have to let you go” he says slipping his mask over his face.

“Okay, please be safe”

“I love you more than anything in this world, take care of yourself okay?”

“Of course Si, I love you too, call me as soon as you can”

“goodbye love” he says before hanging up the phone.

She noticed his odd behavior that morning, but decided to let it go to prevent any unnecessary anxiety. She finishes watering the plants and turns off the hose. She walks to the steps and heads inside. She shuts the door, making sure to lock the door as well as placing the wood down to prevent it from being opened easily. She slips off her shoes and smiles at the sight of Junie sitting on the counter. She picks him up and holds him close. The sound of a knock at the door catches her attention. She wasn’t aware of any company. She walks over to the door and opens it to see John, Kyle, and Johnny. Her eyes travel to the British flag held in John’s hands and her smile falls.

“John?” she asks as her brain struggles to process the situation.

“y/n-”

“Don’t you dare” she warns holding her hand up to stop him “don’t”

“He’s gone lass” Johnny says, his teary eyes meeting her own. She shakes her head and glares at him.

“I just talked to him this morning” she refuses

“Mission was local, went south and we barely got out. We came here as soon as we could”

“What happened to him?” she asks, crossing her arms, clearly still in shock from the news.

“Can we come in?” John asks, she nods and leads them into the living room where they sit and she remains standing.

“Tell me john”

“Why don’t you sit down” he responds

“I want to know what happened!” she demands

“He was hit” Kyle says

“Where?” she asks, Price shakes his head and stands up, moving over to her and placing the flag in her hands. She notices the tags placed neatly in the center of it and she reads his printed name. She looks up at him as tears fill her eyes.

“He’s not gone, I just talked to him today! He was telling me not to burn the kitchen down -” she cuts herself off with a sob, and holds her hand to her mouth. “We’re getting married in four months”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I-I wish I could’ve saved him” Price says gently

“Please don’t say that” she begs

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” he asks gently

“Stop this john I can’t - I can’t” she says setting his things down on the table as she looks out of the window. Tears stream down her face as she attempts to control her breathing.

“These are for you” Johnny says, handing her a bundle of letters, each of them addressed to her. There is a small box on the top of the pile.

Her vision blurs at the sight of his handwriting. Her body becomes weak as two words loop in her mind. Her body falls to the floor as the voices of the three men fade away. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. The man she loved with every fiber of her being. Her Simon. Simon who nearly killed the person who disrespected her. Simon who held her when her sister died. Simon who saved her life. Simon, who built her a bookshelf, redid her entire deck and porch. Never again would he give her one of his bear hugs. She wouldn’t hear his beautiful laugh, or watch the way he separated his food to keep it from touching. No more early morning cuddles, kisses, silly arguments. How would she live without him? What she wouldn’t have given to hear his deep voice in that moment, telling her that it was going to be okay. He couldn't. He was gone.

She was inconsolable, her heart wrenching sobs echoed through the house. Bringing tears to the eyes of the soldiers surrounding her. Johnny was at her side, holding her shaking body, trying his best to bring her even the smallest bit of comfort. He felt sick to his stomach watching her writhe in pain.

John had called her parents and the trio waitied with her until they arrived. As soon as John opened the door, they recognized him from the day he brought the news about Emma. Her mother gasps and hurries into the house, seeing her daughter crumpled on the ground, agonizing sobs erupting from her lungs. She drops beside her and rubs her back. Her father shakes Johns hand and walks the soldiers to the door. John pulls him outside and informs him the the truth.

“Sir, we need you to understand that the work we do is classified, in the eyes of the Government we do not exist unless we’re needed. With a job like this, comes sacrifices we have to make to protect the people we love”

“I’m not following? What sacrifices?” her father says, crossing his arms

“If one of the people we’re investigating finds any bit of information about out lives or our loved ones then they’d be in danger”

“Are you telling me that my family isn’t safe?”

“Officially I can’t tell you anything, but you need to know that we’re taking care of the situation, you’re family will be under 24/7 surveillance. You won’t even know they’re around”

“Is it true then? Is Simon really gone? Man to man, is he gone?” her father asks, staring at Price.

“For now” he responds “it’s imperative that y/n believes this”

“You’re asking me to lie to my daughter? Do you hear her in there? How can I-”

“Sacrifices, we all have to make them in order to keep our family safe. That’s all we’re doing here” Price shakes his hand and walks down the steps “take care of her, we’ll be checking in”

After hours of tossing and turning, crying until her lungs and throat burned she finally decides to get out of the warmth of her bed. A place she used to feel the most comfortable, now was empty. She rubs her hands over her face as her headache grows more intense, the lack of sleep already affecting her. Having woken up multiple times from nightmares, she willed herself to stay awake, to protect her fragile heart from the horror of her dreams. Everyday for the past week she’d been reminding herself that dreams are simply just a reflection of the mind, a way for her worries and fears to be shown. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t gone. This couldn’t be true. Simon wouldn't leave her.

She moves into the bathroom and stares at herself in the mirror, she looks exhausted. The weight of Simon’s absence is evident on her face. Her face was puffy and her hair was tangled. A mixture of tears, saliva, and mucus coated her face. She wipes it off and sighs. Her lips trembling once more as her eyes fill with tears. She grips onto her hair as she tries to breath through her fourth panic attack in 24 hours. Memories of his hands running through her hair flash through her mind. A wave of nausea runs through her and she stares at it in disgust. He always loved her hair, he’d play with it absentmindedly. She was angry. How as she supposed to live with the hair he would kiss every morning, the hair he gripped when he kissed her passionately. She notices the scissors on the counter and grabs them, without hesitation she begins to cut strips of her hair off. She watches as her gorgeous strands fall, some in the sink, others landing on the ground. She sobs as she ruins her hair, unable to stop herself. After several minutes, she drops the scissors and stares at herself, the jagged strands unbalanced. She rushes to the toilet in a split second and empties her stomach violently.

The sound causes her mother to rush into her room, she bursts through the door and spots her daughter laying against the toilet surrounded by her precious locks. “Oh honey”

please forgive me for this! omg I made myself cry. below is the link to when they reunite, I posted this a few months ago. If you wanna read that now, you are more than welcome I'll link it below, however there will be a few filler chapters in-between that I'll be posting!!!

You’re alive? (middle of MW3)

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/724654294153003008/youre-alive?source=share

love you all <3

272 notes · View notes

outofconcheol · 2 months

Text

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+

summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: heavy angst, lots of mentions of blood and injuries (i tried to make it as non-graphic as possible), minor character deaths, weapons, panic attack (again not graphic), it's heavily implied OC struggles with agoraphobia and PTSD, brief infidelity, Minho and reader do get into verbal arguments (they're a little toxic lol), Minho is a true loverboy, ambiguous but hopeful ending, smut warnings: kissing, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, brief nipple play

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i'm so sorry that this took so long, google docs decided to be a jerk and delete a huge chunk of this while i was working on it (I apologize in advance for the poorly written angst)! It is based on the world of Sweet Home but honestly you don't need to have watched the show or read the webtoon to follow along. the title is from the book by Mohsin Hamid. I hope you enjoy! <;3

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes.

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it.

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him.

Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow. The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

It hadn’t always been this way. The chaos had naturally broken through the quiet, starting one night when a fire broke out in his apartment complex. Amidst the screams and sounds of windows shattering, Minho’s only concern had been the cats, scooping them up, taking special care to cover their ears from the blaring alarms. But all of it hadn’t made a difference anyway.

He thought it was his neighbour at the end of the hallway. Or at least, it looked like him. He’d always had some sort of disdain for the man - in Minho’s eyes he talked too much. Always interrupting him during his morning mail runs to brag about his latest conquests when it came to dating. It was a sore spot for Minho, especially considering his own romantic interests were so singular, something he didn’t want to get into whenever his neighbor cornered him.

But the vain man who talked Minho’s ear off about sleeping with as many women as possible was nowhere to be found, lithe limbs transforming into ropes that broke through the ceiling. Heading straight for Minho.

Somewhere in the chaos, Minho briefly had time to register that whatever was in front of him was no longer human. And so, he did the only thing he could do. Run.

The floor slipped underneath him, hurtling Minho to the ground, the cat carrier thrown open next to him. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori are nowhere to be found. His palms claw against the tile, trying and failing to lift himself up, eyes widening when he sees the red that coats his palms.

“Please,” Minho croaks, attempting to break through to the human underneath the monster. “Don’t do this.”

There’s a brief flash, a spindly arm reaching out for Minho’s face, and he ducks. The sound of shattering glass follows, the grotesque body flinging itself out the window. Minho heaves, hot tears leaking from his face as he remains curled in the fetal position, arms braced over his head. When his breath returns to him, he looks over at the empty carrier and lets out a sob. Slowly, his eyes turn to the shattered window.

Blood lines its jagged edges, dripping to join the mess on the floor. Peering downwards, Minho sees the mangled body of the thing (he refused to acknowledge it had been his neighbor) that had attacked him, unmoving.

He had to get out of there.

…

The knock at the door startles you. It’d been days since you’d locked yourself away from the chaos, days since you’d heard a sound. But the screams would never leave your head.

You’ve been huddled up in the same corner since it all started, exactly ten feet away from the door. Close enough to act quickly in case someone (or something) came knocking, but far enough away to duck into one of the rooms of your apartment for safety.

However, the splitting pain in your ankle prevents you from doing either. The bruises are turning a nasty shade of yellow, mixing with the unsightly violet from before. You’re pretty sure it’s broken, your bookcase toppling over onto it the day this had all started.

The knock startles you again. It’s soft, gentler than the ramming you’d expected if a monster were to come knocking. But still, you could never be too safe.

“Churu,” a soft voice whispers through the darkness, and you freeze. There was only one person in the world who’d know that word, and come knocking at your door.

Your palms burn as you drag yourself against the floor, taking extra care to make as little sound as possible. Fighting the urge to curse when the door creaks, you brace yourself against it, peering through the peephole.

The banged-up face of Lee Minho greets you on the other end, and you nearly sob with relief. Swinging the door open, you take him in at the threshold, peering at you with a strange gaze. You’d often joked to Minho that his eyes resembled his cats’, curiosity mixed with having seen too much contained in their depths. But it seemed especially true today, his lip split open and face haggard while he clutched a baseball bat in his hand.

You know the first thing he’s going to ask before it even leaves his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he huffs out, watching you collapse against the door frame.

“Junho is gone.” You watch Minho’s entire figure tense up when his best friend’s name comes off your lips, his grip around the bat tightening.

“I-, I tried to talk to him, but there was a weird sound on my phone that kept breaking us up, and then I heard him scream, and then…”

You collapse against Minho in a fit of sobs, forced to recount those awful last moments when you’d heard your boyfriend die over a phone call, the chilling screech of something that wasn’t human cutting off his screams for help. And you were trapped halfway across the city, crumpled on the floor, unable to do anything to help him.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, supporting your weight, and he’s moving you both over the threshold, taking care to shut the door softly behind him. You don’t know how many minutes you spend wailing against his chest, the sight of another human forcing you to confront the horror you’d dealt with in the past few days, but eventually, the pain in your ankle makes itself known again, and you slide to the floor.

Minho rests his head against the door frame, his own eyes red-rimmed, and you watch his face contort, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, watching Minho’s gaze snap to yours.

“What for?” he croaks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m so scared, Minho,” your eyes fill with tears. “I thought that no one would come for me, that I’d be alone here, and that I’d…”

You choke, unable to finish the sentence, and you watch Minho straighten next to you. The warmth of his hand wrapping around your waist startles you, watching his lithe body contort as he helps you up off the floor, taking special care not to put weight on your ankle.

“You’re with me now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s a furrow in Minho’s brow when he hears your request, lips tightening into a thin line while his throat bobs.

“Absolutely not.”

The decision is final, resolute, stubborn — Minho’s arms are crossed over each other, and he stares down at your figure among the blankets, eyeing the makeshift splint currently tied around your ankle.

“Minho, please.” It comes out as a whine, years building in your eyes from the frustration of being trapped in the bunker for months on end.

“I said no.”

Minho had dragged the two of you to safety not long after he’d found you, stealthily dodging the strange creatures that had begun to pop up on the city landscape. There was little in common between them besides their monstrous appearances, but Junho’s screams lingered in the back of your mind, causing you to wake up every night in a cold sweat for the first few weeks.

The tiny bunker became your new home, and Minho your roommate, forced together by circumstances beyond your control. You’d snapped at him when he brought up the idea of leaving, wanting to search for food and supplies outside.

Unfortunately, your ankle made the final decision for you — Minho would have to be the sacrificial lamb, risking his life for you both. It filled you with an immeasurable amount of guilt, knowing he put himself in danger every day to provide for you both. But it also made you angry, the listlessness that had begun to brew inside you only becoming stronger when you felt more and more useless every time he’d come back with food and medicine for you and nothing for himself.

Regret cut through you like a searing knife. Who was Minho to do all these things? He’d been Junho’s best friend, not yours. The relationship between you two had been cordial at best, Minho barely managing to string more than five words together every time he was around you. It always seemed to you like Minho stood at the other end of a vast abyss, impossible for you to reach in any way. Admittedly, you’d been no help in closing the chasm, even since you’d both escaped together, the pain in your ankle lulling you to sleep as soon as you swallowed the meds he brought every day.

Your eyes flit to Minho across the bunker, holed up into the corner. You watch his hands rummage around in his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The shiny metal gleams in the rays of the sun, Minho’s fingers enclosing around a lock of his messy, overgrown hair—

“STOP!” The switchblade clatters to the floor at the sound of your voice, Minho’s lips parting in surprise. A deep flush creeps across your neck, wondering what had prompted you to interrupt him in the moment. His eyes study you with a curious glint, a thousand questions hidden in them.

“You’ll dull the knife,” you manage to get out, amazed at the calmness in your voice despite your heart racing at a million miles an hour. “What if we need it?”

Minho’s lips twist up into a smirk, and you wonder if he can see through your thinly veiled excuse. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, throwing a baseball cap over the shaggy strands, smiling when they fall into his eyes.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “You can come along. But any sign of trouble and you have to leave me and get back here, okay?”

“What do you mean, leave you? You’re coming back with me, of course.”

“___.”

“Minho.”

You push yourself off the ground with your palms, hobbling over to Minho’s side.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, and Minho rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, before the door to the bunker creaks open once more, this time the two of you stepping out into the sun together.

. . .

Sweat pools on Minho’s shirt, the sun beating down on the two of you while you make your way through the woods, eventually finding yourselves in a vast field. You’re slower than he is, trailing behind him while you skip on your partially healed ankle, but Minho finds he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he thinks he must look like a fool, the huge smile that threatens to take over his face creeping up every few minutes. Somehow, it feels different now, having you here with him. The sun’s rays feel less ruthless, and there’s the faint rustling of a breeze through the meadow. It's almost like he’s on an adventure, and not caught in an endless struggle for survival. He’s filled with the hope that maybe the two of you can come out of this alive. Together.

Pushing through the blades of grass, Minho pauses when he hears a small thud behind him, followed by the faint sound of wheezing. Turning on his heels, his heart turns to ice when he sees you, knees curled to your chest, the faint sheen of sweat lingering on your skin.

“Shit!” Minho curses into thin air, crouching onto the dirt next to you. “Stay with me ___!”

His arm swings out to steady you, but recoils at the last second, not wanting to startle you. Guilt eats away at his chest when he realizes this is all his fault. He’d been the one to agree to let you go outside. Realization dawns on him that there’d been a reason you stayed in the bunker the entire time, his mind flashing back to the days you must have spent alone in your apartment, full of pain, wondering if anyone would show up.

Minho panics, looking around the field for something, anything that could help hold you over until this passes, when a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you want to hear about the time I tried to walk my cats?” He babbles out, cheeks hot at the silly interruption. It works though, your face jolts up, the trance finally broken. Your eyes are red-rimmed, hair dampened with sweat, snot running down your nose. Minho thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“It was in a field just like this, I brought them out here with their harnesses,” he continues, the smile growing on his face when he sees the stream of tears that run down your cheeks dry up.

“It was a disaster. I thought Doongie ran away for sure, and Soonie just laid down in the grass on his belly, refusing to get up. Dori was the only one who took to it,” he reminsces fondly, a half-sob, half-chuckle escaping him at the memory, trying to soothe the hollow ache in his heart when he thinks of them.

“I wish I’d met them,” you reply softly, your hand resting on Minho’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” Minho spits out bitterly. “Junho was over all the time, I could have introduced you. They would have really liked you I think.”

Just like I do.

“I hope we find them,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a resoluteness to it that surprises Minho. “They have to be out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

That strange feeling of hope bubbles up in Minho’s chest again, and he helps you up, fighting the burning in his cheeks when your hand remains clasped in his, the two of you hobbling through the field.

Half an hour later, and you’re stopped outside the remains of what looked to be a convenience store, completely ransacked. Minho ignores the emptiness he feels when he lets go of your hand to peer inside, his heart dropping at the bare shelves.

Behind him, a twig snaps, your sharp gasp echoing amidst the silence. The gleam of the switchblade is apparent in seconds, Minho pulling it out of his pocket.

The woman is whimpering, her gauzy white dress in tatters. His eyes trail to her hands, the discoloured nails offset by the glint of a fancy diamond ring, and for a moment, he could almost believe she’d just walked out of the church, beaming from the happiest day of her life.

But her eyes say differently. Hollow pools of black, nothing behind them. She’s one of them.

“___, run.” Minho commands, not even turning to look behind him. He hopes you’re gone already, hopes you won’t have to stick around to see this dark side of him, the one that was used to doing battle with monsters every time he left the safety of your little bunker.

But you’re not gone. Your hand wraps around his, lifting it up to study the switchblade in his hand. He looks into your eyes, full of fear but also sadness at the sight in front of you, and he wonders if you see yourself in her. What things could have been with Junho.

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you wrestle Minho’s blanched fingers off the blade. “We should just go.”

You pocket the knife, Minho’s jaw tensing at the thought of leaving the woman behind, unsure of the potential harm she could cause. He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes you’ve already begun to walk away, your slumped figure visible against the setting sun. You’re crying again.

The woman wails harder when she sees the two of you go, her cries echoing into the silent night.

It’s cold tonight in the bunker.

You shiver among the pile of blankets, watching your breath turn into mist in the frosty air. Teeth chattering, you look over to Minho. His pile of blankets is even more sparse than your own, and you catch sight of his own trembling figure.

It’s cold, your voice echoes in the back of your mind, your feet dragging across the floor, the blankets dragging behind you.

It’s cold, it echoes again, Minho stirring when you lay by his side, throwing the extra blankets over the two of you. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees your face across his in the darkness, studying the way your hair falls messily in your face, the rapid rising of your chest with every breath.

It’s cold, it repeats a final time, your lips surging forward to meet Minho’s, a strange noise escaping his throat before one of his arms comes up to wrap around you, his other palm steadying him against the floor. It’s cold and Minho is warm, the heat from his body burning through you when his tongue traces your lips, before slipping inside, a low whine escaping your throat.

You break away from him, flushed and shivering, but no longer cold. Minho’s hot breath fans against your cheeks, his thumb resting tentatively at the curve of your jaw.

“Touch me please,” you beg him, and his grip around your waist tightens, hands tracing circles on your side. His lips find yours again, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the curve of your hips. You burrow your face into Minho’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses against his jaw, heat rising in your chest when you hear Minho hold his breath. Breaking away, you meet his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Anything,” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Sparks crackle in the air between you, the once stagnant air in the bunker becoming filled with frantic energy, you slipping a leg over to straddle Minho, him fumbling with the buttons to your clothes, pushing aside just enough to feel how wet you are. The fingers of his other hand trace under your shirt again, climbing up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples.

Sighing, your hips move against Minho’s hardness, pushing aside the worn fabric of Minho’s flannel to press kisses to his collarbones, his thumb working on your clit. Your back arches when he presses another finger inside, and the familiar burn of your orgasm begins to rise, building in your stomach.

“Let go for me,” Minho groans, and the deep growl in his voice has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart on top of him. The two of you exchange shallow breaths, Minho’s fingers still buried inside you, and you feel your core begin to clench around them, whining from the oversensitivity.

“Please, please, can I fuck you?” Minho whispers, desperation in his tone. You nod, head spinning with everything that had happened, and you reach back under his sweats, fishing his cock out from underneath them.

He pushes into you slowly, groaning when he feels your walls widening to accommodate him. The two of you stay there for a few moments, catching your breath before you tell him it’s okay to move. His hips snap lazily against yours, fucking you slowly and deeply, soft pants and the sound of your wetness reverberating through the bunker.

You rock against him gently, and you reach for his hands, his warm fingertips slipping through your own easily, limbs tangling together in desperation.

“You’re perfect god, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you so much,” he slurs the words, the confession ringing in your ears, soft groans accompanied by the speeding up of his thrusts before he spills inside you.

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel the wet trail of tears on his cheeks. Eventually, his breathing slows, soft snores telling you he’s fallen asleep, but you remain restless for the rest of the night.

The headache hits Minho like a freight train in the morning, as he stares up at the rust-covered ceiling. There’s a faint chill in the air, one that became even more pronounced when he woke up and you weren’t by his side, and he wonders for a second if he’d imagined it all, from the softness of your lips to the way the words he’d been wanting to say, waiting years to say spilled out of his throat, every kiss and laugh you shared with Junho burned into his memory. And all he did was look on, hopeless in his desperation. Until everything changed last night.

A loud clang startles him, and he jumps up, watching you throw a heavy sack containing the supplies he’d stockpiled against the walls of the bunker, your back turned to him. He lifts himself off his feet, padding softly behind you, his arm reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, words clipped and venomous, and you keep rearranging, completely ignorant to the way Minho stands there, unable to formulate a response, his tongue feeling as though it’s weighed down with lead.

Rage lights up inside him as he watches you move around him, the silence making his heart freeze over, and he decides that he can’t take it anymore. It’s been months with you acting this way, cold and distant, refusing to let Minho in. Before, he’d been able to write off your happiness with Junho as an excuse, as a reason why he couldn’t let himself get close to you. But Junho was long gone.

“We’re not doing this,” he spins you around to face him. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that.”

You push against Minho’s chest with all the might you can muster, and he staggers back. The look in your eyes makes you seem like a wounded animal, ready to pounce.

“Why’d you say it?” Another push, the words leaving you in a broken sob. “Why’d you do that?”

You bat against Minho’s chest until he can no longer take it, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning you against the wall.

“Because it’s true,” he breathes, looking past you through the window outside, unable to meet your eyes. “I love you ____. I’ve loved you this entire time, even when you were with Junho. And I hate myself for it.”

He lets go of your arms, stepping back, his shoulders beginning to shake with the force of his own sobs.

“Why do you think I stayed? Why do you think I put myself in danger every day to make sure that you had medicine for your ankle, food to fill your stomach? Why do you think I go out there and kill every single monster I run into, because I need to make it back here, to be with you again?”

“You shouldn’t!” you scream at him. “What kind of life is this? Love should be the last thing on your mind right now, Minho! You should fucking worry about your own neck, and stop giving a damn about me!”

The words tear through you, because you know that if it weren’t for his love, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. And it hurts, hurts to think of how long he’s spent living like this, merely surviving, a wall of ice around his chest.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do. Do you know that these past few months, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been? What kind of fucked up logic is that? I have nothing, nothing in this world besides this stupid bunker and the clothes on my back, and it makes me want to sob with joy. Because I get you. I get a chance at life with you, after so many years of wishing for it, and knowing I could never have it.”

He falls onto the ground, tucking his head into his knees.

“The universe gave me another chance,” he whispers softly.

Your blood turns to ice, and you crouch down next to him.

“What do you mean, another chance?”

He looks at you, and you finally see all the pain in his eyes come to the surface, everything that he’s kept bottled up inside.

“It should have been me,” he mutters, lost in his own head. “I told Junho about how I wanted to go up to you that night, how beautiful I thought you were, but before I could do anything, he was there. It ended up being him.”

Your head reels from his confession, and you think back to everything that’s happened through the years. All those memories you had with Junho, Minho lingering in the background, purposely keeping his distance. Memories that you could have had with him instead. Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you back away.

“I can’t do this, Minho, not right now, I can’t–”

“I know.” He’s at the door before you can stop him, one foot on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaves before you can even ask him to stay.

Minho knocks back another shot, stomach churning when he sees Junho approach the pretty brunette, chatting her up. She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling at him, and he knows he should be grateful that his best friend is helping him out, on a desperate mission to cure Minho’s singleness.

But all he can focus on is you in the corner, nervously watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl, and Minho wants to vomit when he sees your lip tremble, eyes glassy with tears.

He’d driven himself nearly mad with the fantasies about what he’d do if he was in Junho’s position, how much better he could treat you. But at the end of the day, that’s all they were. Fantasies. You two were happy together, and he had no place in it.

Minho suddenly remembers the shiny ring that Junho had shown him last week, tucked away in the drawer of his dresser, and decides promptly that he needs to step outside, the stale air of the bar burning his nostrils.

There’s a faint breeze outside, and it calms him, rewiring his muddled senses enough for him to plop down on the curb. Minho heaves, the alcohol coming back up his throat, but he tries his best to breathe deeply, like his therapist had told him. The pity in her eyes when he’d explained his feelings for you lingers in the back of his mind. You were a vice he couldn’t quit.

A shadow looms next to him, and Minho looks over to see you standing on the curb next to him, studying him curiously.

“Not a fan of cheap vodka?” you chuckle, taking a seat next to him, and Minho internally curses when he feels your thighs brush. He was too drunk for this.

“Just needed some air,” he tries to laugh it off too. “Gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”

“She was pretty,” the statement startles him. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the girl Junho was talking to, but it seems that wasn’t the case for you.

“Not interested,” he grits out. Not when she’s not you.

“You know, dating isn’t all it’s cut out to be,” you sigh. “I mean, there are good times, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times feel a thousand times worse when you care about someone. Like seeing your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.”

There’s a bitter edge to your words, and Minho surprises you, reaching over to cup your cheek and tilt your head towards him.

“Junho is a fool,” the words come out in a slow, heavy breath.

“Happy birthday, Minho,” you whisper, a small smile on your face, and Minho leans in, lips searching for yours. The kiss is quick, a brief graze full of shy reluctance, but you’re surprised you don’t back away, dizzy when he retreats, and missing the feeling of his soft lips.

You lean your head on his shoulder, the two of you lingering on the curb for a few moments, before Junho’s loud voice echoes in the background, startling you apart from each other.

“Hey dipshits, the party’s inside,” he drawls, walking over to swoop you off your feet. Junho presses a peck to your cheek, wrapping his jacket around you, and your eyes roam around frantically, looking for any sign of Minho. But he’s already gone, the faint outline of his leather jacket the only thing you see before he disappears around the corner of the bar, vanishing into the night.

Minho stumbles through the forest, the pounding in his head only growing worse, the memory of the kiss you’d shared consuming his thoughts, splintered with snippets from the conversation with you. The one he’d been waiting so long to have.

The spell had been shattered, and Minho thinks he’s foolish to imagine that it could have lasted, the two of you playing house together, and he cursed the false hope he’d harboured for so long. It was a fucking apocalypse, you were desperate for release, and you’d never cared. Not like he did.

But then his mind flashes back to the kiss, and he doesn’t know what possessed him that night, or possessed you to return it. The moment was the single spark that kept the flickering flame of his love for you going, even now, when you’d basically banished him.

A sharp pain surges through him, and Minho staggers to the ground. He clutches the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up to see the ugly wound he’d been letting fester for weeks, a stray swipe from a monster he’d run into. It’s pulsating now, stabbing into his side, and he wants to kick himself. Why had he been so selfless?

Sometimes, he thinks loving you was the worst decision he’d ever made, the way it consumed him completely. He thinks that maybe if time could reverse, and he had a second chance, that he’d never do it, never lock eyes with you from across the party, your smile forever etched into his memory. But that was a lie. Minho knew he’d do it all again for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Minho feels something squelch on the ground below him, a metallic tang hitting the back of his throat. He swipes at it, crimson coating his fingers. Blood. His blood. He presses a tentative hand to his face, swiping at his leaking nose, but the bleeding won’t stop. There’s too much of it.

Minho screams when his spine cracks, the pain splitting through his entire body, and he feels his eyes roll back into his head.

When he opens them again, the world is dark. And he runs.

. . .

Your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, parched for air as you make your way through the forest, wobbling through the trees, looking for something, anything that could lead you to Minho.

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, accompanied by a ringing that hasn’t ceased since you left the bunker. The decision still made your stomach turn, afraid to confront the outside world without Minho by your side, but you had to find him. Had to let him know that you wouldn’t let him suffer anymore.

Mind lingering on a specific memory from Minho’s birthday, you realized there’d always been a strange undercurrent between you, even when Junho had been around. Despite how many times he drew away from you, you never let him escape completely. At first, you’d thought it was because he was Junho’s friend, but it all changed after that night outside the bar, your attraction to Minho settling in your chest like a lead weight.

You think back to the months you’d spent together, the world falling apart around you, and how Minho had become your entire world, the reason you’d continued to hope. How you’d fallen in love with every part of him, from the way he’d let you take the first share of food to the messy strands of his grown-out hair.

The wind whips through your hair, the dense cover of trees thinning around you, and you stumble upon the meadow, a lone figure illuminated in the moonlight. You know it’s him.

“Minho!” you scream, watching as he stumbles across the field in response, trying to get away from you. “Minho!”

You scream until your voice runs hoarse, fighting through the pain in your ankle, and eventually, Minho draws closer and closer, collapsing in the middle of the field. His back is turned to you, and he ducks his head, avoiding your gaze.

You think he’ll run away when you approach him, but he remains lifeless, as still as a statue. Crouching down beside him, you lift his chin, turning his face up to you, a gasp caught in your throat at what you find.

There’s something wrong with his eyes. They shift from the dark brown irises you’d come to know to hollow pools of black. His face is smeared with blood, and his breathing is shallow.

“____, you have to go, I’m turning, it’s not safe, I’m not safe–,” Minho grabs your arm, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. His speech is garbled, but you can hear the gentle tone of his voice still trapped inside. He’s still Minho.

“How dare you tell me to run,” you hiss at him. “How dare you tell me to leave?”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, hands shaking in rage. “I’m a monster!”

Fear strikes you at the realization that something was very wrong with him, something neither you or him had ever been able to anticipate. But it’s overcome by a stronger, more profound emotion.

“I don’t care,” you take his face in your hands again. “I love you, Minho. I loved you through the world ending, and I’ll love you through this. Because your life is mine now, just like mine is yours. It’s our second chance. And we will do whatever it takes to survive.”

Minho clasps your hands in his, fingertips rubbing against your knuckles, and you smile when you notice that his eyes are normal again, no longer filled with darkness. Maybe there was a chance.

“We’ll head west,” Minho rests his forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I saw a hospital nearby. Maybe there are other survivors, people just like us.”

You nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your head into the crook of his neck. The two of you would exit west as soon as the sun rose, ready to start a new journey together.

Perhaps the life you shared was far from perfect but you realized that you’d clutched onto it as desperately as him, because he was the only thing you had. You were each other’s home.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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jaykaysthicthighs · 2 months

Text

The Path Of A Singer | JJK

excerpt | the appearance of your old lover pops up on tv, and the horrible memories showed itself once again.

genre | heavy angst, cheating, abuse, minor fluff

rating | 18+

warnings | strong language, present & past, toxic relationship, mental & physical abuse, jk cheating, panic attack, alcohol and drug consumption, lots of crying, heartbreaking conversations, jk being vile, lots of yelling, jk manhandles the reader, mention of abusive father, mention of ptsd, reader being selfless (you might not agree with the decisions she's made, but don't hate her; she's a broken person), maybe more

wc | 4K+ (very short)

notes | it's been a hell of a long time since i wrote and posted anything....!!!

my inspiration came from watching the movie insidious: the red door lol. the reason for the mature rating is because of the strong language, the heavy conversations said, and the talks of alcohol and drugs. i want to say that i'm not romanticizing this type of relationship or the behaviors of the characters, i'm just making a story that maybe some people might have gone through. sometimes the decisions made or thought of does not make you a bad/horrible person. everyone had a reason good or bad; you just have try to be understanding. i also tried to make this as heartbreaking as possible, but for some reason i feel like it's not. hopefully it does pull some heartstrings for you guys.

You finally arrived home after an exhausting day of work. Your roommate wasn't home yet, so, luckily for you, you're able to binge eat without the concerned eyes of your friend watching you.

You walked your way to the kitchen and made yourself some sandwiches, you also grabbed some water on the way to the living room. When you made it to the couch, you plopped down heavily. You grabbed the remote and started scrolling through the channels. You came across a channel that was showing a music festival, and without thinking about who might be performing you clicked on it.

The first performer was a group called XG. As they were performing, you happily ate while vibing to their songs. At one point, you started singing as well, not caring that you still had some food in your mouth. If the neighbors were able to hear you, they would probably think someone is dying - yelling for help.

When you finished, you got up put away your dishes, and made your way to your room to change your clothes. As you were changing, you felt a bit lonely. You and your friend don't have any pets, no companion to keep any of you guys company. You exited your room with a simple sweater and shorts.

You made it back to the living room with a content expression on your face, unfortunately, it wouldn't last long. As you were about to get yourself situated on the couch, you looked at the TV screen, and the one person you never wanted to see again was singing.

You fell to your knees with a hard thud, watching the screen with horrid eyes. It's been three years since you saw him. In those three years, you tried your damned hardest to avoid anything and everything that involved him in it. The pain he caused you still resides in your little heart.

You didn't realize but you started crying; the tears rapidly falling. Your body started shaking; the little goosebumps displaying your skin. Your chest felt heavy like a huge wave crashing on you, and the water is rising up into your nose, making it hard for you to breathe. You felt like you were suffocating, and the lack of air was making your head light; dizziness taking its place.

On the outside, you were frozen, but on the inside, you were trying to claw your way out. You felt like you were scratching every surface of your body, but you weren't moving an inch. Your brain was screaming for help, but the only thing leaving your mouth was the hardness and unstableness of your breathing. Right now, you were wishing for your friend to come home right now and save you.

Three Years Ago

You were in your car driving your way to your boyfriend. Jungkook's manager called you demanding that you come and pick him up. You don't really know what happened, but from how his manager sounded, you were thinking that he got himself drunk and high again, causing thoughtless actions.

Not too long ago, Jungkook was able to get into his dream record label. After years and years of hard work, passion, and dedication he was able to pursue his dream. What you didn't realize is that with Jungkook getting to follow his dream of being a singer, he would soon lose his sense of self. In just two weeks he was starting to drink, and in another week, he started experimenting with drugs.

As time went on, so did your patience. You would try and try to stop him - to help him, but every time Jungkook would stop your advances. Pushing you away and causing you pain made Jungkook feel superior, it made him feel proud that he reached a certain height in life.

Your guy's relationship now consists of yelling and crying. Jungkook started to mentally abuse you, but even so, you would accept it. You didn't have the strength to leave him - to leave the man you love since middle school. You couldn't leave the man who would write songs about you, the man who would wake up during dawn and make you a big breakfast, the man who would call you no matter the time, the man who would always tell you how much he loves you every second of the day. You didn't have the strength to leave him.

With all your anger, you finally made it to the studio in one piece. When you entered the building, the looks on the staff's faces were concerning you. One of the staff went up to you and told you to not go inside the studio. You looked at them judgingly and pushed your way through them, but they still tried to stop you.

"What is the problem? Let me through!" you yelled. They gave you a sad look and apologized, "I'm sorry ma'am, but Jungkook is very busy, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go inside there." Your anger was boiling, steam coming out of your ears. "Sorry for yelling at you, but I don't fucking care if he is busy. Jonny called me saying that I need to pick this asshole up, okay? If you're worried about me finding out that he is high or drunk - even both, don't. This is not new to me."

The staff in front of you looked like she was on the verge of tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she got the chance, a disheveled woman left the room your boyfriend was in. You watched her with wide eyes as she left the building with a smile on her face. You stomped your way to the studio door ignoring the pleas from the staff. You pushed open the door causing a loud bang, startling the man recognized as Jonny.

Jonny swiftly got up and the first thing you noticed was the bloody nose. You walked your way to him digging in your bag grabbing some tissues for his nose. Gently placing it on him, you politely demanded, "Where is he, Jonny?" The man before you faced his eyes on the floor. "Jonny, you called me here, so, don't fucking hide anything from me. Where is he?"

The man took a step back letting the blood freely fall again. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I've ruined everything." You gritted your teeth and threw the bloody tissue at his face. "Where the hell is he, Jonny?" you yelled.

A second later, Jungkook swung the bathroom door open with nothing but some sweats on. Your heart dropped from his appearance. It was evident that he had fucked the girl from earlier. You guys made eye contact, and you could tell immediately that he was high out of his mind. "Get out, Jonny," you said without looking.

When you heard the door shut, that's when you crumbled. Your eyes started blurring with the tears that were coming. Your body shaking with rage. You walked up to the fucked-up man and slapped him. "Why? Why? Why the hell would you do this to me?"

Jungkook harshly grabbed your wrists and laughed. He laughed like what you had said was something funny. You can smell the horrible alcohol leaving his mouth as he laughed. "Because it's fun, babe."

The pain rippled throughout your body. You snatched your wrists away and bellowed, "You're hurting me! You're destroying me! What does she have that I don't? I thought you loved me?" Jungkook towered over you; he grinned, "I don't love you." Your whole world died. Never had Jungkook spouted those words. It tore you limb from limb, slowly but surely. And that was all it took for you to call it done.

You were fine dealing with his hurtful ways. You were fine being the punching bag. But you were not fine being cheated on. Even with Jungkook in this fucked-up state, not once had he said that he didn't love you, and not once did he ever cheat on you. You felt lower than before, and you didn't want to feel like that. You knew that the moment he started doing drugs and drinking alcohol, the man you once knew would be gone. Still, you had hoped there might be a tiny sliver of him inside, but today proved - his words proved you wrong.

Your eyes hardened and your expression became stoic. Without trying to sound broken you seethed, "We are done! You fucking hear me? I am done with your shit - with everything!" As you walked your way to the door, Jungkook rushed in front of you and pushed you to the ground.

The wind got knocked out of you; you started bawling your eyes. For the first time, you were scared of the man before you. Jungkook locked the door behind him and dragged you by your feet. You tried kicking your feet, hoping that his release would loosen, and you could run away. But before you knew it, Jungkook locked you both into the soundproof booth.

When his grip on you was gone, you scurried to the corner of the booth shielding yourself with your bag. Jungkook walked to you and kneeled to your level. "Don't hide from me, baby." He gently grabbed your bag and tossed it to the other side of the booth. You closed your eyes; you couldn't see the monster of the man you love.

You felt Jungkook tenderly cupping your jaw. You trembled beneath his fingertips; quietly whimpering. It stayed like this for a few seconds until you felt his touch disappear. With your eyes still closed, you could hear Jungkook digging for something. You heard a rustling sound of a Ziplock bag. You knew better, you knew that he was using drugs right now.

"Open your eyes, ____," Jungkook demanded.

You didn't answer, you didn't move. This pissed off the man in front of you. He slapped you, making your body jolt, making your eyes open. You brought your hand to your cheek, tears threatening to fall. "See, it wasn't that hard?"

"W-what do you want... from me?" you stammered.

Jungkook seethed, "You can't leave me. I won't let you leave me. You owe me. All that money I spent on you, all those years I wasted on you - I want that back! And the only way you can pay me back is by being my bitch. You are fucking mine, ____!"

You finally let the tears fall again. Your whole body shook like lightning shooting throughout you. Shaking your head, you wailed, "No! No! No! Please! Don't do this to me, Dad! Stop hurting me!" For the first time today, Jungkook felt his senses come back. Your words panged his heart.

Your mother was never in your life. It was always you and your father, but your father was an abusive man. He would try to find any little thing to blame you for, just for him to lay his hands on you; from hitting, kicking, even to cutting. You had met Jungkook when you were thirteen years old, he comforted, protected, and helped you. When you finally turned eighteen, that's when you moved in with him - that's when you finally felt peace.

Jungkook cupped your face into place. He frantically said, "____, it's me. Your dad's not here. It's me, Jungkook." His touch burned you; you felt like dying. You mustered all your strength and pushed him away. You gripped your shirt and yelled, "No! You're not him! You're not Jungkook! You're a monster and I don't even recognize you!"

Monster... That simple word rang in Jungkook's mind. Monster... Such a terrifying word. If he was a monster, his reason would be because of you. Unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol in his system weren't enough to keep him sane for one minute. Jungkook launched at you. His hands wrapped around your throat, choking you, but still letting you breathe.

You started clawing your nails on his bare arms. Digging deep that blood starts making its presence. But all that Jungkook could see right now was red. He couldn't feel the pain you were giving him; he couldn't hear the agony in your voice; he couldn't see your wrecked state. Red became his friend.

"You are the reason for my horrible being. You are the reason why I'm a monster. You bitch! If you hadn't kept pushing me to pursue this fucking career, I would've still been the same. If you hadn't been so loving and caring and supportive, we wouldn't be in this predicament. I can't believe that I fell in love with a disgusting person like you. I can't fucking believe that I let you take control of my whole being!"

Right when you were on the verge of passing out, Jungkook released his hold on you; he backed himself on the other side of the booth. You were catching your breath. Your hands shakingly touched your neck, throbbing against your frail fingers. You were painfully coughing; mentally asking God to help ease your pain. Your eyes went in and out of vision; red and black dots were the only thing in sight.

Jungkook watched you with dark eyes. He watched as you were struggling to regain your previous state. He watched as you were crying from the pain, he inflicted on you. He watched the one person who was always with him, the one person who loved and cared for him no longer be the same. He killed you, painfully and slowly.

Present

"____, look at me. It's okay. It's okay." Your friend Lia gently held your face in place. She called out your name, praying that you would settle. She watched as you were frantically breathing; your eyes looking everywhere but her; your body shaking like the room was freezing.

Your panic attacks rarely happen, but when they do, Lia feels so useless. She wished that she could help ease your pain, she wished that she had the power to prevent this. But all she could do was hold you and tell you that you're okay.

Minutes go by until you are finally back. "____?" Lia cautioned, "____, look at me. Are you okay?" As you looked at Lia, you could see the worried expression painting her beautiful face. You hated yourself for making her feel like this, but you couldn't help it. This feeling will never go away; it gets buried six feet under, but once he appears they come back.

"Lia," you whispered, "I saw him again... on TV." Lia took a deep sigh; she hated the pain he caused you before and now. She wrapped you in her arms, holding you with such care. The second you were in her arms, you broke. You cried and cried, loudly speaking your pain.

Lia felt her shirt dampen, but she didn't care. Whatever you do to her, she will take it all in, as long as you feel better in the end, Lia will gladly be your tissue, your enemy, your punching bag. Lia murmured against your hair, "I'm here. I will always be here." She held you tighter; she didn't want you to fade away from her.

You took deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You pulled away from Lia and made your way to the couch. You brought your knees up and buried your face in the space between. You hissed, "I hate what he does to me. He's not even here!" This time you whispered, "And yet, he's able to bring me down to my knees... scared."

Lia met you three years ago; months after your event. You were just a newly hired TA. When Lia first saw you, you looked like a girl who was barely keeping her life together. You told her beforehand - when you started room mating with her, that you have PTSD and that your panic attacks happen from time to time. You didn't really tell her the whole story, just that you were in a very abusive relationship and that you experienced something so terrifying. She accepted you with an open mind and open arms; from then on, Lia became your rock.

Lia got up and sat right next to you. She wanted to ask you a question, but she was scared that you would hate her or push her away for asking. But this question has been in her mind for a while now. After taking a few seconds thinking to think it through, Lia wiped her sweating palms on her pants and inquired, "____, if you don't mind me asking... why didn't you call the police on him? You should've, 'cause I don't think he should be performing after everything he's done to you."

Your eyes started getting blurry; you told yourself the exact same thing, but there was a reason. With your head still buried, you softly replied, "It's easier said than done, Lia. I wished I called the police on him - I wish I could call the police on him, but I can't. Because in simple words... I love him. I hate myself for loving him. Even after everything he has done to me, and everything he has said to me, I love him. Does that make me a horrible person?"

Lia felt herself invisibly jumping out of the couch. No way does she think you're a horrible person. You're just a person who's been through something horribly traumatic. Her heart was filled with so much pain for you. Lia positioned herself so she was facing your small figure, and expressed, "____, no way in hell are you a horrible person. Far from it! I won't be able to say that I relate or know what you're going through, because I don't. But I am able to say that I'll support you and understand your feelings and decisions."

You lifted your head but still kept your eyes on your knees; you muttered, "I met him when we were thirteen years old. He was a very shy and reserved kid - hated social interactions. I remember..." you quietly giggled without realizing when you were remembering the fond memories, "I remember when he used to make small mixtapes every anniversary with letters. He wasn't always a horrible person. He used to be kind, supportive, and loving. One of my favorite things about him was his selflessness towards me. I loved that he would always think about my needs, what I wanted, what I was thinking, and how I was feeling, but in turn, he did the opposite for himself. It was a blessing and a curse."

Lia looked at you and saw the small smile showing. This look was rare for you, and every time it made its appearance, Lia would always treasure it. "He must have been a great person for you to smile like that." You furrowed your brows; you turned to Lia with confusion. "What smile?" you questioned. Lia rolled her eyes, "Well, there's no smile anymore."

You took a deep sigh and apologized, "I'm sorry for talking about him. It's just - just talking about him in this light makes me happy and warm... even if it only lasts for a few seconds." Lia noticed that you started tearing up. Your face was slightly contorted with pain; you were trying not to cry, holding it in but it didn't work. Your tears were freely falling, and Lia comforted you once again. You quietly whimpered, "During that time I called him a monster, but really, I don't want to remember him as the monster in my life because at one point he used to be my prince who saved me from one. I try to think and talk about him in this beautiful light that he used to be under - I want to remember him as that, but the pain he brought upon me is too hard to ignore." You started wailing at this point, "It continues to haunt me, and I hate it! I want to hate him, but I can't! I can't!"

Lia felt herself crying for your pain. She felt herself slowly dying by your words. It truly kills her that her most precious and beautiful friend is going through so much pain. As you both cried into each other's arms, you could hear Lia continuously apologize through her cries. You were so grateful to have such an amazing person as her.

Once you were calmed down, you pulled away from the still tearful woman and wiped her tears away. "Don't cry anymore, Lia." you sniffled, "What happened to me - what's still happening to me would never be fully cured, but I know that whatever happens next, you'll be by my side, and slowly but surely, I won't be able to be to feel the pain anymore. Okay?" Lia nodded her head with a soft smile. You're right, as long as she's with you and as long as you are with her everything will be fine. You guys are each other's glue - each other's person.

There is no doubt in your mind that this pain will pass by. You don't know how long that will take, but until the day comes, having Lia with you eases your heart from pain as much as possible.

"You mailed her my letter?"

"Yes, Jungkook."

The tired man finished his show with a bang, and even though people enjoyed his performance, Jungkook couldn't seem to feel all that happy. For the past year since he finished his rehab, nothing has felt more depressing.

The morning of that night when he woke up, Jonny had told him that you had left, and he was to go to rehab immediately. He hated you for leaving, he hated that you left him in such a messy state. Jungkook blamed everything on you. Jonny had told the ill man that if it wasn't for you, everything that he had worked so hard on would go down the drain. At first, Jungkook didn't understand why you left or what Jonny was saying, but as time went on, he knew that everything was his fault. His addictions and his abusive behavior were all his fault. The reason for your disappearance was his fault. Your pain - everything was all him.

Jungkook knows that there will be no way for him to fix the things he has done and the things he had said, but even so, he would try his damn hardest to fix it. When he finished rehab, Jungkook made it a mission to send you a letter every week, telling you about his days throughout the week, how much he loves and cares for you, telling you how much he is so regretful. Deep down he knows that he is being selfish, he knows that he should let you go - let you move on, but the helpless man is stuck in the past. The past is what keeps him alive. The past is his only source of reason. Jungkook doesn't want to let go of that one thing he has left of you.

Jonny felt so much pity for the man, he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't know your address. He would accept the letters, promising that he would mail them, but when night rolls around your letters would be burned. Jonny wanted to quit being Jungkook's manager, but you begged and begged for him to stay with the broken singer. You wanted Jungkook to at least have one person for him to lean on when things get hard. Jonny admires your strength - how strong of a woman you are, so, he agreed.

"You should just stop already, Jungkook. She's never gonna mail you back. I know your reason, but you lost her, and you can never fix that." Jonny was getting tired; tired of seeing the broken singer trying with no prevail.

Jungkook walked up to his manager and lowly whispered, "You think I don't know that, Jonny? Ever since I learned that everything is my fault... I knew that she would never come back to me. Yet I still hope - even if that hope is microscopic or nonexistent, I hope that I will be able to see or be with her again."

The fatigued man took a few steps back and lowered his heavy head down. His eyes searched the floor trying to keep his tears at bay, but it didn't work. The salty tears of this poor singer escaped and landed harshly on the wooden floor. Sniffling, the fatigued man uttered, "You think I don't know that you burn my letters?" Jungkook lifted his head up and saw the ashamed manager looking back at him.

He continued, "You're not as discreet as you think you are, Jonny. I went to your hotel room to ask for a favor... and I saw you burn my eighth letter with sadness swimming in your eyes. I connected the dots from there, and I realized that you never sent any of my letters because you don't know her address, huh? You're left in the dark like I am, huh? You know nothing about her whereabouts, about how she's doing, about anything, huh, Jonny!" The manager kept quiet; didn't know what to say.

Jungkook slumped down on the nearest chair with a hard thump. He leaned his head back with closed eyes and softly whimpered, "I now understand the meaning ‘You reap what you sow’… I'm never gonna stop. I know I can never fix this, but I promise you Jonny, I will never stop. Ten years - fifty years from now, I will keep writing her letters... knowing that deep down all of this is for nothing. I don't care if I'm shaming myself by doing this - I don't care about anything but her. She's not mine anymore but I'm forever hers. Let me live like this. Let me live with the consequences. Let me drown myself in this regret."

The destroyed man opened his eyes and gently moved his head to the side to see the lone figure of his manager feet away. With a deep sigh, Jungkook claimed, "You're just my manager, right? So, don't involve yourself in my pitiful life. Just do the job you were hired to do, along with getting my letters. Don't care what you do to them - burn them, keep them hidden, rip them up... doesn't matter, just don't let me know about it; let me falsely believe that you mailed them to her. Alright? Now please get the car... I wanna go home."

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spctrsgf · 1 year

Text

a confession

summary: dreaming about losing the one person you couldn’t was bad enough, but now you can’t look at him without seeing that very image. and your counterpart isn’t gonna take that lightly.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: language, descriptions of blood and death, nightmares, PTSD of a sort?, angsty and then fluffy, friends to lovers cus im a sucker for it hehehe

a/n: i sincerely apologize for all the old (as in i initially wrote them a while ago) fics i've been posting, i've been working on this one oscar fic but i'm so demotivated to write it since i haven't seen scenes of a marriage and i need to a bit to write it :/

but enjoy din in honor of season three!

The kid tugged on your shirt, reaching for the piece of meat you were dangling over his head, garbling angrily. You laughed at his antics, lowering the treat and letting him eat it ferociously. Your gaze drifted to the hull door again, worry gnawing in your stomach in the wake of Din’s absence.

As if thinking of the man summoned him, the hatch creaked to life, lowering to reveal your companion. Your shoulders slumped and a smile caressed your lips at the sight of him in all his glory. You rushed over, taking the quarry in a hurry to have him to yourself. The quarry grumbled as you yanked her by the arm, shoving her in the carbonite chamber with no hesitation.

You slammed a hand on the button to your left, sealing her in. You turned around then, bouncing on your toes in excitement to spend time with your favorite person in the universe. You expected to see him standing near his armory, disposing himself of a few of his weapons. But instead you found him crumpled and on the floor, frantically fidgeting with his chest plate. “Din?!” You scrambled over, helping him pull off the offending piece of armor.

You worked diligently to get off the rest of his armor, growing increasingly worried at his labored breathing and shaky hands. You pulled off his shirt, bracing yourself for the damage-

No.

No amount of preparation could brace you for this.

A bullet wound punctured through his paling skin, gnarly and red. “Din, oh my god-“ you shot up to grab the bacta, huffing at the mere seconds you lost from getting up and grabbing it. You fell to your knees, tears falling freely from your eyes as you willed yourself to move as quickly as possible. “You’ll be okay.” You murmured.

“I-“ Din tried to gasp out words, but was cut off by a sharp inhale of pain.

“Don’t speak, please.” Your voice was hitched with alarm as sprayed him with bacta.

“Y/n.” He was barely breathing now.

“No,” you shook your head and sprayed more bacta. “You are going to be okay. I won’t let you die out on me-“

“Cy- cyare.”

“No, Din, do not give up on me!” Your hands cradled the beskar helmet. “I can't do this without you-“

“I’m s-“ his chest barely lifted and his grip on your hand was loosening. “Sorry.”

“Din Djarin, don’t you dare-“ your eyes fell to his chest, watching it inflate one last, shaky time before settling down to a stop. His hand dropped from yours, lifeless.

“No,” you gathered his hand in yours again. “No no no no-“ you dug through the med kit, looking for anything that could bring him back to life. Your fingers shook and your vision blurred and your heart pounded in your ears, but you still came up empty handed. You cradled his body in your arms, sobbing hysterically at the loss of the man you loved.

“Din, you stupid oblivious idiot, I loved you. I still do, and I always will.”

You shot up abruptly from your makeshift bed, nearly screaming at the sudden change of scenery. Your face was soaked with tears and your body with sweat as you regained your bearings. Your previously tense shoulders fell in relief when you couldn’t find your beskar covered companion covered in blood on the floor.

You stood up from the floor, running a hand through your tousled hair. The fresher was a few steps away, and you walked in to come face to face with yourself in the mirror. You could see the bags hugging the bottoms of your eyes, as well as the small sheen of sweat and your red eyes from crying. Your hands shook slightly as you attempted to tame your appearance.

Your hands.

You whipped them down and into your line of sight, flipping them this way and that to check if there was any blood. When you found none, you deemed yourself presentable enough to leave the room.

You ventured back into the hull and through your daily chores, falling into mindless motions. You hummed a tune, hoping it would erase your previous nightmares.

It was so real. You could feel the brush of his gloved fingers, smooth and worn, smell the mix of the woods and metallic blood, see every flash of the hull lights on his beskar. You could hear his labored breathing loud and clear, even though you weren’t dreaming anymore. You could hear the nickname he’d never called you in real life but the one you’d found out was a word in Mando’a.

You shouldn’t be dreaming about this, it was crazy. You and Din weren’t- he didn’t feel the same. Din was quiet, but he was assertive. If he felt something, he would tell you. Right? Had the years of solitude caught up to him? He was never nervous, he caught people for a living. There was no way he would be worried about this. You were delusional, you decided. This was crazy and he didn’t feel the same.

You realized at that moment that you hadn’t seen Din all morning. Your breath caught again as you shoved down your fear, telling yourself it was for the better. You didn’t know what would spur from you after seeing his helmet, whether it would be waves of relief or crushing pain.

The sound of a garble echoed from your right side, following the sound of the hull door opening. You could hear the heavy footsteps of the very man that had been occupying your thoughts all morning.

Speak of the devil.

Your hands tightened around the sheet you’d been folding, holding your breath for the words he’d never say. You held still in the exact same position, the only part of your body moving being the rise and fall of your chest. Din’s movements slowed to a stop, and you could feel his gaze on you. “Sorry we’ve been gone,” he started, causing you to jump in surprise. “I went to take the kid for a walk.”

Your jaw tightened, but you managed out an “it’s alright.”

He paused again. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, forcing your hands to work again at folding the sheet.

You expected him to let it go. He always did: never pushed and prodded, just let you mellow out until your feelings subsided. But instead he came up beside you, grabbing one edge of the sheet and folding it in towards yourself. You swallowed sharply and drilled your eyes into the sheets, only nodding in thanks.

He huffed. “Y/n.”

“Din.” You responded in the same even tone.

“You're gonna tell me what’s going on? Or am I gonna have to pry?”

You grabbed his end of the sheet, finishing the fold. “Leave it be.”

“You’re not looking at me.”

You turned to place the sheet down at the edge of the bed. “Astute observation.”

He scoffed. “That’s not normal. You always look me in the eye.”

“Din,” you paused facing away from him, hands starting to shake. ”please.”

The next moments were a blur. One second he was behind you, the next he was in front of you, merely two inches away. You didn’t react quick enough, weren’t able to tear your gaze away from him. Your eyes met the thin strip of his visor, and oh boy-

The blood, running along the rim.

The way his head fell backwards in pain.

The shallow breaths, accentuated by the modulator.

“I’m- I’m sorry.”

You tore your eyes away with a startled gasp, turning and sprinting down the open hatch door. You had to get out, you had to get away from it. Everything about him was too much like a nightmare, it was too real. The image had to be imprinted onto the back of your eyes, it was so vivid.

You willed your breath to slow and calm as you walked, but even the thought of that was hard. You ventured a little ways away from the Razor Crest, finding a nice rock expertly placed between two trees. You settled against it with a rattled sigh, gazing out into the forest. If you squinted, you could see the ocean from here: it’s shimmery sheen and the deep cobalt blue that filled it.

The thought was calming. Seeing the wilderness in a way you hadn’t before, learning to appreciate the little things you’d been lucky enough to see and experience on this never ending ride with Din.

Din.

Shit. The calm left you as soon as it came, swept away by gnawing guilt and unsaid feelings. All those things he would have been able to experience, all of the things you needed to tell him but never quite could. It was too late.

You shot up abruptly, sending a sharp pain to your head and tunneling your vision. You shook your head with a groan, deciding to venture away from the spot that now reminded you of him. Of what you could have shown him-

No. You scolded yourself for going down that track, focusing on putting on foot in front of the other. You met the silver metal of the Razor Crest some five minutes after, leaning against it in hopes to take some of its cold for yourself. The feeling also calmed you, but you were sure it’d be gone as soon as it came. This was Din’s-

The crunching of boots cuts your thoughts short.

You considered running. It would be fruitless, though, even if he couldn’t see your legs right now; he was undoubtedly faster than you. You considered yelling at him to stay away as well, but did you really want him to? You compromised, turning and giving him your back. You curled into yourself, hunched over slightly as he rounded the corner.

To say Din was confused was an understatement. You’d been acting weird all morning, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something to upset you. Even now, when he passed the last of the ship obscuring his view, you hid from his gaze. What did he do? What should he do? He didn’t like this, the cold shoulder, not one bit. He had to fix this.

You could feel it on your back, his inquisitive gaze. You knew what the silent look meant. You sighed quietly as you waited for his evaluation, knowing he’d nail it on the dot. You waited for the quick sentence, the sounds of his footsteps squelching receding into the distance.

But he didn’t do that this time.

This time was different. He knew it, you knew it. You both knew that this wasn’t just a dream about losing your family or having to run away from your home or the kid, it was deeper, the pain was deeper. You knew from the sharp intake of his breath that he wasn’t going anywhere unless he got a real answer from you, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to give it yet.

His hand landed on your shoulder in the midst of your thoughts, causing you to jump. “Maker, Din-“ you started your sentence, but were abruptly cut off by him spinning you around. You kept your eyes firmly at his feet, not wanting to spark another burst of panic. “Y/n.” His voice was surprisingly soft compared to his normal brisk tone.

You nodded.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s really nothing you need to concern yourself with, Din, I’ll be fine.”

He paused, and you wondered if he was going to take your sentence and leave you be. “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened, and you nearly threw your head up to meet his visor. Din had sworn before, but never at you. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice was hard.

“I’m telling the truth.” You were not.

He chuckled, actually chuckled. “You’re a really bad liar, you know.”

“I know. I used to be really good.” You deflated.

Din squeezed your shoulder. “You gotta talk about it, y/n, trust me. Solitude and nightmares are not a good combo.”

“You’re not gonna like it, Din.”

“Try me.”

Your hands clasped together so you could fidget with the ring on your finger. “It was- the kid and I were waiting for you after a mission. You were taking a while, I remember, and we were starting to get antsy. And then you came back and I was so excited to see you and I grabbed the quarry-“

“I wouldn’t let you do that.”

You huffed.

He sighed. “Sorry, go on.”

“I grabbed the quarry and put him in the carbonite chamber that you think I don’t know how to use but I do, and then I turned around,” your breaths became shaky. “You were on- on the floor. You were bleeding and you were barely breathing and you were struggling and you kept trying to talk and I was telling you to shut the fuck up because I was trying to save you and I tried and tried but I- I couldn’t. You were dead. You were gone and I couldn’t do anything and I tried everything in that stupid first aid kit, I tried the bacta and the gauze but you were- you weren’t with me and I swear my heart was ripped right out of my chest.”

Your shoulders slumped in shame but also in relief, in letting go of that burden you’d been carrying for less than four hours but had ripped through every fiber of your being. Your declaration hung heavily in the misty air, Din not moving a single muscle. You assumed he was processing your words, but right now those very words were gnawing at your brain.

You waited patiently as he contemplated, or at least you thought he was. The slight incline of his helmet was leading you to think that, but he was slightly hard to read at the moment. You began to kick the ground as you stood rather awkwardly, not making full eye contact and rather looking over his shoulder.

The shake of his helmet in your peripheral told you he was in fact alive and awake, easing some pressure you hadn’t even noticed was on your chest. His hand still rested on your shoulder, which twitched as if he wanted to move it but decided otherwise. “Wow.” He said finally.

Your eyes went wide in fear. “You don’t have to say anything, we can go inside and pretend this never happened. I can do that.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” his helmet tilted up and away from your face. “That was just a lot.”

You smiled sadly, your eyes meeting the leafy ground. “Yeah.”

You two simmered in the silence for a while longer, him surely going back to thinking in his head. You didn’t know what to expect at this point: Din had surprised you so many times in the past ten minutes that you weren’t sure any of your old rules applied anymore. And frankly, that was making you very nervous.

You were trying to train yourself for the unexpected when Din made his next move. His hand left your shoulder to cup your jaw, tilting it upwards to meet his visor. Your eyes automatically went left to trace the reflective surface of the Razor Crest, eliciting a huff. “Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because if I do, all I can see is your lifeless body and the smear of blood from where I grabbed your face.”

“Um, okay,” He frowned in defeat and then in confusion. “Wait, why are you so scared of losing me?”

You huffed. “Are you serious? Because I care about you, Din. More than I should, probably. You gave me a home, and you treated me as somebody. How could I not care, how could I not worry about losing you?”

Silence, and then-

“So you’re in love with me?” His voice was aloof, but you could hear the nervousness seeping in.

Your head rotated to meet his visor, calculating the tilt and his stance. Your brain reeled and tried to shove your nightmares into your head, but you pushed them away from the foreground. “I am, got a problem with that?” You willed to match his tone with your own.

He drew back slightly, and you fretted, but you held your ground and waited. You weren’t going to run away from your feelings this time. He held your stare, stepping towards you. “Not at all.”

You swallowed. “Alright, I guess that’s settled.”

“Mhm.”

“So..”

“Yes?”

Oh, so he was gonna make you say it? “Din. C’mon, don’t be this way.”

“Be what way?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“No, care to enlighten me?” You could hear the smile.

You gritted your teeth. “Fine, never mind. I’m going to check on the kid.” If he didn’t want to say it, then it wasn’t coming out.

You shook his hand from your jaw and pushed past him, making sure to bump his shoulder on the way out. Your breaths were heavy after the confessions and the lack of his own, fueling into anger as you stormed into the ship. The Child sat in his hammock, staring right at you. His pearly black eyes felt like they stared through you and relayed everything that had happened out in front of him.

You sighed, venturing over to him and sitting on the edge of Din’s cot. “What did I just do, Kid?”

He garbled eagerly.

“Yeah yeah,” you leaned against the frame. “I know.”

He garbled again.

“Jeez, you don’t have to be rude about it! I know I fucked up.” Your eyes were shut in frustration.

The kid was silent.

“Kid?”

The sound of the hatch door closing was the only response, and you opened your eyes to see the Mandalorian staring right at you.

Blood dripping down his-

No. Stop.

You shook your head to clear the nightmares, but it wasn’t working as well as you were hoping it would. You opted to tilting your head back again, closing your eyes. The silence ensued, and you could feel the heat of his gaze. “You gonna say something?” You asked, not moving.

“Yeah, I was.”

“Was?” You tilted your head.

“You look tired. Maybe later.”

You opened your eyes. “I’m listening.”

He sighed, and you could see him fidget with his gloves out of the corner of your eyes. “Do you know what you just declared to me?”

“That I loved you, yes.” It was out in the open now, no reason avoiding it.

“And if I say I love you too, you know what that means?”

“That we’ve got a romantic bond?” The Kid peeked over the edge of the hammock to stare at Din.

“No,” you scoffed and he glared at you. “Well, yes, obviously, but what I meant is that you’re committing to me, and vice versa. We’re bonded. For life.”

You nodded, looking at his visor, which was turned upwards. “Okay, yeah. What about it?”

“That means seeing-“ he met your gaze. “Seeing my face.”

Your eyes widened. “Your face?”

He nodded.

“No way,” You stood up and walked over to him, the shock tinting your vision. “Are you joking? Cus it’s not funny.”

“No, I’m not.” His voice sounded confused by your actions.

You pondered the hesitance in his voice with a fine toothed comb. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I want to, it’s just-“

You nodded. “No one has seen you without it.”

“No one in a very long time.” He confirmed.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you grabbed his hand. “You can tell me you love me if you do, you can take off your mask and show me that beautiful face of yours. Whenever you want, okay? I’ll be here, I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You smiled up at him, going to turn around, but then his hand was gripping your hip and halting you.

“I love you.”

Your head tilted in confusion. “But what about what you said-“

“Yeah. That’s right now.”

You full on grinned. “Really? Um, okay.”

“Are you ready?” His hands rested on the edge of his helmet.

“Never been more ready.”

And then you heard a whooshing sound, hardly audible over your pounding heart. Your hands twisted together as you waited in anticipation, excited and nervous. The prospect of putting a face to his voice and his name was thrilling, and the fact that you were the first to see his face in years? That left you with a fuzzy warmth in your stomach.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away as the beskar was pulled upwards, revealing his face. Your gaze followed the path of the helmet as you saw his sharp jawline, the little speckles of his two day aftershave, the mustache that he seemed to be keeping in well order, the contour of his nose, his deep brown eyes, the mop of hair that was unruly but had been matted down by his helmet.

You met his eyes again, finding them on you wearily, his lip caught between his teeth as he gauged your reaction. Your breath caught at the real eye contact and the way he couldn’t conceal his feelings. You could see the nervousness in his face, even in his stance. Everything about him seemed so clear now, and you broke into a wide smile.

“You’re beautiful.”

#i need to write for din more often #also this is so dramatic lol i apologize #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #din djarin fluff #um idk what other tags to use lol

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

Note

Your Mihawk has me weak on my knees so I wanted to request something for him.

S/O has scars on her body, mainly on arms. She does fight but some of them look… too precise. One time after she loses a fight she is really pissed and nervous, she goes to a place alone. There he sees her just giving herself a scar with a knife on her arm. Turns out she was taught scars are signs of losses and if she doesn't get one in battle then afterwards she needs to do it herself. That's why she's so determined to always win. She hates scars.

@patisilence tagging since I'm not sure if you'll get this since I had to save it as a draft to format everything right.

Anyway.

I DID IT I ACTUALLY FINISHED IT

I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG 😭😭

And I honestly really really want to thank you. This is my first ever fic-request, for one.

And also, writing this has been an absolute emotional rollercoaster. I have kind of a personal history with self-harm and I wanted to depict it as realistically as possible. Which resulted in heavy focus on character development, which resulted in this practically turning into a novella. I'm going to split it up into a few chapters to streamline things and link them all in this post.

If I do it right, then the entire thing should already be posted when I post this, but I'm still pretty new to Tumblr so bear with me. Each chapter should be between 3k-4k words.

And ALSO ALSO I've been planning a longer Mihawk X OC fic, and I really hope you don't mind me using this concept for it? Because it honestly ties a lot of things together for me

Soooooo without further ado, here's the whole author note thing.

Your Scars Are Mine

Ch. 1

LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this

⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD

Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.

Ch. 2

Ch.3

You were hiding something.

In the few months that Mihawk had known you, he had come to learn a fair bit about you. He knew, for instance, that you had over the past few years made something of a name for yourself as a sword for hire, typically among pirate crews who required a more discreet touch.

That this reputation of yours had led the Buggy Pirates to hire you to assist in stealing a map of the Grand Line from a Marine base in Shells Town. You had failed to procure the map before it was stolen by other hands, leaving you in their debt. Buggy had sunk your sloop to prevent your escape, and you had gotten stuck working for the ridiculous crew for a brief time, remained stuck with them until the Strawhat upstarts offered you passage with them.

Mihawk knew you had traveled with them as far as Baratie, where you had crossed his own path for the first time at the bar on the ship's deck. Where you had approached him with a bargain—if he left Roronoa Zoro alive after their duel the following morning, you would serve him for a year, an errand girl to send off on whatever menial tasks the World Government assigned him.

"And why would I want a little bird flitting around after me around for an entire year?" Mihawk had asked coolly.

And yet you had made a fair point—acting as a government lapdog was growing old. He had been sent after the vice admiral's grandson, for heavens' sake, as if he had nothing better to do with his time than to handle the old fool's family disputes.

Though the surly pirate warlord wouldn't have dared to dream of admitting it at the time, you had his attention. Your offer of unquestioned devotion, your confident demeanor as you sipped a glass of whiskey and kept your eyes on his without showing an ounce of fear or intimidation. You were certainly an interesting diversion from the otherwise dull task that had been laid before him, and your certainty that he would accept your offer had irritated and intrigued him in near equal measure.

It was intrigue that won out in the end. He had left his challenger clinging to the edge of life and taken you with him on his departure. You stayed toe to toe with him in wit and banter, and that alone would have been more than enough to draw him closer to your charm. He had wanted you before two weeks were out, wanted to claim you as far more than his "errand girl," and it was easy to see from the way you effortlessly returned his subtle flirtations that you wanted the same.

And now you were lying back across his broad chest in the hammock aboard your new sloop, a book open over your chest and his hand resting over your stomach, his other tucked under his neck as he frowned thoughtfully up at the roof of the small ship's cabin, pondering over the whirlwind of events that had led up to this moment.

It had been just over two months since the pirate lord had taken you as his lover, and you had been an open book about most things. Your training under your grandmother. Your setting out on your own from a small island village to find your parents, or some clue of their disappearance. The many and varied pirate crews you had served as a hired hand.

Yet you refused to discuss your scars.

Any seafarer with a history as sordid as your own had their share of battle scars. Mihawk had a fair few of his own; one didn't become the most renowned swordsman in the world without a few losses, after all. Yet your voice turned to clear contempt when yours were mentioned, even in passing, and you tensed like a statue when his hands brushed over them. You were confident to the point of near arrogance, yet you clearly held nothing but shame and contempt for the many marks that marred your delicate skin.

Some of which appeared oddly...uniform, for having been gained in battle.

It was in part—in great measure, honestly—the mystery of you that had drawn him in to begin with, and this was just another mystery that Mihawk intended to unravel.

You closed your book abruptly, stirring him from his thoughts as he glanced down at you. He watched you gaze thoughtfully toward the ceiling for a long moment, your hand resting over his at your stomach, before you finally spoke up.

"Reading a book is just staring at a dead tree and vividly hallucinating."

You tilted your head back, grinning as his mouth turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed at your ridiculous statement. Mihawk sighed wearily, plucking the book from your hands and lightly rapping you over the forehead with it.

"No," he scolded, as you giggled softly. He sighed heavily again, dropping the book over the back of the hammock before pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Are you trying to give me a stroke?"

"No," you said, imitating his scolding tone. You stretched your arms out over your head, arching your back for a moment, before rolling over to lay across his chest and brush your lips to his. "But it's fun seeing the look on your face."

"You irritate my very soul, little one," he said, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"And I enjoy every second of it," you countered, grinning as you laid your forehead against his.

"I can tell."

Your grin managed to draw a small smile from him, before he lifted a hand into your hair and pulled you down into a slow, deep kiss. Your fingertips came to rest at his broad shoulders, the hammock swaying slowly in the steady ocean waves carrying the ship along. He knew as well as you did that he wasn't honestly irritated—your strange sense of humor had grown on him, as starkly as it contrasted to his dry sarcasm, and he rarely had the pleasure of meeting anyone as adept at keeping up with his own banter.

You lay your cheek at his shoulder when your lips parted, your eyes slipping shut and your contented sigh tickling against his neck.

"If the wind holds steady it will be a few hours before we make port," you said, your voice low and soft. "I suggest we don't move from here in the meantime."

"I'm not sure I've ever heard a finer suggestion."

Mihawk pulled one of your hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. He pulled his hat down over his eyes to block out the sun pouring through the windows of the small cabin, tucked his hand back behind his neck again, and shifted beneath you to get comfortable as he closed his eyes. His arm remained curled around your waist, his hand slipping just beneath the hem of your shirt so his thumb could rub slow circles over your soft skin as you both drifted off toward the peaceful recess of sleep.

The first thing that struck Mihawk when he woke was that you weren't in his arms.

Every day and night for nearly two months, he had fallen asleep and woken with you against him, and the absence of your warmth jarred him instantly awake and aware. His eyes scanned around his surroundings as he sat up, taking in where he was—the small cabin of the sloop he had recently bought you as a replacement for the one Buggy's crew had sunk.

His sharp yellow eyes darted toward the door, taking in the sound of unfamiliar, muffled voices outside the cabin.

He was standing in an instant, straightening his hat and pulling Yoru onto his back as he slipped silently through the door and onto the small deck of the sloop.

There was another sloop tethered to yours.

A pair of no-name pirates holding you against the bow ny your arms, their captain pressing the barrel of his pistol to your forehead as they bickered.

"There has to be something on board."

"We could just take her. Looks like she's probably a feisty little thing."

"Still have to check the cabins. Could be—"

Mihawk cleared his throat.

The trio turned their heads in almost comedic synchrony, their jaws dropping at the mere sight of him leaning against the door of the cabin. Mihawk's eyes flickered from them to you, and you averted your eyes, clearly ashamed to be seen in such a compromising situation.

So he shifted his gaze back to the opposing pirates, his eyes flickering between each of them.

"You will remove your hands from the girl or I will gladly remove them for you," he said levelly, lifting his eyebrows.

They quickly let go of your arms, and stepped away when he moved forward to wrap a hand around your wrist and pull you to him. He curled his arm around your waist, lowering his head over yours for a moment and murmuring quietly, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head no quickly, your jaw set at a rigid angle as you turned your gaze down to your feet, your shoulders tense. He pressed a light kiss to your temple for a long moment before lifting his gaze back to the trio that had dared board your ship, his eyes narrowing in an unspoken threat.

"Go." They remained frozen, glancing between each other. "Now."

They scrambled back over to their ship immediately, severing the ropes that were tethering it to yours. Mihawk kept his arm around you, but his eyes remained trained onto the opposing sloop as it drifted away on the wind, debating on just drawing his sword and splitting it in half on the spot.

He turned his attention back down to you when you began to pull away from him. He pulled you in close again, frowning. It wasn't at all like you to be bested by a few no-names, and it was clear that you weren't taking it very well.

"Tell me what happened," he said finally.

"I woke up," you said curtly. "Thought I'd check the charts and see how far we were from Shells Town. They were already on the deck. Seemed to think this was a small merchant vessel since there's no flag. I'd left my knives in the cabin and I was still half asleep when I came out here. By the time I registered what was going on, one of them had a pistol to my head."

You really weren't making a very good case for him to not sink their boat. He cut his eyes briefly toward the sloop before looking back down at you, your face shadowed by your hair as you stared down at the deck floor.

"Their captain started questioning me about cargo," you continued. "Told them there wasn't anything valuable on board. They were discussing taking me as compensation." You sighed heavily. "And that's when you chose to enter stage left and take approximately twenty years off the end of their lives."

He rolled his eyes the slightest bit at your quip. "I would have taken a great deal more than that had they hurt you."

"Well, they didn't," you replied, your voice still curt. Mihawk lifted an eyebrow. "And it's perhaps best not to go splitting any boats in half a stone's throw away from a naval base," you added, nodding back toward the bow of the vessel.

Mihawk gave a quick glance as well. He had been too focused on the fiasco he had just awoken to to notice that Shells Town was visible on the horizon now. It wasn't as if the Marines could do much about it if he did sink the sloop, but you were right—it would still be more of a hassle than it was worth. He sighed, shaking his head a little, and curled a hand under your chin to lift your gaze to his. You still kept your eyes averted, your jaw set. He hadn't seen you lose a fight before—apart from sparring with him while training, but that hardly counted.

You had proven to be quite the fighter when he had decided to test you. You were nowhere near his equal, but you knew precisely how to play to your strengths with your pair of daggers and your throwing knives. Your stature made you difficult to target even in single combat, your movements a graceful dance that toed the line between evasion and power.

Yet one loss—and a rather inconsequential loss, at that—and you were beating yourself up over it quite a great deal more than what constituted normalcy. Mihawk wasn't sure whether to scold you for being dramatic or attempt to comfort you.

"You were caught off guard, little one," he said after a long moment, brushing a thumb across your cheek. "There's no need to be so upset over that."

"I'm not upset, I'm annoyed," you retorted, pursing your lips a little. "Blades or no, I should have been able to take care of those idiots."

"Annoyed, then," he allowed with a small sigh. "And I've no doubt you would have had I not woke. I was simply able to handle it a bit more...subtly."

"Oh, yes, because sauntering out onto the deck with a giant sword and threatening to cut off their hands was so subtle," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you finally rolled your eyes over to his, lifting your eyebrows.

"Don't be a brat," he chided lightly. "We still have at least half an hour before we make port." Mihawk abruptly wrapped his hand around your chin and pressed his lips to yours in a brief, deep kiss that made you draw in a sharp breath. He parted just as you started to lean into it, resting his forehead against yours. He lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. "I would truly hate to have to spend it punishing you, my little bird."

You quirked an eyebrow, your lips curving in a small, coy smirk. "No you wouldn't."

He gave you a thoughtful frown and a small shrug of his shoulder. "Perhaps not." You let out a small cry of alarm when he stooped down and quickly scooped you up from the deck floor, one arm beneath your knees and his other curled around your back. "I suppose we'll just have to find out."

You chuckled lightly as he carried you to the door of the main cabin, plucking his hat off of his head and placing it on your own as you brushed your lips to his in a soft, teasing manner. Mihawk lifted his eyebrows when you nipped lightly at his bottom lip.

"You're really pushing your luck, my dear," he cautioned.

He lowered you down to the double bed in the cabin, his thumb rubbing small circles at the back of your neck. You lifted yourself onto your elbows, your lips nearly brushing his before he pulled back just far enough to stop you, lightly gripping your hair at the nape of your neck to keep you from sitting up any higher. You gave a small whine of protest, but didn't try to struggle against his grip—you and he both knew there was no point.

"Lie down." His voice remained low and intimate, but there was a subtle command in his tone, in the way his gaze burned into your own. You bit your bottom lip lightly, lowering yourself back down onto the bed fully. A soft, quivering sigh left your lips as he slowly began slipping the buttons down the front of your shirt loose. "Hands over your head. And you don't move them an inch until I tell you you can."

"Mmm..." You hummed thoughtfully, and Mihawk paused in unbuttoning your shirt as you lifted your arms from the bed, holding your hands high above you, straight up in the air. "I think my arms might end up getting tired."

Your lips pursed a little, clearly struggling to keep a straight face, and he lifted an eyebrow at you. "You're certainly in rare form today."

Mihawk wrapped his hand around both of your wrists, shoving your hands down into the plush white comforter over your head, and a couple giggles escaped you before you bit your lip again. It was honestly a bit endearing, how cheeky you were being—and all the moreso, as it appeared you were being so brazen just so he could have his fun with your punishment.

You were enticing him more and more every passing day, beyond the physical desire that had led him to claim you as his a couple months ago. It wasn't a feeling he was particularly accustomed to, nor was he quite sure what to make of it yet. He knew only that when he had seen you held captive against the bow of the boat, an emotion had flashed through him for a moment that he hadn't experienced in years.

For the briefest moment, Dracule Mihawk had felt fear.

He was not ready to contend with the connotations of that.

And he was a bit too busy at the moment, anyway. He let his forehead touch yours, his lips hovering a breath away from your own.

"You don't move your hands," he repeated, tilting his head to just barely graze his lips against your neck, drawing a small moan from your lips, "until I give you permission. Understood?"

"Yes, sir..." you sighed softly, your eyes slipping shut as he kissed down your collarbone, pushing your shirt open. His hand released your wrists and trailed down your arms, down to knead at the soft tissue of your breast through the sheer lace of your bra, feeling your nipple harden against his palm. He tugged the cups down, just a bit too hard given he felt one of them tear in his grasp, but that was a problem for later, not now.

You gasped out when he briefly pulled one of your stiff nipples into his mouth, his grip tightening slightly around your ribcage as you arched your chest toward his swirling tongue. His gaze flicked up to watch you writhe and shudder under his touch, your fingers digging into the bedsheets behind you, your hands searching for anything to keep occupied with.

"Very good," he praised, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair out of your eyes and brushing his lips to your jaw. "You see?" He wrapped his hand around your jaw and lightly pressed his lips to yours. "It's much better when you're a good little bird, isn't it?"

"This—doesn't feel much like a punishment," you commented, gasping softly as he circled the pad of his thumb around your nipple, lightly skimming across it once or twice.

"Yet," he corrected.

And gave you a small, devilish smirk, before lowering his head and biting down on the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Just hard enough to leave behind a small bruise, to draw a sharp cry from your lips and send a shiver through your body.

He straightened out as you heaved a sigh, standing over you. Your eyes remained glued to him while he shrugged away his long coat and tossed it back into a chair behind him, noting how your hands tightened down on the bedsheets again.

"Remember we still have a half an hour before we reach Shells Town." His fingertips curled around the waist of your shorts, the lace of your panties beneath them, and slowly inched them down your hips. "I could spend the entirety of it teasing you." Mihawk noted the movement in your throat as you swallowed in nervous anticipation, your eyes glued to his as he pulled them up the length of your legs and off, flinging them aside. "Making you beg for release but never allowing you the satisfaction."

How beautiful it was that it only took a few words to pull a blush to your cheeks and make your breath hitch. He brushed a light kiss to your calf and pushed your legs apart, rubbing his palms up your inner thighs.

"You're going to have to be on your best behavior if you want more, my sweet little bird." Trailing a single finger up your soft folds, dragging through your slick arousal and across your clit, pulling a small whimper from your lips. "Or would you rather I just torment you?"

You bit your lip, shaking your head quickly, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his fingertips trailing up. It was a struggle for him not to chuckle at you—always just cheeky enough to be amusing, but you knew the pleasure he could give you, were so desperate for it that you folded like a cheap deck of cards under his slightest touch.

Absolutely perfect.

Mihawk moved his hands up from your thighs, curling an arm under your back to lift you up and shift you further back on the bed. Your breathing was ragged with anticipation as he brushed his lips to your stomach, trailing his hands back down to your hips, his lips lower and lower, grazing slowly across the soft skin between your hip bones.

Shifting lower and dragging his tongue slowly up your slit, circling the sensitive bud at the apex, giving a quiet growl of approval as your breathy, shuddering moans filled the small cabin and your hips arched in his hands.

His gaze turned up toward your face, watching you draw closer to falling apart with every passing moment. This was only the beginning, and he still hadn't decided if he was going to give you what you wanted...but the sight of your divine, nearly naked and writhing under his touch with his hat still resting on your head made him just a little weak.

He moved from between your legs before he could get lost in the sight of you and the sweet sounds of your moans, reveling in the agonized whimper that left you as he trailed his mouth back up your stomach.

Across to your ribs, pausing at your breasts to brush his lips and his skilled tongue across your sensitive nipples.

Dragging his tongue up the column of your throat, seizing a fistful of your hair and crushing his lips to yours in a deep, possessive kiss, shoving your hip down onto the mattress to keep you from grinding against him, shifting his hand between your thighs to circle a finger around your tight entrance without pushing in. Your low moans and whines of protest were like music to his ears, your knuckles gone white from the force with which you gripped at the sheets over your head to keep your hands from wandering.

Every slow pass up and down your body brought you closer to the peak of pleasure but never quite there—and brought him closer and closer to caving in and giving it to you. He had to wonder whether you had any idea just how much of a temptation you were to him. It had been years since the pirate lord had allowed any woman to affect him quite as strongly as you had.

How much time had passed couldn't be ascertained for sure when he reached his breaking point—his mouth pressed into the crook of your neck while you moaned and begged desperately in his ear, one of his hands squeezing your breast hard enough to bruise the soft flesh while his other worked his belt buckle open and shoved his pants down his hips in a desperation that rivaled yours.

He shoved your open shirt up your shoulders and arms and flung it away; gripped one of your thighs, pushing your leg up as high as it would go, and the low growl that left his throat as he thrust into you was drowned out by your own cries of abandon. Your hips arched up from the bed to meet his, one of your arms flinging around his neck and your hooking beneath his arm to grip hard at his shoulder.

"I don't recall giving you permission to move," he breathed into your neck. He gritted his teeth as he pushed his hips forward hard, shoving yours back down into the bed as you cried out again, your slick walls tightening around his cock.

"I—I'm sorry, I can't—I can't—please—" You gasped, your head falling back as he moved in you in deep, hard thrusts, your fingernails dragging down his back. "Oh God, please—"

He lifted a hand to grasp at your hair as he crushed his lips to yours, delving his tongue into your mouth and drawing in a deep breath as you moaned desperately into the fierce kiss. The prospect of punishing you, of what the hell he had even been punishing you for was forgotten in this rush of unquenchable lust and desire, of pure carnal need for your body.

He normally hated losing control, but this was on another level entirely. There was no room to hate this, no room for anything but pure pleasure, for getting lost inside you as your walls tightened around his cock, as every muscle in his groin tensed and tightened in anticipation of impending release—

Your lips breaking away from his, your cry of abandon as your climax swept over you pulled him right over the edge with you. He pulled your hip up from the bed to slam into you as he came, gritting his teeth against a low groan, the rhythmic contractions of your tight channel milking him dry. His hips jerked toward yours with each intense wave of pleasure, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to your neck, the two of you shuddering and tangled together over the bedsheets.

Mihawk heaved a shuddering sigh into the crook of your neck, his fingers tangled in your hair as he brushed his thumb across your temple. Maybe it was the lingering euphoria, but he didn't even think about the next words that left his mouth before he heard them himself.

"God dammit, (Y/N), I love you."

But it was impossible to deny any longer. You really were everything he had never realized he craved. No, it wasn't just the euphoria in the moment—it was that brief flash of fear earlier at the thought of you being hurt, at the thought of losing you. The utter fury at the morons who had briefly held you captive. How perfectly you balanced and complemented his desires.

He felt as much as heard you draw in a small gasp beneath him. "Y—you—wh—?"

"You heard me," Mihawk interrupted your quiet, almost cautious stammering, murmuring against your neck. He brushed his lips against one of the small, round bruises he had left on the soft skin, and said it again, quietly, "I love you."

You were quiet for a long moment, but he wasn't concerned, still trailing kisses up the side of your neck. He had seen it in your eyes before now, heard it in the softness of your voice when you lay against him, your fingers in his hair and your lips brushing his.

Several seconds passed, before you turned your head slowly and pressed your lips to his, tentatively at first, and then deepening the slow kiss with a soft sigh. He shifted onto his side, tugging you to him by your hip. Your forehead came to rest against his as your lips drifted apart, still barely a breath away, your eyes closed, your voice a quiet whisper.

"I...love you."

(Ch. 2)

#opla #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #fanfic #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #fluff #mihawk x reader #smut

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 6 months

Note

HOLY F*CK

ALRIGHTY

SO YKNOW THE SAGAU PLOT WHERE THE CREATOR IS ACCUSED AS BEING A IMPOSTER AND THE TRUE IMPOSTER PRETENDS TO BE THE REAL CREATOR AND SO GHE REAL CREATOR AND THE FAKE CREATOR DUEL AND YHE REAL CREATEOR'S BLOOD IS GOLD?

WHAT IF THE FAKE IMPOSTER HAD SILVER BLOOD AND IT WAS LIKE A GREATER LORD (TRUE CREATOR) AND LESSER LORD (FAKE CREATOR) BUT THE POWER GAP IS A BAJOLLION QUADRILLIONTOOTSIEROLL TIMES BIGGER

AND TJE REAL CREATOR CREATED THE FAKE CREATOR/TRUE IMPOSTER TO BE THEIR ASSISTANT, BUT THE FAKE CREATOR/TRUE IMPOSTER STRAYED FROM THAT PATH AND BASICALLY BETRAYED TJE TRUE CREATOR

CAN UOU TSLL I TYPED YHIS FAST!?

I HAVE TO HURRY

I ALREADY HAVE ANOTHER IDEA OMFG WHY IS ALL MY CREATIVITY ACTIVATED AT NIGHT

OHHH THIS IS SO GOOODDDDD. @royalrose2011 HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE THIS IS HELLA GOOD......LEMME WRITE SOMETHING HOLD UP

Headcanons: Pre-Sagau Relationship & Post-Sagau Relationship

Pre-Sagau Relationship

Before Sagau, aka back when Reader is Creator 100% and no one was doubting or trying to kill them, the Reader created the Imposter out of their own power, creating them out of the finest silver, gifted with the powers that shined like the stars, the moon.

That was kind of their dynamic. Sun and Moon. Reader the sun, shining at night, and Imposter the moon, shining at day.

The Reader is the Supreme Ruler, while the Imposter is more of a Commander, as well as the Creator's Trusted Advisor. Anything the Reader ordered, the Imposter would be able to have a say. Once it was ordered out, the Imposter would see it through while the Reader would begin to plan something else.

When the Creator Fell and Disappeared, That's when the Imposter became Bitter. Bitter for the fact that the Creator left and Abandoned all their Work, Bitter for leaving them. They took the Creator's Place and Face, in hopes that with them in this position, The Imposter would lead Teyvat Better than the Creator would ever hope to dream of.

Post-Sagau Relationship

It's pretty rocky, to say the least. With the Reader's memories still sealed and are trying to come back, and with the entire showdown there was for trying to prove who is the real Creator, the Reader and the Imposter are...not exactly on the best of terms.

Reader has PTSD, Imposter has Trust Issues and overall a bad combination—but slowly and surely, both of them do open up little by little.

It honestly might take a couple hundred years for everything to clear itself up and yk—fix itself.

In sense, as Reader gets to know the Imposter better, they slowly get back on track with the path they originally took alongside the Creator.

Safe to say, slow and steady truly did win the race. (Maybe—Depends if your an angst writer or a fluff writer or ur mood in general lol)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: THIS TOOK MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT TAKE SOBBING. DON'T WORRY, I'M STILL ALIVE (Ghost Rebel Not Ghosting, I swear—) BUT ITS A WORK IN PROGRESS.

BOY ARE THERE A LOT MORE REQUESTS THAN I'VE EVER GOTTEN SINCE THE EXISTENCE OF MY BLOG LOL.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #sagau impostor au #imposter sagau #imposter au

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ggomos-maribat · 10 months

Text

Secrets, Masks, and Family Gatherings

Cross posted from AO3

It had been nearly a year since she moved to Gotham City, but the skyline seemed new each time she went out for night patrol. Ladybug zipped to another building with Red Hood to gain a higher vantage point. Her wings fluttered slightly with the breeze behind her.

"All clear here." Red Hood pressed on his comms.

"Okay. We'll wait for an update from Robin and Spoiler then we're finished for tonight if there aren't any problems," Batman replied.

"Yeah, it's a miracle we get to finish up early." The vigilante rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "So LB . . ."

"This small talk again?" Ladybug groaned.

Red Hood put his arms up. "Hey, I'm just curious."

"What is it now?"

"I was just wondering what made you transfer to Gotham." He perched on the ledge right beside her. "You defeated your city's villain, right? You had nothing to do anymore."

He's not wrong. She often thought about it herself. Her past and responsibilities clung to her like unshakeable nightmares. Ladybug knew the moment she gained guardianship that her life had no chance of reverting back to 'normal'.

"I think you know how it feels," she said.

"How what feels?"

Ladybug sighed, slumping. "When we defeated Hawkmoth, I thought we could finally rest easy. But I couldn't. I was restless, and between that and taking care of the aftermath, I realized I was missing the superhero life." She shrugged. "That's why I'm here now---it's inescapable. As the guardian, I decided it was better for the Miraculi to be used for good instead of sitting unused."

"Ah, classic PTSD like all the Bats." Red Hood nodded.

She snorted. "But that doesn't mean I still live a restless life. In fact, I've gotten used to life in Gotham."

"But why Gotham of all places?"

"The Miracle Box told me something. I can't divulge anything more."

"Just like you don't divulge anything about your civvy life."

She rolled her eyes, elbowing him on the side, which caused him to flinch dramatically. Bats and their nosiness. "Hey, we're not that close yet for me to reveal my identity. And it's a fair game. I don't know any of you either."

"I'm surprised B hasn't dug up anything on you. And he has contingency plans for all the JL members."

"I told you, the glamor protects us."

At first, she'd been hesitant to work with the vigilantes and at the same time, Batman had been wary around her especially when she was entering their territory. But she had gotten to know them well over time, despite not knowing who were behind the masks. She could also tell they'd grown to trust her like one of theirs.

"All clear near Crime Alley," Spoiler reported over the line.

"Good. Thank you for your help tonight, Ladybug. Everyone else, back to the cave."

Ladybug stood up abruptly. "Thank you too. I'll join the Signal during the weekend. He mentioned he might need some help."

"Oooh, you seem in a hurry to get back home." Red Hood tilted his head.

"No, I'm not spilling anything about my plans for the night," she huffed. "And I need to go because I'm hungry and my timer's running because you forced me to use my Lucky Charm to win that bet with Red Robin."

"The look on his face was priceless."

Ladybug threw her yoyo. "Good night, Hood."

After double checking that none of the others had followed or tracked her, Ladybug detransformed and walked back to her apartment building. She could practically hear the coffee calling to her; she'd drown in it endlessly whenever patrol nights ran late and she needed commissions to finish afterwards.

In the empty elevator, Tikki hovered up to her shoulder. "It's a good thing patrol ended early, Marinette."

"It's not a good sign, Tikki." She smiled grimly. "I think something big's going to happen. A massive breakout or a big plan by the Rogues."

The kwami hummed. "You can try to get plenty of rest before that happens."

"No promises. I have twelve designs I have to submit to Audrey by next week."

Just as she headed to her apartment door, her phone rang a familiar customized ringtone. Tikki also gasped in excitement upon seeing the caller's name.

Marinette tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder while jamming her keys through the doorknob. "Hey, Adrien. What's up?"

"Hey Nette. Done with patrol?"

"We finished early tonight. The Rogues are suspiciously silent. How are you? How's Plagg?" Marinette stepped into the room and Tikki turned on the lights.

"Currently pigging out on cheese. As always." She could almost see her best friend's eye-roll. "Anyway, I called to tell you that I'll be visiting Gotham on Friday. Wayne Tech is partnering up with our brand and Chloe and Kagami are coming with me."

"That's great news, Adrien! I'll bake something special---or should I take you out to a restaurant? I know some good ones near my place."

Adrien chuckled. "Pick anything you want. I'll tell Chloe to send you our schedule so we can reserve lunch or dinner with you and----no, Plagg! I'm not telling her to buy extra cheese!" He heaved out a breath. "At night we can have a short . . . run. You can introduce me to your new partners."

"They're not my partners. It's just you, kitty cat," Marinette said pointedly. "We're just allies."

"You gush about winning prank wars against them."

"It's fun being around them but that's it!"

He laughed. "It's okay. I'm glad you're enjoying your time over there. Send my regards to Damian."

A knock suddenly sounded on the door.

"Speaking of Damian, I think he's here. Gotta go, and say hi to Plagg and the others for me!"

"Pfft, you keep stroking his ego."

With one last goodbye, Marinette threw her phone on the couch and ran to the door. She hadn't expected her boyfriend to drop by, but she was glad he could make time for her. She knew Damian was as busy as her and she was worried he'd end up not taking care of himself like she always did.

"Dames, I thought you had work at the company for the whole night." She gave him a tight hug and a light kiss as soon as she opened the door.

Damian pecked her cheek, winding his arms around her waist. "They let us go early and I thought I should surprise you."

"Good, because I'm surprised," she beamed. "Are you staying the night?"

"Of course, habibti."

Damian Wayne had been an unexpected addition to her Gotham life. They had met in the park while they were working on their sketches---him, a portrait drawing and her, an inspired dress design. Before she knew it, she was with someone who she believed she could spend the rest of her life with. Damian was her support, her confidant in all aspects except her secret identity (though the thought of finally telling him had crossed her mind too many times).

"Are you hungry? I haven't had dinner yet and I was just thinking of cooking instant ramen . . ."

"We can have dinner together, but . . . there is something I need to talk to you about." Damian rubbed her arms, gazing at her intently.

Marinette's heart quickened as she subconsciously thought about all types of bad news. Did he get hurt? Did I do something? Is he going to break up with me?

"Habibti, love, I can already read your thoughts." He kissed the tip of her nose. "It's not anything terrible."

"What is it?"

Damian took a deep breath. "I think it's time for you to meet my family."

Marinette felt her jaw drop. "Your . . . your family? Are you sure about this?"

For the longest time, Damian had expressed his distaste at the thought of her meeting the Waynes. At first, she'd thought that it was the status difference, but he seemed more worried about his father and brothers doing something crazy.

On the other hand, they had both flown to Paris four months ago for Damian to officially meet her parents and friends. It had gone smoothly, and Damian was convinced that the opposite would happen if she met his family.

"Yes. I've thought about it." He sat down with her as she ran her thumb over the back of his hand. "They're already asking about you and if I stall for any longer, I know they will start prying into your life."

"Oh . . ."

Damian had talked about his brothers before, and Marinette saw them sometimes in news and tabloids. In her impression, they didn't seem too bad.

"But don't worry," he assured her, "I will be with you the whole time. We'll have lunch at the manor tomorrow---"

"Wait, tomorrow?"

"Is it too sudden? I worked with your free schedule and---"

"No, no, I'm definitely free tomorrow." Her eyes widened. "Let's meet them tomorrow. It just caught me off guard. I have to prepare my outfit and buy a gift and----oh no, what would your brothers like? What about your father and Alfred?"

Damian smiled gently. "You don't have to concern yourself with that. You’ll make a wonderful first impression."

"But---"

"I have to warn you about my brothers instead." His lip curled. "They will be a handful."

She laughed a little. "You already warned me a million times."

"Because I can't overstate how troublesome they'll be."

Instead of her reply, Marinette's growling stomach echoed in the room. She blushed as Damian pulled her from her seat, kissing her cheek. "It seems that we have an emergency to take care of first. I'll help you cook."

---

Marinette smoothed down the remnant wrinkles on her skirt. She'd chosen a simple pleated dress to wear to her first family lunch with the Waynes. At the same time, the car pulled up in front of the Wayne Manor. It was just as intimidating as she remembered---she'd only ever been to the manor once, to wait for Damian.

"Nervous?" Damian touched her hand.

"Should I be?"

"Never," he replied firmly. "If anything, I should apologize ahead of time. Also, there is no reason to be nervous. If they aren't busy acting insufferable, they'll be impressed by you."

Though the words were warm, they did little to calm her heart. These were the Waynes, royalty of Gotham. She even found it hard to believe that she was with Damian in the first place.

"Come on." Damian helped her out of the car and guided her to the front steps. He pushed through the large wooden doors and they were both met with a broad-shouldered man rushing down the main hallway.

"Todd," Damian called out. "Where on earth are you going?"

The man---Jason, she assumed---stopped, glanced at them, and gave her a quick once-over. Marinette noticed the motorcycle helmet he held on one hand.

"Demon brat." Jason tilted his head. "I have work to do."

"But lunch---"

"I promised to drop by. I didn't say I'll stay." He gave Marinette a single nod and went off.

"I bet he had another fight with Father," Damian muttered under his breath. Marinette squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't apologize. Let's go," she told him softly.

Damian led her to the dining hall where the others were already sat around the table. Curious stares burned through Marinette, making her duck her head away. Damian himself was unfazed, wearing a half-scowl as he helped her to her seat.

"Master Damian, Miss Marinette, welcome." Just in time, Alfred strolled in with the food. She gave the butler a meek smile.

Then, she took a look at the Waynes one by one. The poised Bruce Wayne was at the head of the table, his presence the most prominent in the room. Across from her was Dick Grayson, who looked like he was studying her. Positioned beside him were Tim and Stephanie, both whispering to each other. Finally, Barbara was at her other side, offering her a small smile of comfort.

"I'm glad to finally meet you, Marinette," Bruce greeted. "Damian talks a lot about you."

Marinette momentarily eyed the array of silverware near her plate which she did not know how to use. "The pleasure is all mine . . . sir."

"Please call me Bruce." He gestured to the food at the center. "Go ahead and help yourself. Alfred cooked a feast for us."

She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Bruce."

"How did you both meet?" Tim questioned.

"In the park, Drake. We were both drawing. I already told you," Damian butted in.

Tim waved him off. "I want to hear it from her, not you."

"I---"

"It's okay, Damian." Marinette nudged him a little. "I was sketching in the park when Titus came to me. Damian was drawing a picture of me while I was absorbed in my designs and accidentally let go of his leash. Titus led me to him and it all started there."

"You design?" Barbara asked.

Warmth crept to her cheeks. "It's my dream to become a fashion designer. I just do a few commission pieces here and there. I'm trying to take small steps to reach my goal."

A quick glimpse at her boyfriend told her that he was radiating all the pride in the world.

"Little D mentioned you came from Paris?" Dick sipped on his drink. "Why did you decide to leave?"

"Oh, please don't get it all wrong. I know Paris earned a bad rep after the Hawkmoth fiasco but that was years ago. I just decided to move here to find more opportunities for myself," Marinette answered smoothly.

"Why Gotham of all places, if I may ask?" Bruce chimed in. "Admittedly, this isn't the friendliest city in the country."

"Father, stop with the interrogation," said Damian.

"It's okay, Dames, I don't mind. Promise." She squeezed his hand under the table.

"Fine. But do not answer anything if you're not comfortable."

Marinette looked at Bruce. "One of my friend's parents who works in fashion suggested Gotham. There's a low competition among the designers here so it might be easier for me to make a name for myself."

"That's not a bad move actually," Tim remarked.

"So back in Paris, did you get to meet any of the heroes?" Dick leaned in.

"Grayson," Damian warned.

"That's---"

A sharp ring blasted out, cutting off her statement. Bruce fished out his phone, a muscle on his face twitched, and he abruptly stood up. "There's an emergency at WE."

"Emergency?" Tim peered at his phone as well.

"Yes, Tim. You're needed. Also Stephanie." The eldest Wayne looked around the table and uttered monotonously. "I apologize for cutting this short. We have an urgent matter at the company---"

"Father."

Bruce shook his head. "This absolutely cannot wait, Damian."

The three filed out of the room in a flash. Marinette, stunned at the sudden interruption, saw Dick also checking the emergency.

"Sorry, Babs and I need to go." He stood up and picked up his coat, going around the table to help Barbara. "It's nice to meet you, Marinette."

"Let's go out for drinks sometime, okay?" Barbara reached over and patted her shoulder before they left.

The disappearance of the Waynes left her fidgeting with her fingers and wondering what the big emergency could be. She peeked at Damian hesitantly. "Do you need to go too?"

His jaw clenched. "I think so."

"You can go." She cupped his cheek, pecking the other.

"I can't tell you---"

"I know. I won't ask, I promise," she assured softly. He didn't have to explain anything to her; she'd gladly wait for him to open up. "Go."

"I'm sorry."

"Damian."

He pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. "Alfred will drive you to your apartment. I'll come to you later, alright?"

"Okay."

She could hear Alfred offering her food to take home and guiding her to the car, but it was all a blur. Marinette knew she had nothing to do with what happened yet she was afraid that it would sour Damian's relationship with his family. Her fists clenched around her skirt as she looked down, feeling Alfred's keen eyes checking on her through the rearview mirror.

"Please do not take it personally, Miss," Alfred said softly.

"Yes. Thank you," she whispered.

Finding nothing better to do than to check her phone, Marinette noticed the numerous alerts plastered all over her screen. Arkham breakout. Fuck. No wonder it was so quiet last night. There were a number of messages from Red Hood (which was directed from her burner phone), asking her if she could help.

Marinette looked out the window. Sure enough, there seemed to be a racket coming from the other streets.

"Umm, excuse me Alfred?" She searched for a safe alley to transform. "Can---can you drop me off at the cafe over there?"

"Are you certain? There are Rogues running around the city at this time."

"I'll stay inside. Don't worry."

Fortunately, the butler did what she asked and she made a beeline to the cafe as soon as she stepped foot out the car. Transform. Connect comms. Head to the upper east side. The same words ran through her head.

Her phone rang suddenly right before she could say her transformation words.

"Adrien! Can't talk right now. Arkham breakout. Big emergency," she said hurriedly into the phone.

"Oops. Need backup?" He asked.

"Maybe not. I don't know." She massaged her temple. "Can I ask you guys to standby? You can take your power-ups just in case."

"That's fine. Stay safe," Adrien said, "How did lunch go by the way?"

"Gah! Not now, kitty!"

"Right, right, right. Emergency in Gotham. I'll hang up now."

Marinette sighed. "It was a disaster, by the way. I'll text the details later."

"Aaaand Chloe's yelling at me to spill right now. You should go."

---

Ladybug swiftly landed beside Nightwing when she arrived and the Bats had just finished capturing Penguin and his men. On the next rooftop over, she could see Robin with Batman---they were loud enough for her to deduce that they were having an argument but she couldn't make out the exact words.

"What's up with them?" Ladybug frowned. She had always known Robin as the cold, closed-off one in the group but it was her first time encountering a complete outburst.

"Personal stuff. Happened earlier," Nightwing replied briefly. "I'm surprised you came. I thought you had an appointment today."

She bit her tongue. "Uhh, it got cancelled."

Batman told Robin something which had him storming off, grappling away to another direction. Their comms buzzed to life.

"Ladybug, team up with Robin. The Riddler's in the next avenue," Batman ordered curtly.

Ladybug turned to Nightwing with wide eyes. The stress was obvious in the sag of his shoulders and tight grip on his escrima sticks.

"He's mad at all of us," he explained. "It's better if it's you who joins him."

Ladybug only nodded, throwing her yoyo to follow Robin. Her curiosity was growing by the minute, but she focused on thinking of ways to calm down her fellow vigilante. If he became too riled up, he could lose focus and get injured.

She followed him close enough for him to hear her. "Robin, you have to slow down."

"No, I have to get back as soon as possible."

"Get back to where?"

She only received silence.

Frustrated Robin equals not a good Robin. Ladybug leapt to match his pace and blocked his way. He glared at her. "Move."

"Look, this is the Riddler we're facing. He's still dangerous and if we're not careful, we'll get caught in his traps."

"I don't care. I just need to get this over with. Stay out of my way."

When he pushed past her, she had half the mind to wrap him in her yoyo and deliver him back to Batman for a time-out. She huffed as she followed him. You're not the only one having a bad day, grumpy boy. Robin anchored his grappling gun to a faraway building and at the second he jumped off, he careened to the side, swept away by an elaborate trap by the Riddler.

Before she knew it, Ladybug was after him. Her teeth gritted and her legs ran a mile as she groaned out loud. "This is exactly what I was just talking about!"

They were trapped in an empty little box with a puzzle lock on its door.

Ladybug released a shaky breath.

The worst argument I've had with one of the Gotham vigilantes was when I interfered with Red Hood's mission and he got overprotective. She stared at Robin, who was relentlessly kicking the metal walls. But that might change today.

"Robin," she called out. "I understand that you're mad at the others but it doesn't mean you can act reckless while you're in that suit."

"No. You don't understand." He raked a hand through his hair. "I told them. I already told them and they still . . .Do you know what they did?"

She opened her mouth to reason with him again but he beat her to it. "I only wanted at least an hour. No interruptions." Robin clicked his tongue. "For them, there is nothing more important than capturing these criminals even if there are other heroes who will help. And Father had to be the first to run out."

Ladybug gaped. She knew the Bats were somewhat of a family but it was Robin's first time referring to Batman as a father. "Are you sure you should be telling me---"

"Yes, so you know how unfair they acted earlier." He twirled his katanas, looking for a simple way out. "I only wanted them to meet my girlfriend. I brought her home. And they all left for this. Father didn't give a sincere apology and my brothers either don't care or are suspicious of her."

Wait . . .

She thought she'd stumble back, but her feet were surprisingly still planted on the ground. Lunch. Earlier. Girlfriend. Shit. Her breath was knocked out of her lungs as she processed Robin's words.

Damian's words.

She wanted to laugh. All this time, she'd been anxious about telling him the truth when he was already living the same life as her. The Waynes, the sudden emergencies, staying out late. Merde, it all makes sense now. It was ridiculous how she didn't recognize her own boyfriend.

"It was a mistake after all. I shouldn't have invited her to come," Robin sighed. "They're wary because she's a civilian---she'll be my weakness if anyone finds out about our connection. They know that, which is why they don't approve."

Her first instinct was to tell him that it wasn't true, but an identity reveal would be too much given their current situation. Ladybug pieced her words with care. "I'm sure they'll listen if you tell them how you feel. Your girlfriend will understand too."

"We don't communicate healthily, in case you haven't figured that out."

Her heart was still drumming against her ribcage. Damn it. Marinette would work better in consoling him. Ladybug's just a colleague. "I know. But a few words can go a long way. Tell them you'll be careful. Ask them to help protect your girlfriend if anything ever goes wrong."

As Robin lowered his gaze, an urge to come up to him and hold his hands washed over her. She counted the seconds of silence that passed. It looked like he was thinking deeply about it.

"I apologize for getting you involved," he said. "And for mindlessly telling you about my personal life."

She laughed nervously. "Ah . . . it's okay to vent out sometimes."

Yeah, and your story definitely did not reveal your whole identity.

Robin turned towards the puzzle lock. "Should we attempt to crack the code in his puzzle?"

It wasn't a simple coded lock---it was a six-wheeled puzzle that was embedded onto the door. "By the looks of it, it will take us hours if we go through that route. I think I have a better idea. Are there any cameras here?"

He surveyed the small enclosure. "I see two by the corners."

"Good. Break them and cover the lens." Ladybug touched her earrings while he did what she said. I have spare cookies in my purse. That should do. "We can't unlock the door by ourselves, but Tikki can phase through and let us out."

"The tiny god-being in your Miraculous."

"Yeah, that's Tikki." She smiled. I'll have to introduce them sometime. "Close your eyes?"

After making sure that the cameras weren't functioning and he couldn't see her, she detransformed, motioned to the puzzle lock and sent Tikki out.

"Before we were trapped, I saw other civilians captured in similar boxes," said Robin. "Riddler should be camped east."

Marinette crossed the gap between them and tapped on the back of his hand. GOOD. RIDDLER FIRST THEN FREE OTHERS.

"Morse?" Robin scrunched his nose. "Are you also cautious about revealing your voice?"

YES.

"Tt. That is too much. Most of us don't even use a modulator." He shifted. "I doubt that I will be able to recognize your voice."

She pursed her lips. We'll see about that.

---

Ladybug was lounging on the top of Wayne Tower as the vigilantes finished up catching the remaining inmates. She used the time to fully wrap her head around her discovery. Damian. Robin. One by one, she also pieced together the identities of the others. It was so stupidly obvious all this time.

She heard a familiar zip of the grappling gun. It wasn't Red Hood who she expected to check on her but it was Robin.

"The Rogues are secured. There are rumors that the Joker orchestrated the entire thing but he wasn't around during the attacks," Robin reported. "The injured civilians are being rushed to the hospitals. No deaths."

Ladybug didn't break her gaze at the horizon. "That's good."

". . . Ladybug?"

"Yeah?"

He sat next to her. "The people in Paris . . . did they get used to these kinds of incidents as well? When Hawkmoth was active?"

"With an akuma attack nearly every week, yes you can say we had no choice but to get used to it."

"Was there a lot of animosity towards Parisians after the truth got out?"

"Only a little." She looked down at her hands. "Mostly we receive pity. The press made it clear how the akumas affected everyone's lives."

"My girlfriend . . . came from Paris too. I always wonder what it was like but I never wanted to pry."

Damian . . . She bit her lip. She had been dodgy about the topic, but she should know better than to withhold her feelings about it. Damn it, this will be so awkward when he finally finds out.

"You're worried about her safety," she said.

Robin nodded. "I wonder if she feels afraid during Rogue attacks. Or just living in Gotham. I never want to find out that she was in a dangerous situation and I wasn't there to . . ."

"You don't have to worry. If she's from Paris, then she's strong. Everyone in my city had been on the edge of death one way or another. Our instincts were sharpened. We can block out our fears and emotions." Ladybug looked up at him. "I'm sure she can handle danger."

"But it's different here. There's no magic to bring things back to normal. It's permanent." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I won't know what to do if something happens to her because of me."

"I think . . . you should ask her first---"

"I should break it off with her."

"What?!"

Ladybug nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. I said that too quickly. Thankfully, Robin didn't seem to notice anything.

"I've been thinking a lot," he continued. "I can't bring myself to tell her about this. About me. The mere fact of her knowing puts a target on her back."

Dear kwamis, please keep me from pushing my boyfriend off this rooftop before gets the chance to find out about me.

"Wait." She began slowly. "Don't you think she deserves to know before you try to make that decision for her?"

"What am I supposed to do?" His eyebrows furrowed. "I . . . I expect her to react badly. I've learned from today that I should keep her from getting involved any further. It's either I drag her into this dangerous life or I keep hurting her with my lies."

"You shouldn't start assuming things without trying first. I'm sure she trusts you and she'll come to understand everything in time. There's always a compromise." Her lips spoke the words before she could think. "You're not doing any good by cutting yourself off all of a sudden."

"If I end it now, she can eventually move on and stay safe. Nevermind how I feel," he argued, "I can let her go and she'll be safe."

"When I told you about how Parisians are strong, that's not what I meant." Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she raised her voice. "She can stay in a relationship with you and keep herself safe because she's strong. Can't you trust her as much as she trusts you?"

"I can't risk it. She's important to me."

"If she is, then talk to her. If you don't give her a chance to decide, you're not any better than your father or brothers."

"How would you even know how she feels?"

Ladybug's face contorted into a sharp glare. "I just know. I know better than anyone, Damian."

Anger morphed into shock as he stared at her. ". . . What did you just call me?"

She made a quick sweep of the area to make sure that they were in a blind spot. Then, she wasted no time standing up on the ledge, shuffling until the balls of her foot touched the edge. Then, "I'm not defenseless, merde. And I really wanted to wait until the end of the day but . . . Tikki, détransformation."

Marinette watched Robin's face go through a storm of emotions. His jaw hung slack and his fists uncurled while he stood up to look at her.

". . . Marinette?" he breathed out.

She gently touched his cheeks with both hands, peeling off his mask to reveal his glistening eyes. "I can't believe you wanted to break up with me."

"Marinette . . ." He pulled them both away from the ledge and held her, mumbling 'I'm sorry' over and over again. His head was buried on her neck, with his hands pressed against her back.

"You. It's you," said Damian. "Of course it's you."

"It's me." She rubbed down his back. "For record, I only found out because---"

"Because I told you what happened."

She chuckled. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, habibti." He pulled away a little to touch her cheek. "I was going to make a stupid decision."

"Are you upset that I kept this from you?"

He shook his head, kissing her head. "I can't and I don't have the right to be. I was keeping my secret from you as well."

"Come on, let's go home first. Then we can talk about . . . everything."

---

Ladybug swung into the night with a weight lifted off her chest. She and Damian had a long talk about their identities and relationship. They'd both agreed not to tell the other heroes until they were ready to. For her, it was better that they kept their secrets between themselves first and slowly ease into revealing the truth to her friends and his family.

She breathed in the breeze. Robin wasn't anywhere to be seen, but a group of vigilantes were. Nightwing. Hood. RR. What are they doing there?

The three immediately fell into a hush when she landed next to them.

"Hey, LB," Red Robin greeted.

She put her hands on her hips. "What are you doing?"

The brothers shared a look before Red Hood spoke. "Robin told you about his girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah . . ." she trailed off, dragging the syllable.

"We think something's up with her," said Nightwing.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sketchy stuff," Red Robin explained, shifting on his feet. "Well, we can't tell you who she is---secret identities and all---but she's from Paris. She's friends with Hawkmoth's kid."

Ladybug scoffed. "Adrien? He's not like Hawkmoth. I know him personally and he had nothing to do with that man's crimes. Trust me."

"Hmm, yeah but she's also close with the mayor's daughter. That one who also sided with Hawkmoth."

"You mean Chloe Bourgeois? She's proven that she's changed." And unbeknownst to the public, she was a hero again, this time under another alias.

"But she's so secretive. There's definitely something going on with her." Nightwing rubbed his chin. Ladybug wanted to bang her head in the nearest wall or groan to the heavens.

"What's wrong with being secretive? Aren't you guys the same?" she narrowed her eyes.

"That's not the main cause of our suspicion," said Red Hood.

"We weren't convinced about her reason for moving to Gotham, so we dug around," Red Robin continued, "She said something about more career opportunities but that's just a cover. We found classified files on superheroes in her apartment, including info on Justice League members. I bet she already knows about Robin's identity."

"You snooped in her apartment?!"

"It was an investigation," Nightwing snorted.

Her eye twitched. A secret had never felt so difficult to conceal. "I can't believe you'd break the privacy of a civilian just because you had baseless assumptions."

Red Robin winced. "Uhh . . . if you put it that way . . ."

She crossed her arms. "No, I know what this is really about. You're being overprotective of Robin; you can't accept that he now has a significant other and you think he's being naive about his choices. You think he's going to get hurt badly." She paused for effect. "Because you don't want him to repeat the same mistakes as you all did."

The look on their masked faces told her that she had hit the target better than any therapist they might have encountered.

Red Hood was first to deny. "We're not protective of the brat. We're trying to eliminate a potential danger."

"His harmless civilian girlfriend?"

"Think about it, LB. Why would she have sensitive files on the heroes?" Red Robin asked. "You can't deny that that's suspicious."

I don't know, maybe because she's a hero herself?!

Ladybug sighed heavily. Damian is really going to kill them when he finds out. "Does Batman know about this?"

"Nope, but we'll tell him when we gather enough evidence," Nightwing answered. "We're just trying to get Oracle to crack into her laptop. The security on it is so heavy, it's insane."

Why is it a curse that I asked Max to protect my laptop? There are files on the Miraculi in there!

She discreetly took her yoyo and put it on the recording function. "Let me get this straight. So you're all investigating and prying into the life of Robin's girlfriend without the knowledge of Batman even at the cost of your identities and everyone's safety?"

"We're not risking anyone's safety---"

"It's more of research but---"

She pursed her lips. "And you broke into her apartment, went through her things and currently you're trying to hack into her personal computer?"

"Regular vigilante work---"

"Good, we're on the same page then." She smiled widely. Sinisterly. "Tikki, détransformation."

Pale. Pale faces were all she could see as the three vigilantes were engulfed in utter shock. Marinette held her smile, clasping her hands together behind her back. I can't wait to see how they try to make it up to me. Mon dieu! I'm going to mess with them.

And as a cherry on top, Robin arrived at the scene, immediately putting her behind him when he saw that she was in civilian form. He directed an accusatory glare at his brothers. "What is going on here?!"

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #established daminette #damian x marinette

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