You hated when people looked at you after they looked at Simon.
Because it always happened in that order.
Their eyes would land on him first— broad shoulders stuffed into dark clothes, that permanently tired stare, the kind of presence that made rooms quiet without him even trying — and then they’d shift to you.
And every single time, you swore you saw the same flicker of confusion.
Them?
It made your sick.
You knew Simon didn’t notice it. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. But you noticed. God, you noticed.
Especially at the pub near base.
You worked there most evenings, weaving through crowded tables with cheap trays balanced on one hand, apron dusted with flour from the kitchen because the cook kept dragging you back there to help plate when things got busy. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t important.
You were just… you. A waitress.
And Simon Riley was him.
Lieutenant. Decorated soldier. Feared. Respected. The kind of man people whispered about before he even entered a room.
The kind of man who looked absurd sitting in your tiny apartment kitchen at two in the morning drinking tea from a chipped mug while your socks slid across the floor.
You still didn’t understand why he stayed.
“You’re staring again.” Simon muttered one night from your couch.
You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Sorry.”
He watched you from beneath heavy lashes. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”
“Nothin’.”
A lie. Simon always knew when you lied.
He sat forward slowly, elbows on his knees. “C’mere.”
You obeyed automatically, crossing the small apartment until he tugged you between his legs. His hands settled on your hips, warm and heavy even through your clothes.
“You’ve been distant all week..” he said quietly. “Talk.”
You tried to shrug it off. “I’m tired.”
“Try again.”
Your chest tightened.
You hated this part. Hated saying things out loud because they sounded even stupider once they existed in the air.
Simon waited patiently.
That made it worse.
“I just…” You laughed weakly, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“This.”
One of his brows twitched.
“You.” Your voice got quieter. “Us.”
Simon stared at you like he genuinely didn’t understand the question.
Which was insane.
“You could have anyone.” you murmured. “Anyone, Simon.”
His grip on your hips tightened slightly.
“And you’re with…” You gestured vaguely to yourself with a self-conscious smile that hurt more than it should’ve. “Me.”
Silence.
Not angry silence.
Not cold silence.
The dangerous kind — the kind where Simon got very, very still.
“You think I’m too good for you?” he asked finally.
Your face heated immediately. “When you say it like that it sounds—”
“Answer me.”
You swallowed.
“A little.”
Simon leaned back against the couch slowly, eyes never leaving yours. There was something awful in them suddenly. Something wounded.
Like you’d hurt him.
“You think I come here because I settled?”
“No—”
“You think I look at you and see someone lesser than me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you think it.”
You looked away.
That was answer enough.
Simon exhaled hard through his nose, jaw tightening beneath faint stubble.
“Christ.”
Your stomach dropped. “I’m sorry.”
That made his head snap up instantly.
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Apologizin’ for existing.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Simon’s hands slid from your hips up to your arms, gentler this time.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head.
“I see someone good.”
You almost laughed at that.
But Simon continued before you could.
“I see someone who remembers how I take my tea. Someone who works ten-hour shifts and still manages to smile at strangers.” His thumbs brushed absentmindedly against your sleeves. “Someone who treats people kindly even when they don’t deserve it.”
His eyes softened.
“You look at me and see the rank. The size. The scary reputation.” A humorless huff escaped him. “You don’t see what I see.”
“And what’s that?”
“A soldier.”
You frowned immediately. “Simon, I’m literally a waitress.”
“Aye.” He nodded once. “And every day you deal with rude customers, drunk men, shitty management, sore feet, exhaustion, bills…” His gaze locked onto yours. “And you keep goin’.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“You think strength only looks like violence,” Simon murmured. “Like guns and combat and knowin’ how to kill.”
One hand came up to cradle your jaw carefully.
“But I’ve seen men in the military weaker than you.”
Your eyes burned.
“Simon…”
“I mean it.” His voice dropped lower now, rough around the edges. “You walk through life soft. Do you understand how bloody difficult that is?”
That finally broke you a little.
Because Simon said it like softness was something sacred.
Something rare.
You looked down quickly, embarrassed by the sudden sting behind your eyes.
“I’m not special.”
Simon’s expression twisted like the sentence physically hurt him.
He stood abruptly, forcing you to tilt your head back to keep looking at him. Big hands framed your face completely.
“Don’t do that.” he said sharply.
You startled.
“Don’t tear yourself apart in front of me.” His voice cracked slightly around the edges now. “Not when I love every part.”
The room went silent.
Simon wasn’t good at saying things like that. He showed love easier than he spoke it. Through quiet touches. Waiting outside your work after late shifts. Fixing things around your apartment without being asked. Standing between you and the world like a wall.
But this?
This was raw… and terrifyingly honest.
His forehead pressed against yours.
“I don’t need someone impressive.” he whispered. “I need you.”
Your chest ached so badly it almost hurt to breathe.
“You make my life quiet.”
One of his hands slid into your hair carefully.
“You make me feel human again.”
Your eyes finally spilled over.
Simon caught the tears immediately with his thumb, looking almost angry at them.
“Don’t cry.”
“You’re being too nice.” you whispered shakily.
A small, disbelieving laugh left him.
“Too nice..” he repeated. “That’s what did it?”
You laughed weakly through tears.
Simon stared at you for a long moment before pulling you against his chest so suddenly you nearly stumbled.
His arms wrapped around you tight. Protective. Certain. Like there had never been a question.
“You are not lucky to have me.” he murmured into your hair.
Summary: Michael always knew what made you tick. Which was what made it so easy for him to know when you were hurting.
Word count: 7.3k (I may have gotten carried away, oops)
Warnings: abusive behavior, domestic violence, some angst.
A/N: Holy shit, am I actually back?? Who knows, I always say I am and then disappear, WHOOPS lol. Anyway, like most people after watching the Michael movie, I just HAD to write something for him. Enjoy!
It was more natural than you’d think, the way Michael and you met. The way you’d entangled yourselves into each other’s lives. It happened on a faithful day in high school, assigned seating seemed to be on both your sides.
He had plopped down next to you before the bell even rang, but you made an effort not to pay him any mind. You knew who he was, most people did, what with majority of his life spent in the public eye. He was also known to be somewhat of a flirt, not in a harmful way, just in a way that seemed like he couldn’t help but be charming. That made you nervous. But it didn’t stop him from engaging.
“You don’t look like you’re paying attention,” he finally broke the silence between you, in the middle of lecture. You raise your eyebrows in surprise, looking up at him. He was smirking, not cocky but soft. He glanced at you before glancing down at your notebook, doodles dancing around your notes. “I am,” you reply, before you go back to finishing your little drawings.
“You’re doodling,” he states, matter-of-factly. “I can do both,” you reply almost instantly. He leans a bit closer, peeking further at your page. “It’s not even related to the assignment,” he chuckles out, eyes glancing between your drawings and your face.
It was true. Around your little amount of notes was countless of doodles, some meaningless, but most meaningful. Drawings here and there of inspiration for designs. Fashion designs. You’d been intrigued in fashion design for quite some time now.
“You don’t even know what the assignment is,” you bite back eventually. That makes him pause, looking at a loss for words. All before that smile creeps back on his face. “That’s not the point.”
“Seems like you don’t have one,” you bite back a grin at how easy this flowed. The back and forth. The banter.
From then on, it was always easy. You both find each other’s way into your lives. You sit together, you walk the halls together, you have conversations that last longer than they should. For Michael, the best of all was that you didn’t treat him like everyone else. You didn’t treat him like you wanted something from him. You just let him be.
Regardless, the flirting starts almost immediately and naturally. But it’s completely different than how he is with other girls. With other girls he’s confident, smooth, almost like he practices. But with you it’s playful and constant.
With you, he laughs. But it’s not the same laugh you hear when he’s with other people, this one is real. That’s when things start to change.
You see him being flirty all the time. The way he talks to other girls and the way he moves about a conversation like he always knows where they’ll go. You even thought that the fact that you’d already seen it would make you immune to it. It didn’t. It actually makes it worse.
When he flirts with you, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels personal.
“You know you’re trouble right?” He asks one day, looking at you a little longer than usual. You blink up at him, caught slightly off guard. “Me?” You ask.
“Yeah, you.” He simply responds. You recover quickly, being used to this back and forth. “It sounds like you’re projecting,” you grin as you respond. He smiles, in that slow and knowing way that is sort of intoxicating. “Maybe I am,” he replies softly.
Your heart skips and it’s like you short circuit. But you don’t let it show.
“Careful, you’re starting to sound nervous.” You tease. “I don’t get nervous,” his reply is almost instant. “Everyone gets nervous,” you quip back. “Well, I don’t” He smirks, and you just roll your eyes before responding. “Liar.”
He laughs again and you feel it in your chest, like always. That’s the thing, you always always always flirt back. No matter how nervous you get, no matter how fast your heart beats. You don’t let him win, but of course he notices. He notices the way your look flicks away for even just a second too long, and the way your tone changes just a bit when he gets too close. The worst thing about it is that when he notices he leans further into it.
It happens during one of your usual back and forth rituals. He’s teasing and you’re teasing back. It’s the same rhythm it’s always been. Until he says it.
“You know… you’re a pretty young thing,” his voice drops slightly when he says it, and his gaze stays locked on you. It sounds casual, like he didn’t even think twice about it, like it slipped out. But it doesn’t feel casual.
Your breath catches just slightly, and your entire body reacts before your mind can catch up. You feel your face heat up almost instantly, and the way your composure slips just slightly. Of course, he sees it. That’s what gets him, because you never react like that. You try to recover, you really do. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, trying to force that familiar energy into your voice.
“That was so smooth,” you say, trying to make the sarcasm in your voice sound as genuine as possible. But your voice isn’t as steady as it usually is, and he knows. “Oh you like that,” he mumbles immediately, while stepping just a little bit closer as his tone becomes softer.
“I don’t,” you try to lie, knowing it’s useless. “You do,” he argues back instantly. You stay quiet in hopes that he’ll just drop it, but he doesn’t. “You’re flustered,” he points out. “I’m not flustered.” You bite back, although you definitely were flustered. He smiles, that knowing smile he gets when he knows he got through to you some way.
“Pretty young thing” He says again, slower this time and softer. “Stop,” you immediately respond, feeling another wave of heat starting to flush your face.
That’s the moment he locks it in. From that point on, the name is yours. He doesn’t say it all the time, it’s not constant, but it’s enough. He uses it when he wants to get a reaction out of you, when he wants to see that same shift in you, when he wants to push you just a bit further again. Every single time, you react, and every single time, he notices.
Neither of you actually acknowledge what’s there between you. You just both stay in that space where you’re close, flirty, and dangerously unmentioned. Because saying it out loud would change everything, and neither of you are ready for that.
At least not yet.
When high school ends, everyone was expecting you both to drift apart, or for something to change between you. But it doesn’t, at least not how they were expecting.
You each do technically go your separate ways. You have different campuses, different schedules, and different lives that begin to take shape in ways that feel just right. You go right into fashion, how you always imagined, you had long hours in the studio, samples of fabric covering every surface of every table, and sketches filling up your notebooks faster than you can keep track of. It's everything you’ve ever wanted.
You still somehow manage to see him every day. It’s funny, because it wasn’t really planned or discussed, it sort of just happens. As soon as you finish classes, you make your way over to him. He finishes up whatever he’s up to, and makes time for you. Sometimes it’s quick, like an hour squeezed in between everything else going on. Other times, it’s all night, conversations taking the same shape they’ve always had. No matter how busy things get for each of you, that part always stays exactly the same.
The only big difference, is that his world doesn’t just change, it almost explodes. It starts off exciting, as something that’s manageable. The performances, the attention, and the people that start to recognize him outside of his circle. You watch it build up, proud in a way that feels almost protective. You’ve always seen and known he had something special, something bigger than what most people noticed. Now everyone is starting to see it, and with that come the people that start treating him differently. But you don't, you never do.
The flirting doesn't change either, persistent and constant as always. If anything, it gets worse, because now he knows how to get a reaction out of you.
"You've been busy," he randomly says one evening. It had been spent watching movie after movie, stopping once in a while for a round of twister or him asking if he can show you a song. He watches you more closely than usual. "I have a life," you reply, as you flip through your mini sketchbook. "So do I." He quickly has a rebuttal.
"Debatable," you grin, which in turn also makes him grin as he tilts his head slightly. "You saying I don't?" He asks, that glint in his eyes he always gets when you guys have this back and forth being very prominent. "No, what I'm saying is that you're starting to think you're more important than you are," you bite, though there's no real heat behind your words.
He steps closer, too close. Close enough that you can feel his breath on you, and you start to wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. "You don't think I'm important?" He asks, dropping his voice just enough to make your heart skip. But you don't back up, because you never do. "I think you like hearing that you are," you shoot back, even as you feel that same heat creeping up your neck. He smiles. That damn smile. "Careful, you're starting to sound jealous," he almost whispers.
"I'm not jealous," your reply was immediate. "Then why're you getting so worked up, pretty young thing?"
There it was.
It hits you like it did the first time, and all the times after that. Your breath catches, for a small second, but he notices. He notices your entire body reacting before you can stop it. "Stop," you mutter, you try to brush it off, but there's no real strength behind it. He leans in slightly, his voice soft like he's doing it on purpose.
"What? You don't like it?" His voice is almost husky at this point, he was so obviously amused at how flustered he could make you. You swallow, and try to force yourself to hold his gaze. "You're annoying," your voice was kind of shaky despite your efforts to keep it steady.
"You like it," he immediately points out. He was right.
That was the thing about you two. Despite the fact that neither of you had been brave enough to try to name or even acknowledge what was going on between you, it still hadn't changed. So, nothing changes but at the same time, every thing does. Because now, people are watching.
It starts off small. Looks that linger a little too long when you're together, people whispering, trying to piece together how you're related to him. You're around too often, too naturally, and too comfortably for it to go unnoticed by the public. You don't think much of it, or maybe you just don't let yourself. Until it becomes louder. Questions start popping up in places you don't expect. In articles, speculation, people trying to define something you two hadn't even labeled. The assumption becomes obvious.
You and him. Together.
You see it before he even says anything. The headlines and the small mentions, the conversations that make it obvious and clear what people think is going on.
"Have you seen this?" You finally ask him one night, holding up a magazine as he walks in. He glances at it, already knowing what it is. "Yeah." He simply says. "And..?" You ask, expecting more of an answer from him. He shrugs lightly, like it doesn't matter, like it's no big deal. "They're gonna say whatever they want."
His response ticks you off, because it's not like him to act so nonchalant about something like this. Because it's not like him to pretend something that involved you didn't matter. "That's not an answer," You tell him, and there's a pause. "They don't know what they're talking about," He simply says, and you don't respond to that. Because something about what he said and the way he said it lets you know that it's going somewhere, and it does.
It didn't take him long after that to address it, publicly and directly. You're not there with him when it happens, but you hear about it almost immediately. Everyone does. In an interview, with a question he can't avoid.
"Is it true you're seeing this woman you're photographed with?" The interviewer asks, and you laugh at it because of how much it seems like an interrogation. You expect him to pause, to hesitate, or to just show some emotion other than the one he ends up showing.
"No," he responds almost instantly. "She's just a close friend."
Just.
It shouldn't hurt the way it does. The words shouldn't land the way they do. You watch the clip for longer than you should, replaying it even though you already heard it and processed it clearly the first time.
Just a close friend.
It obviously makes sense, how could it not? What else would he say? What else could he say?
But that doesn't stop something heavy from settling in your chest. Later, when you see him like you always do, you don't bring it up, and neither does he. But it doesn't all flow the way it usually does.
"You're quiet," he says, he's been watching you closely all night. He sort of feels like he should be walking on egg shells around you, but he also knows he doesn't want to bring it up. He doesn't want to address the elephant in the room. "I'm always quiet," you mutter out, not looking at him. Suddenly the movie you weren't really paying attention to had become interesting all of a sudden. "No, you're not." It didn't seem like he was going to let it go.
You shrug, trying to brush it all off. "You're imagining things." And of course, he doesn't believe that. And of course, you can tell. But he chooses not to push, because even now, after everything, you're still in the same place you've always been. Always constant and close, and flirting like nothing's changed.
But still, you weren't quite anything more.
You figure you should try to do everything in your power to move on, to get yourself to not rely on that space you've created with Michael. So you meet someone. But from the moment you mention him, something in Michael doesn't sit right.
It's subtle at first, just a pause that's a second too long when you say his name. His expression hardens just slightly, like he's trying to process something he can't quite understand. He doesn't say anything outright to you, at least not immediately, but you know him well enough to realize when there's something off.
"You really like him?" He asks, and you can tell it's taking everything in him to keep his tone neutral. You nod, more defensive than you realize. "Yeah." He scans your face for a moment, like he's trying to read something hidden in your answer. "Okay," he finally says. Just that. But it doesn't really feel like acceptance.
He's never liked any of your boyfriends, that's not something new. Every time you've dated someone, he's always had something to say. Whether it was small comments, small criticism, or an almost disapproval that seems like instinct. You've learned to brush it off, to roll your eyes and tell yourself it's just how he is.
But this time feels different. He's quieter this time.
When you finally introduce them, the tension doesn't go by unnoticed. It's not loud, or obvious to anyone who doesn't know to look for it. But it's definitely there. Michael is polite, like he always is. He greets him, shakes his hand, and keeps his tone even and his posture relaxed. There's nothing obviously wrong with the way he behaves, there's no disrespect or unnecessary attitude. It actually looks almost too controlled.
You watch them interact, closely without even meaning to. The way your boyfriend talks and the way Michael responds. It's short and measured, like he's keeping the conversation exactly where he wants it, nothing deep and nothing personal. "Nice to meet you," your boyfriend says. "Yeah, you too." Michael replies, and you're not sure if you imagine it, but you hear an ounce of passive-aggressiveness in it.
Later, when it's just the two of you again, you decide to bring it up. "You could've tried a little harder," you whisper, not wanting the calm bubble you always seemed to be in pop. "I was polite," he whispers back. "You were barely polite."
He just exhales quietly, all while shaking his head. "I don't trust him." The bluntness of the statement catches you off guard. "What? You don't even know him," you immediately respond. "I don't need to." The routine of it all makes you roll your eyes, trying to brush it off like you always do. "You say that about everyone."
"No, not like this." He says, quieter this time. Against your better judgment, you decide not to push it. Because you don't want to, it's easier to believe he's just being protective, just being himself.
At first, everything seems fine and normal. But "normal" doesn't last. The shift happens so slowly that you don't even realize it from the beginning. It starts with his tone, little things. The way your boyfriend speaks to you when no one else is around, the way his words have a sharp edge when he's frustrated or when he doesn't get his way. You try to tell yourself it's nothing. Everyone gets irritated, everyone has their moments.
But then it becomes more, his patience wears thinner and his reactions get bigger, while his voice gets louder. But it gets worse, because then it crosses a line. His aggression takes over, and you're at the receiving end of it, feeling the sharpness of his hand smacking across your face. You freeze, not because it hurts but because you didn't expect it.
After the first time, it turns into something you start anticipating while trying to avoid it all at the same time. You adjust and get used to it, without even realizing. You speak more carefully, more cautiously. You start choosing your words before speaking, when before you would let them come naturally. Slowly, you even start disappearing.
Of course, Michael notices. How could he not? Though it's the simplest thing, you not being there as often, the daily rhythm that you've had for years breaks. What used to be constant and effortless turns into something inconsistent. Days pass where he doesn't see you, excuses in the place of your presence.
"I've just been busy," you tell him, the same way you'd practiced, because you knew he would eventually ask. "You've always been busy, that's not new," you hate how much it sounds like this has been weighing on him for some time, like he's been thinking about it a lot.
He decides not to push right away, but he also doesn't let it go. Then, it turns into something else. The way you act when you are around him. You're quieter, and not in a thoughtful or observant way, this feels like you're withdrawn. "You're not talking," he points out one day, watching your expression closely. "I am," you respond, and it's obvious that you don't believe it yourself. "I'm just tired," You add.
He doesn't believe you, and you know that. Then, he sees it. It's small and barely noticeable. Someone drops something nearby, a sharp sound against the floor, and you flinch. It's quick, like an instinct. But he catches it. His expression changes immediately. "What was that?" He asks instantly. "What?" You reply too quickly, trying to act oblivious. "You flinched," he mutters.
"You're imagining things," he stares at you when you respond, obviously not convinced. You force a small laugh and shake your head, trying to brush it off. But now he starts paying more attention, more than before. Once he starts noticing it, he can't stop. The way your shoulders tense at sudden movements, the way you hesitate before you speak, and the way you look over your shoulder sometimes like you're expecting something. He doesn't know what to make of it, he just knows it doesn't fit who you are.
"What's going on?" He asks, his voice more serious than you've ever heard it. "Nothing." You reply, and again it sounds practiced. "That's not nothing, and don't tell me you're fine. You don't come around anymore. You barely talk when you do, and you flinch at everything. You expect me not to notice that?" You can't look at him as he seems to finally let it all out. "Talk to me," his voice drops, unsteady, as he steps a little closer. You just shake your head. "I can't."
The words slipped out before you could stop them, and that's what really scares him. Because it's not that you won't, it's not that you don't want to, it's that you feel that you can't. Suddenly, everything feels a lot more serious than he realized.
He tries to let it go, he really does try, for your sake. After that last conversation, after the way you shut down, Michael pulls back in the only way he knew how. Not completely, he doesn't abandon you, but just enough to give you the space you needed. Enough to make it feel like he's respecting whatever this boundary was that you put up, even if he doesn't like it. But it doesn't get rid of the feeling in his chest.
It doesn't stop the way his eyes track your every move whenever you're around, and it doesn't stop the way he listens for any changes in your voice or the way he notices the small shifts in your posture and reactions. Most importantly, it doesn't stop the instinct inside him that's screaming that something is wrong.
The moment it all comes down happens by accident, it always does. You're sitting with him, closer than you've let yourself in a while, the space between you familiar in a way that almost feels normal again. You're really trying to act like nothing is wrong, like everything is fine and you can still exist in this space without it slipping. But your sleeve rides up when you reach for something. Slightly, but enough, and he sees it.
His brain doesn't automatically register what he's looking at, not fully. Just the mark, something against your skin that doesn't belong there, and it finally clicks. His entire body freezes.
"What is that?"
His voice isn't calm or controlled, just still. You follow his gaze, your stomach dropping the second you realize what he's looking at. Your hand moves quickly, too quickly, pulling your sleeve back down like that'll undo the fact that he already saw it. "It's nothing," you say immediately. He doesn't move, or say anything. He just stares at you, and then he steps closer.
"Let me see it," his voice is no longer quiet, more strict now. "No," you say, your voice sharp as you pull your arm back. That's when he knows, because you've never reacted like that with him. You've never pulled away or said no like that. His jaw tightens, and something dark settles into his expression as he reaches for you again. This time he's more careful, but he still has this firmness that doesn't leave any room for argument. "Let me see it," he repeats, this time quieter but still heavy.
You hesitate for a second, but it's enough. He pulls your sleeve up before you can stop him, and there it is. Clear now, and worse than it looked at first glance. It's a handprint. His breath leaves his body in a way that doesn't come back right away.
"Who did that?" He already knows, but he has to ask. "Michael, it's not... it's not a big deal-" But he doesn't let the excuses that he knows are coming settle in. "Who did that?" He repeats, louder this time. You don't answer, but he doesn't really need you to. Something in him snaps, not in a loud way, but in a quiet and controlled way that's somehow worse. He slowly lets go of your arm, like he's afraid to hurt you more. He clenches his hands at his sides slightly, scanning your face. That's when he sees something else, and he doesn't know how he didn't notice at first.
There's a slight discoloration around your eye, color that doesn't exactly match the rest of your skin. His eyebrows furrow and he sighs heavily, before turning abruptly and walking away from you without a word. For a moment, you think he's leaving. But then you hear it, the cabinet opening, the urgency in his movements. He comes back seconds later, with makeup wipes in his hand and your stomach drops.
"Michael..." you try, but he doesn't listen. He steps close again, too close, and raises one hand up to your face. You flinch, and it takes everything in him not to freeze at it, and before you can move away, he grips your chin firmly, tilting it slightly. "What are you doing?" You ask, your voice breaking slightly.
He doesn't answer, he just starts wiping. The first swipe is rougher than he means it to be, the pad dragging across your skin. The tears start coming before you can stop them, the concealer you spent so long applying carefully that morning coming off with every wipe. "Stop," you try, as you pull back slightly. But he doesn't stop. His movements turn sort of frantic, something driven by the need to see, to confirm what he already knows but won't let himself believe until it's in front of him. He swipes again and again, the makeup coming off too easily.
Then, he finally sees it. The swelling and the black eye you tried so hard to hide. You feel your breath catching, not because it's revealed, but because of his reaction. He goes completely still, his grip on your face loosening and his movements slowing as the reality sinks in. "...No," is all he can murmur, you almost don't hear him.
Your tears don't stop. He lifts his other hand slowly, cupping your face with a gentleness that wasn't there a second ago, like's he's afraid you'll break if he's not careful. When you look at him, he's already tearing up. Tears sit heavy in his eyes, and they start slipping down before he even realizes, his expression a mix of anger and heartbreak. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his voice breaking. You just shake your head, as your own tears continue to spill out as well. "It's not... Michael, it's not what you think-"
"It's exactly what I think," he snaps now, the anger growing again, but it's not towards you. Not really. "He did this to you." He mutters. You don't answer, but that's really all he needed. "Why are you still with him?" He asks, a desperation in his voice. "It's complicated." You whisper. "It's not complicated!" He responds, his voice rising. "He hurt you!"
"It's not like that..." you try to build up a lame excuse, but he won't let you. "Then what is it like? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that!" He presses, his hands drop from your face now as the frustration in him continues to grow. You take a step back, and then another.
"Stop." You say, your voice shaking. "No, I'm not stopping. Not when this is happening." He responds. You couldn't take it anymore.
"It's none of your business!" It was your turn to snap, the words came out louder than you intended and the room goes silent. He freezes. Your chest rises and falls as you breathe unevenly, heart pounding as your words settle in around you both. Then, you finally let it out. "You said it yourself, I'm just a close friend."
That hits him hard, harder than anything else. "You made that clear, so don't act like you suddenly get to..." you hiccup, tears still streaming down your face at a fast pace. "Don't act like you get to decide what I do."
His face drops. He's not angry anymore, or frustrated, just stunned. Like the ground under him just disappeared. "That's not..." he tries, but the words die. Because he knows what he said, what he meant, how it sounded. And now, he knows how much it hurt you.
You quickly wipe your face, shaking your head like you're trying to pull yourself together. "I'm fine," you say, though nothing about you looks like you're fine. Before he can say anything else, you turn and leave. The door closes behind you with an echo in the silence that you leave him in. Michael doesn't move. He can't, so he just stands there. He's frozen in place, your words playing in his head over and over, your face all bruised and broken. It's burned into his memory. Because now he gets it, you weren't just hurting because of your boyfriend, you were hurting because of both of them, just in different ways. He doesn't know which part of that hurts more.
You feel it the moment you step back into that house. You know before a single word is even said. The air feels heavy and waiting. It presses on you the second you close the door behind you, like something is already building. You see him in the living room, he's watching you. You felt his stare before you even saw it. "Where were you?" He sounds calm, but you know better than that.
You try to keep your voice steady. "I told you, I was out."
"With him?" He snaps, walking closer to you. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know where you go?" Your stomach drops. This is the exact reason you stopped going, why you started pulling away from Michael. You made yourself smaller, quieter, and easier to manage. But it was never enough.
"I wasn't..." But your voice falters, because you were. And he can so obviously see it. "Don't lie to me," his voice harsh as his hand cocks back, and the next moment you realize your face is turned the other way, cheek stinging. The argument explodes and gets out of control, how it always does. Loud and fast before you can even try to control it. His hand reaches into your hair, gripping and tugging with a force that whips your head back and tears a whimper from you. That's when you notice the tears falling down your face, ones you didn't even know when they started pouring.
"You think I don't see the way you look at him? You think I don't know what's going on?" His voice rises. "There's nothing going on!" you cry, your voice dripping with desperation. You just wanted it all to stop. "You're lying," he yells, his hand coming in contact with your face once more before you're thrown to the ground off to the side. That's when you taste it, the metallic taste in your mouth. Your hand comes up and catches the blood that started dripping out, and for some reason it makes you cry harder. Not the pain, just the sight of your blood.
He rushes back over to you, picking you up by your hair and grips your shoulders, with a force that you knew would leave new bruises. You barely have any time to react or process anything before it spirals and starts getting worse. You're trying to get away, trying to protect yourself, trying to make it stop. Your mind goes into survival mode and every instinct is focused on just getting out. You black out and when you finally come to it, you'd somehow made it out. You genuinely didn't remember how.
You just remember finally opening the door, the cold air hitting your face, and your body moving before your mind can catch up. You're crying, shaking, and your breath is uneven as you put as much distance as you can between you and that place. You're trembling, one eye unable to open from how swollen it is, blood still dripping though you were unsure if it was still from your mouth, from your nose, or from both. But you keep moving, and there's only one place your mind goes. One person.
Michael.
By the time you reach his door, you're barely holding it together. You're limping and growing weaker by the second. Your hands shake as you knock, your body swaying slightly as you try to stay standing. Your breath is coming out in broken pieces. The door opens almost immediately. The second he sees you, everything in him drops. His face falls completely, any composure he may have had was shattered in an instant as his eyes take you in. The bruising, the blood, the way you're shaking, your tears. It all hits him at once.
"Hey, hey..." he breathes, his voice breaking as he steps forward quickly. You don't even get a word out, you just collapse into him. Your hands grip his shirt tightly as you sob into his chest, the sound coming out of you like you've been holding it in for too long. Because you had. Your entire body shakes with adrenaline and fear. All of it catching up to you at once. He holds you tightly. "I got you," he whispers, his arms wrapping around you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he doesn't hold you hard enough. "I got you, you're okay."
His own voice keeps breaking and you can hear it. His face presses into your hair, his lips brushing against your head over and over again as he tries to calm and soothe you. He's also trying to make sense of what he's seeing and feeling. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he whispers. So typical of him, to apologize when none of it was his fault. That makes you cry harder. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands slowly coming up to your face, more gentle than anything you've ever felt. His thumbs hover, like he's afraid to touch too much, like he'll hurt you if he's not careful. Then you notice, his eyes were full of tears.
"He's not touching you again," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "Do you hear me? He's not coming near you ever again. I'm gonna kill him, I swear I'm gonna kill him for ever touching you." You can hear it in his voice that he's crying and you feel his tears hitting your head. "You're safe here, I got you... I got you," he continues pressing kisses to your forehead, to your hair, then again. Like he doesn't know how else to comfort you. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you gently back against him as you cling to him again. Your sobs quiet just slightly against his chest.
"Pretty young thing..." he murmurs softly into your hair. The nickname hits different now, not teasing or playful, but protective. "You're okay," he repeats, his voice is steadier now, even as the tears from his eyes continue to fall. "You're okay, pretty young thing... I got you." His hand rubs slowly up and down your back, steadying and never stopping.
"You're safe, you're okay," he whispers again, and then quieter, more certain, "My pretty young thing."
The words settle into you like nothing else has, not as a tease or a reaction, but as something real and protective. For the first time in a long time, you believe it. Because in his arms, you finally feel safe.
The recovery isn't quick, it's not easy either. There are good days, where you almost feel like yourself again, where you laugh easily and your shoulders aren't constantly tense, where you're not replaying things you wish you could forget in your mind. Then there's the bad days, where something small sets you off. A loud noice, a sudden movement, a voice raised just a little too fast. Your body reacts before your mind realizes.
Those are the days that Michael notices the most. He's careful, not in a distant way or a way that makes you feel fragile, more in a way that shows he's paying attention to everything. The way he moves around you is slower now, more intentional. He makes sure to announce himself without making it obvious, he gives you space when you need it but never too much, not enough to make you feel alone.
The first time you flinch around him after everything, it hurts him. He reaches for something near you too quickly, his arm moves into your space without warning, and you recoil instinctively, your breath catching as your body pulls you back before you can stop it. He freezes immediately, not annoyed or confused, just still.
"Hey... hey, it's me," he whispers softly, his voice dropping into something gentle and steady. You blink, and force yourself to breathe. Your hand presses lightly against your chest as you to calm the sudden feeling of panic. "I know," you whisper back. "I know, I'm sorry-"
"Don't," he cuts you off quickly, while he shakes his head. "Don't apologize." He moves slower this time. "Can I...?" He asks quietly, his hand hovering just slightly in front of you, waiting for permission. You nod, and only then does he touch you.
It becomes something he learns, the way to ground you when you drift too far into your head. The way to bring you back without overwhelming you. His voice and his presence, the way he softly says your name when you start to shut down, it becomes your anchor.
But the flirting? It never goes away. It actually comes back stronger. Not right away, not in the beginning. At first, everything is softer and focused on making sure you're okay. Slowly, as you start to feel like yourself again, it slips back in. Carefully and playfully.
"You're staring," you mumble one afternoon, after you catch him looking at you from across the room. "I'm not staring," he defends himself. "You look different," he adds after a couple seconds of silence. That makes your eyebrows raise a bit. "That's a weird thing to say."
"In a good way," he adds quickly. You narrow your eyes slightly and bite back a grin. "You better mean that." He smiles at your rebuttal, that same smile that always gets to you. "You're still my pretty young thing," he says casually, like it's nothing. But it's everything. Your heart skips like it always does. "Stop," you mutter, even as you feel the heat rising to your face. "You like it."
"I don't," you argue. He smirks and you just roll your eyes, but you don't walk away. You never do.
Somehow, even after everything that happened and what you went through, despite the fact that you're still healing day by day, you grow closer. Closer than you've ever been, and neither of you thought that was even possible.
So when he asks you to come to the studio with him, you don't question it. He's done it before, so it's nothing new. "I got something to show you," he says, trying to sound casual. But he sounds off, he almost sounds nervous. And you notice.
"You're acting weird," you look at him suspiciously, as the elevator doors close, before lifting you guys up to the floor where the studio was. "I'm not acting weird," he mutters, not even making eye contact with you. He exhales slowly, looking up at the light above the doors indicating what floor you were on. "You're nervous." It wasn't a question.
That makes him scoff lightly. "I don't get nervous," he tries to act casual, and it's not working. "You do when it matters." He doesn't respond to that, and that's how you know you're right.
The studio feels alive in a way that's different from everything else. There's always energy in it, quiet and focused, while people move with purpose. You settle into the couch behind the producers, like you've done thousands of times before, watching as Michael steps into the booth. He looks at you through the glass, as he puts on the headphones. That same smirk growing on his face and your stomach flips.
You hear his voice through the speakers, softer now, and a little breathless as he leans into the mic. "This one's for you," he says, and pauses for a second before, "I wrote it."
Your heart stops.
Then the music starts.
"You know you,
you make me feel so good inside.
I always wanted a girl just like you,
Such a P.Y.T."
You can feel your heartbeat everywhere, in your ears and your face, in your finger tips. His voice sounds smooth and seductive. It catches you a bit off guard. Your brows furrow in confusion though, at the term 'P.Y.T.' You weren't sure if it was supposed to mean something. You're in the middle of racking your brain before he answers your question.
"Pretty Young Thing, ooh
Where did you come from, lady?
And, ooh, won't you take me there."
Your mouth drops. As the music continues, there's an intense heat flooding your face. You laugh softly without even realizing it, and you can't take your eyes off of him. He sings smoothly and moves his body in tune with the music, his eyes closing from time to time when he savors the music but opening once in a while to look at you with a mischievous glint.
"Let me take you to the max,
I want to love you (P.Y.T.)
Pretty young thing.
You need some loving (T.L.C.)
Tender love and care
And I'll take you there, girl, ooh-oh"
He continues singing and you can't help the tears building in your eyes. You feel so seen and loved as the music flows around you and his voice hits something deep inside you. He keeps smiling at you in that way that makes you weak. The song carries on until he's done and he's still smiling big and wide, as he takes the headphones off and makes his way out of the booth.
"So? What did you think?" He asks, putting his arms out in question. The producers step out quickly and quietly, to leave you in the intimacy of the moment. You chuckle and do the only thing you can even bring yourself to do. You cross the distance between you fast and grip his shirt before pulling him down for your lips to meet.
You both gasp and he freezes before melting into it, hands coming down to your waist. You both let out a breath that sounds like you were drowning without kissing each other. Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him closer to you, the moment passionate and heated. When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you breathing unevenly with the cheesiest smiles on your faces.
"So, I take it that means you liked it?" He murmurs softly. You laugh quietly, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah, I loved it," you whisper.
This time there's nothing unsaid. And you're both more than okay with it.
heyy baeee,can u do a short fic where the reader and jobe are arguing about something then the reader got mad at him but jobe knew that the reader had a weakness for his smile so he's using it to get the reader not mad at him anymore🥹
- yk he's so cute when he smiles omgg,I love the way his eyes puff up when he smiles ughhhg my babyy 🥹
DELIVERED - jo. bellingham
inwhich! you get into an argument with jobe about him leaving you on delivered after having a night out at the club he didn’t tell you he was going to.
frannytalks! oof long time no see jobe, i feel every time i write something for him its sad LOL. that smile thoughhhh, his eyes is what gets me. :’) don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!
“it’s not that big of a deal,” your boyfriend, jobe, said.
except it was a big deal, at least to you. he had invited you to his friends party, you politely declined because you had to visit a cousin you hadn’t seen in years. jobe accepted and asked if it was still okay if he went, of course, thinking it’s a small thing his friend is having at his house you told him it was fine.
that was until you came back from a long day of shopping, walking, and eating with your cousin, when you finally settled down in the kitchen for a late-night snack you saw jobe updated his story.
you clicked on it expecting to see happy birthday wishes to his friend, or a cute picture of them together. instead, you saw him at the club, surrounded by women. you instantly swiped up, dm’ing him asking where he was.
you texted him non-stop for an hour or two and he didn’t even read them, you checked his location and it wasn’t updated. you bawled your eyes out, and it ruined the one night you were going to have with your cousin.
he came home the next morning with coffee in his hands like nothing had happened the night before. you were furious and demanded to know where he was, his excuse was his phone died. then, you two were going back and forth for what felt like forever, and now you’re here.
“it is a big deal to me,” your voice cracked, “jobe!”
“you’re overreacting,” he said in a calm tone, which made you more upset because he would do that to make it seem like you were being dramatic, “it was my mates birthday, and i invited you.”
“oh, yeah, you just forgot to mention it was at a fucking strip club!” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose together.
“i didn’t think i had to!” jobe raised his voice, “you know bryan, he’s like that, his party last year was in las vegas for fucks sake!”
you felt your eyes start to tear up, “don’t raise your voice at me,” you said, in a weak voice, “and i don’t know him like that.”
jobe sighed loudly, “okay, fine, but don’t try to blame this on me when it’s not my fault.”
“well it’s certainly not mine.” you sniffled.
“you’re being ridiculous,” he laughed, “i can’t do this.”
“what’s fucking funny?” you scoffed, blocking the exit.
“you, y/n, you.” he said, walking back to his spot to sit, “you’re really making a big deal out of nothing, it’s not like i fucked anyone or they touched me, i stayed away!”
“i believe you, i never said i didn’t,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek, “it’s just a weird thing to not mention.”
“okay, you’re right, i’m sorry,” he said, flashing you his bright, dimpled smile that was your weakness, “can we be friends again?”
“i don’t wanna be your friend.” you sniffled again, this time laughing.
“oh, you wanna be more than friends, huh?” he raised his eyebrow, grinning more.
“shut up, i’m still mad at you.” you said, walking off to the living room.
“not for long, you won’t be!” he laughed from behind you.
︵ ೀ Kiss It Better, My Fire Lord. angst to fluff. Zuko almost loses you :(
The dust from the impact hung thick in the air, tasting of iron and pulverized stone. You didn't even have time to register the Earthbender’s movement before the boulder was there—a blurring mass of gray death. You had met it with a desperate, twin-fisted blast of fire, shattering the projectile, but the kinetic force was undeniable. The explosion of rock and heat sent you spiraling backward, the world spinning into a dizzying smear of blue sky and brown dirt.
When you hit the ground, the air left your lungs in a silent, agonizing rush.
"(Name)!"
Zuko’s voice was a jagged tear through the ringing in your ears. You felt the vibration of heavy footsteps—Aang and Toph moving forward to hold the line, the sound of bending combat resuming with a fierce intensity—but your world had shrunk to the patch of ground you occupied.
You couldn't breathe. Every attempt to draw air felt like swallowing broken glass. Shadows fell over you as Katara and Zuko dropped to their knees by your side.
"Stay with me, (Y/N) look at me," Zuko urged, his hands hovering over you, trembling with a rare, naked terror. His golden eyes were wide, searching yours for a spark of focus.
Katara was already moving, her movements clinical and swift as she pulled water from her flask.
Your vision flickered. The edges of the world curled into blackness, the sunlight fading as your brain signaled a temporary shutdown from the shock. For a few heartbeats, there was only a cold, heavy silence.
Then, a cool sensation began to radiate from your chest.
You gasped, a ragged, wheezing breath finally breaking through the paralysis of your lungs. Your eyes snapped open. The first thing you saw was the shimmering blue glow of Katara’s healing water. She had pulled back the front of your kimono, her hands steady as she knit together the bruised ribs and torn tissue beneath the surface.
To her left, Zuko looked like he had aged a decade in those few seconds of unconsciousness. A single, choked sob escaped him—a sound of pure, unadulterated relief—as he realized you were breathing again. He didn't care about the battle raging twenty feet away; he only cared that the light hadn't left your eyes.
You coughed, a small wince crossing your face, but the crushing weight on your sternum was lifting. You looked up at the Fire Lord, seeing the dampness on his lashes and the way his jaw gripped tight to keep from breaking down further.
Even in pain, the sight of him so rattled tugged at your heart—and your sense of humor.
"Hey," you croaked, your voice small and raspy. "Don't look so... gloomy."
Zuko let out a shaky laugh, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your forehead. "You almost died. I’m allowed to look gloomy."
You offered him a weak, lopsided smirk, glancing down at where Katara was finishing her work. "Well, if it hurts that much..." You looked back at him, your eyes dancing with a bit of the old fire. "You could always kiss it better."
Katara paused, offering a faint, knowing smile before pulling the water back into her flask and giving Zuko a nod. "She's stable. Keep her down for a minute."
Zuko didn't need further instruction. He didn't hesitate or offer a witty comeback. He leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek with infinite tenderness. When his lips met yours, it wasn't the playful gesture you had teased him for; it was deep, fervent, and filled with the desperate gratitude of a man who had nearly lost his world.
"Anything," he whispered against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. "Whatever you want."
the last few months were rough for you. a new obsession with getting stronger forced you to constantly train. it didn't matter with who or what, you just had to train. needed. to train.
you were getting sick of your teachers hesitating before sending you on missions. sick of the pitiful looks you got from your peers. sick of feeling less than everyone else.
not for much longer though. in two months, you finally learned how to fight close-combat and started working on your domain. the growth came at a cost though. your skin that used to be pretty and smooth was now marred with imperfections and divots from healed wounds. you didn't mind at first because you didn't realize. you finally noticed the effects of your harsh training when you were dressing for a date with megumi and put shorts on, only to look down at legs that were littered with bruises and marks from old cuts.
you immediately changed into longer pants even though the weather was too hot for that. when you met up with megumi, that was the first thing he noticed about you.
"why are you wearing pants? it's hot out."
of course he would notice.
"felt like switching up my style a bit..." it was a believable lie. you always wore cute shorts or skirts, so wanting to change your style seemed plausible. just not for this time of year. megumi knew it was more than that though.
"hm."
you smiled and megumi disregarded any lingering suspicions. he'd address them later.
that's how it started.
now, one week later, you've completely stopped wearing the clothes you used to. no more shorts. no more skirts. no more t-shirts or anything that showed a sliver of your skin. you continued training just as vigorously, now, with clothes that were too long, warm, and weighed you down. but you couldn't risk anyone seeing your damaged skin. the heavy clothes caused you to pass out from heat fatigue a few days in the week, but you pushed through.
megumi had noticed the change and couldn't wait any longer to ask you. he was terrified of the possibility that you had been hurting yourself. as he walked to your room, he hoped that he wasn't too late and that you hadn't made a routine of any harmful habits.
from the other side of the door, you heard three quick knocks followed by megumi's voice.
"y/n, are you in there?"
you hesitated before answering.
"yeah..." you turned to look at the door. "the door's open."
megumi immediately opened the door and saw you sitting in front of your mirror—dressed in long clothes. he glanced around your room after he saw you.
"are you looking for something, megs?"
"no. not really..." he sounded distracted as he came over to you.
"you sure?"
"mhm..." he sat next to you and looked at your folded hands. "can we talk?"
"yeah about what?"
"you. well—how you've been dressing this past week."
"what about it? i told you i was trying a new style when you last asked."
"is that what you're sticking with?" megumi's eyes narrowed. he could tell you were lying. fear had been picking at his brain for the entire week.
"what do you mean? megumi, i don't want you to be upset. what are you talking about?"
...here he goes.
"y/n are you hurting yourself?"
your eyes widened. "what? no! why would you think that???"
"you've been dressing in longer clothes and you know damn well it's too hot for that, you've been distant when i try to be...intimate. and you just stay cooped up in here when you aren't training!"
"i'm not hurting myself, megumi."
"then what is it? you're scaring me, y/n! and everyone else is worried too!" he took your hands in his, "please just tell me, baby. you know i won't judge you."
you chewed on your lip while debating lying.
"don't lie to me, y/n."
"...fine." you forced yourself to take long, slow breaths, lest you start crying. "it's...it's my skin. it looks really ugly. and makeup doesn't help cover anything up."
megumi rubs slow circles in the palm of your hands. "is that it?" he asks, not pushy or expectant. just relieved that you finally opened up.
you nodded.
"baby...i've seen scars and stuff on your body. it's not bad, i promise."
"no- megumi there's more. more than you think."
"because of training?"
"yeah...there's like...dents and stuff. it looks really bad."
"let me see." he paused before adding, "please." he didn't stop caressing your hands. you started chewing on your lip again. "stop doing that, baby." he pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth.
forcing another slow breath, you took off the sweater you were wearing over your bra.
megumi's eyes roved from your stomach to your chest, to your arms, and then to your face. "there's nothing new except for a few scratches on your arms, baby"
"there's a weird texture on my stomach from when i got poisoned on one of my old missions." you added.
"okay. there's that too, but that's it. it's not as bad as you think it is." he brought your hand to his mouth and gently kissed it.
"but there's my legs too..."
you sounded so sad and insecure. megumi hated it. he wanted you to know that you were more beautiful than you thought. "can i see them..?"
you nodded again and wriggled out of the sweatpants you were wearing. your legs were comparably worse than your stomach, but not bad enough for you to reasonably want to hide yourself from everyone. megumi wouldn't say that though.
"your legs are gorgeous baby, what's the issue?" he prompted for you to elaborate and tell him what you thought was wrong so he could specifically counter each negative claim.
you pointed to the side of your thigh, "there's a divot here from when i got stabbed—" you pointed to the top of your thigh, "—there's still a bruise here from training with maki—" you pointed to your kneecap, "—discoloration from a wound—"
you kept going on and on, pointing out minor things that megumi didn't even notice. after a solid five minutes, you finished listing everything you thought was imperfect and looked at megumi, waiting for a comment.
"baby..." he let go of your hands to carefully cup your face and kiss you. it was warm and reassuring. almost nice enough to make you forget about stupid scars. "even though there are a lot you pointed out, i couldn't see them until i really started looking. i think your legs are still gorgeous, but if you don't think that too, i want to help you." megumi looked at you. really looked at you, past your eyes, somewhere deeper. "how can i help you feel better about yourself?"
"i-i don't know." you didn't know what to say on the spot.
"i have an idea of where to start." megumi stood and ushered you to stand with him. "come sit on the bed, baby."
you followed and sat on the edge of the bed like instructed and megumi lowered himself to his knees in front of you.
starting with what megumi could tell was a healed gash on your calf, he pressed a long kiss to the skin. the contact and tenderness of the kiss made goosebumps rise on your arms.
"m-megumi...you don't have to."
he pressed another lingering kiss to the same spot but on the other leg before answering, "i want to see my pretty girl again." he kissed below your kneecap, right on top of a bruise. "does this help at all?" he looked up at you through his long lashes. "if not, i can stop..."
"...don't stop....please."
megumi smiled and nuzzled against your thigh before starting to kiss over top of every single 'imperfection' you pointed out on your thighs. when he reached your hip bones he switched from long, warm kisses to featherlight ones that made your stomach flip.
once megumi kissed over a new slash on your waist he looked up at you again.
"feeling better, baby?" as he waited for a response his hands smoothed over your arms. your face felt impossibly hot and you were sure megumi could see your blush. you nodded, but didn't look at his eyes. who knows what would happen if you did.
megumi huffed a small laugh before starting to kiss up your body again. now, he was kissing the swell of your breasts above your bra, and you'd never felt hotter. megumi wasn't trying to make anything sexual, but the moment was so quiet, so intimate. you couldn't help but want a little more. still, you let him continue.
there were no obtrusive scars above your chest so megumi moved to kiss your arms down to your fingertips.
when he felt like he kissed every spot he needed to, he stood so that you were eye to eye again.
"i don't want you to ever feel like you have to hide your body, y/n. you're beautiful, and all the scars on your body are too. they show how strong you are as well, so don't feel bad about anything that marks your body, okay?"
"okay. thank you, gumi."
"anything for you."
the next date you went on with him, you wore your favourite pair of shorts with a cropped top, and a newfound pride in your body spangled with markings—proof of your strength.
if you liked ts you might like my other megumi works !
kawaiiladygirl's note: the post shinjuku request might take me a minute to write bcuz i'm feeling happy af right now and can't write any angst atm. kawaiiladygirl out !
It was, admittedly, something you forced yourself to look past. Bakugou Katsuki warned you from the beginning that his work was first. It always would be, his dreams and goals, that was who he was.
“Take it or leave it,” he’d told you once, many years ago. “This is what I do.”
And back then, a fool completely head over heels for Katsuki, you’d take it. That was your life, too- texts that went unanswered for days, random updates about his day, calling maybe twice a week to see how you were, and you were fine to sacrifice that part of your sanity all those years ago.
But now, Kirishima posts the random flowers he got his partner on any random Wednesday. Midoriya’s hand clasped under the left hand of his fiancée’s on his timeline. Even Kaminari, who posts tangled legs of his person before he gets up to start the day. It makes you feel sick.
All you want, all you crave, all you’d sell for, is for flowers on any day. A wedding ring that would mean something. Tangled legs in the morning that beg and plead to stay in the warmth of the sheets.
But Katsuki has never been good at giving you that; he’s not a Prince Charming and his life is not a fairytale, you are not his number one priority and it fucking destroys you on the inside.
For years, you try to let it go, to no damn avail. It just hurts too much to think about for too long, knowing that nothings to change or give, and as long as your heart will love him, you’ll be right there waiting, and knowing not whether that love and excitement will always be returned.
But tonight, your dinner sits cold. One place setting untouched, unused and unloved, with your head resting on your hand as the rest of dinner is untouched. The steam stopped flowing from the plates hours ago, and you find yourself still sitting at the table. Your elbows grow sore from perching your chin in your palm.
Your lip quivers as you move to hang your head in sadness, hopelessness, until a knock rouses you from your wallowing. You wipe your eyes and make your way to the locked door, and smile at the guest on the otherside.
"Shoto," you sigh. "Here for your key?"
"Yes," he says simply, nodding his head in appreciation. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking care of the cats. It truly means a lot."
You raise your hand in an attempt to show nonchalance, "it's no big deal at all. I know how busy you get, it's the least I can do for such a good neighbor."
He chuckles, and you forgot how good the sound felt falling from someone else's lips. It feels like it's been ages since you've heard it. He nods his head again, "well, thank you again," he turns on his heel to start walking away.
"Shoto," you say. He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. You fiddle with the door handle, "could I interest you in some cold dinner? I cooked for Katsuki, but he's not here and leftovers never get eaten in this house, and... I... don't mind reheating some for you."
A glimmer of sympathy crosses his eyes, offering a hum, "I would certainly appreciate the warm meal. Thank you."
It's not the guest you'd hoped, but you've had dinner with worse people. Todoroki's been in your life for longer than you care to remember, what's one more dinner shared together?
It's not like Katsuki is here to say otherwise.
Over a lukewarm, slightly-rubberized-from-microwaving dinner, Todoroki listens to you, holding onto every word as he always does when you speak. It feels nice to be heard again, to not be forced to talk to the walls of your home.
You're not sure how long it's been before the front door opens again, and you feel yourself tense up at the heavy boots crossing the threshold, a snarly "I'm home" ringing in the air.
"Hey," you call back. "Shoto and I were wrapping up dinner, I saved-"
"The fuck's he doing here?" He snarls, and Todoroki merely blinks, bored.
"Is it not friendly to drop in for some company?" He asks, and if you knew Todoroki any less, you'd never know it was his way of riling Katsuki up.
And it hasn't failed once.
Katsuki balls his fist, "not when I'm not fucking home, you freak!"
"Katsuki, enough," you snarl back. Two heads whip towards you, one set of eyes filled with fury, the other with surprise. “Maybe you should’ve been here when Shoto stopped by. This weird complex you’re in wouldn’t be a damn issue.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His words are a growl deep behind a wall of teeth, but you’re so tired it doesn’t deter you. You clench your hands and finally curl them into fists. “You got something to say to me?”
You grit your teeth, “Shoto's been here for how long? You haven’t. You wanted him out so bad? You should’ve fucking been here. You weren’t. So bite me.” You quickly spin on your heel as stinging tears burn your waterline, leaving the two heroes alone in the living room.
Katsuki barks your name, “we’re not done here!”
“I am.”
You purposely slam the door, knowing it’s one of his biggest pet peeves. He deserves it, and a lot more. Katsuki yells a bit more, too much of a ferocious tone to fully grasp what he’s saying, and it’s matched with Todoroki’s calm demeanor. He kicks Todoroki out, which you hear, and you brace yourself as he stomps into the bedroom, ready for the explosion that's hurdling straight towards you.
But it never comes.
Instead, you watch the bathroom door open and close, and then a few moments later, you hear the shower turn on. Confusion twists through your mind as you try to piece together just exactly what happened, but ultimately drawing only blanks. You sigh and strip into your pajamas, deciding to call it a night before he comes in and stirs the pot more.
He can do it tomorrow.
Though your heart does break a little when you wake up to find the bed next to you cold and made; he must’ve crashed on the couch last night, too enveloped with his fury to come and make amends.
That's fine. You're patient.
Sunday is tense, a day Katsuki usually reserves off to spend time at home, he's made the executive decision to go into work, leaving you to mourn the love lost in the day, love you usually receive in the melting day. Todoroki comes by again, this time to check in on you after the fight he'd witnessed the day before. And to your disappointment, Katsuki arrives home at the same time, briskly brushing past you and your friend.
Monday comes and goes, once again the bed next to you remains cold in wordless grudge. You're not going to apologize, you have no need to.
Even if this is the end of your relationship.
What's there to work through? After forcing you into a life where affection is miniscule and tokes of appreciation are seen as nothing more than an option, perhaps its for the best to let the embers die, and-
No.
You don't want it to be the end. Not like this. Not now. Not after years of giving Bakugou Katsuki your entire life, promising to stand by him through thick and thin.
You'll bite your tongue until it hurts. Until he decides what he wants to do. You're loyal as a dog to him, after all. The ball remains in his court, always.
By Tuesday, Katsuki comes in, and he doesn’t even look at you. He washes his hands before shambling off to the showers to mimic some form of warmth you’d once provided him. When you hear the shower head turn on, you curl deeper into your corner of the couch, lowering your eyes to try and fight back the tears that sting at your waterline.
Maybe he is done. Maybe this is it. He’s sick of waiting for you, sick of your shit and tired of the exhaust you put on his mentality. Work comes first, and if there was ever a time to enforce it, it would be now.
With a soft whimper to mask your cries, you click off the tv and creep your way up the stairs. It’s dark in your room, the pictures of you and Katsuki invisible until you flick on the light- even then, they’re not as pristine as they had looked just days ago.
The bed is once again cold and feels far too big as you curl up on your side, knowing if you roll onto his, you’ll be met with a hand waking you up and pushing you away.
You’re not in the mood for that tonight.
Not when for months at a time, he’s been shoving you away, be it with mean words or snaps of venom or just actually moving you from his space, you can’t possibly conjure the mood in your little pity party to care for him to disregard you in such brutal ways.
But fuck, god, no matter how much you want to believe it, that you can just as easily fall asleep without him next to you, snores punching through the air and the occasional lull of his head next to yours, you can't, and you hate how bitter and horrible a life without Bakugou Katsuki sounds.
You hate how your life revolves around him, and you wish it didn't, you hate how empty your soul would be without his name coming up on your phone, you hate that you fell so hard for Bakugou Katsuki that a life without him doesn't exist.
You'll never leave him. It makes you feel sick.
What you wouldn't sell, what you wouldn't give, to have Bakugou Katsuki love you just as much as you do, him.
But, as if manifested, no more than an hour later, he does come in. Your name falling from his lips sounds timid, like he's unsure if he should be saying it. "Listen," he snips, lip quivering as he sinks his teeth into the fat, eyes swollen from tears and looking so defeated you're almost convinced it’s not even the Bakugou Katsuki you fell in love with all those years ago.
You slowly sit up, curling up by the pillows as he stands in the doorway, disheveled and frustrated and extremely, clearly, hurt.
“You win,” he whimpers, hands cupped over his mouth to mimic a paper bag, regulating his breathing. They suddenly drop to the side, “you-you-you win. I can’t do this anymore, I won’t, I fucking give, you win-“
“Win what?” You ask, but it’s clear in your demeanor that you know exactly what he’s confessing to, even as you’re dazed from sleep.
You just want him to say it.
Katsuki uses his sleeve to roughly rub the tears out of his eyes, “just fucking stop, okay?” He growls, and it sends a shiver through you as it passes his teeth. “You fucking win, okay? I-I-I was wrong, I never should’ve said shit about you and Todoroki’s friendship, or said shit-fuck about you spending time with him when I should’ve been here.” He lets one, saliva filled sob sneak past his lips, it’s like a dam of words break loose. “But fuck, please just fucking look at me again, I’m sorry, I just hate the idea that you’ll fall for him while trying to get back at me, so please just love me again-“
At that, you jump up to your feet and quickly scurry over to him, brows furrowed in concern but lip pouting out as you toss your arms around him, his knees buckling under your touch and arms limply hanging. “-because I sure wouldn’t blame you if you did leave me for him after how I’ve been treating you.”
“Katsuki,” you soothe, a hand reaching up to scratch at his scalp. “That’s not going to happen. That’s not what this was to show you.” You plant kisses along his jawline, hating the feeling of it quivering under your affection. “This wasn’t to show you that my feelings for Shoto become more romantic when you’re not here; it was to show you what you were missing when you could’ve been here.” He slouches further at your words, and you wonder if they were the correct ones to say.
“Katsuki,” you say again, firmly, gathering his cheeks in your hands. They’re hot, fuck they’re so warm from his distress, and and you feel what little coolness your palms held disappear into the swells. “You’re not going to lose me to Shoto. I would never leave you for Shoto- I’d never leave you for anyone.” He blinks unconvinced at you, and one of his tears roll over your fingers. “But you will miss dinners. You will miss movies. You will miss time with me if you don’t stop only thinking of yourself in this relationship. What you’re doing now clearly isn’t meshing with what I need. What we need from each other. I can only be so flexible before I wonder when we’ll… when I’ll stop bothering.”
“I don’t want to stop,” he mumbles, trying to chase even more coolness in your palms. “I just… I want to be the best-“
“And you are, but you can’t betray yourself by overworking yourself-“
“No,” he bites through his teeth. “The best for you. But… Todoroki can give you the best shit effortlessly, I fucking see it. And…” he winces as he stands up, as if disgusted to even say what dares to slip past his tongue. “And he can give you the life you want, the life you deserve; I just cant fucking watch it anymore.”
“Shhh,” you soothe, pulling his reluctant form into a hug. He tenses, but eventually rests his head in the crook of your neck, trembling hands settling on your waist gently, as if scared you’d break under the touch. Your nails move up to his scalp, scratching lovingly.
“Shoto is a mild-mannered, quiet spoken person who thinks logically about everything he says and does,” You whisper, planting a soft kiss to his pounding temple.
“I love that about him, as a friend- but you, Katsuki, are exciting. And you make loving you just as addictive.”
He does, finally, perk up at that, and you smile against his skin. “Say more stuff like that,” he mumbles, sniffling, but you tighten your arms around him while you giggle softly at the idea of having your old Bakugo back.
“Shoto and I go to the market together, we’re in and out in twenty minutes tops- but if that’s what I wanted, I’d go alone,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, and you grin, “I like bickering with you in the dairy aisle about flavors of milk to get.”
“If I wanted chocolate milk, I’d get the syrup,” he defends, as if you’re standing in the aisle and not picking up the pieces of your relationship in your bedroom.
“And then when the milk is all gone, I have you bitching at me about the syrup getting wasted,” you snort. “It’s just easier if I get-“
“I love you,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning out over your neck. You pause and smile, relishing in the scent of his post-shower aroma.
“I love you,” you say back, kissing whatever your lips can reach against his head. “Once a week, Katsuki. I want to go to bed with you at least once a week, and not be left away absolutely panicked over where the hell you may have gone. I’d like to have dinner with you at some point in the week. I hate missing you, I always have, even when we were teens.” When he finally nods softly, you pull back with your hands cupping his cheeks, the swollen apples looking foreign on your usually solid man. You smirk and use your thumb to wipe his tears, “you’ve always been an ugly crier.”
He chokes softly on a laugh, “why do you think I never do it?” He licks his dry lips before looking you up and down, “leave that shit to you.”
“It is nice seeing you emotional over me for once.”
“Yeah?” He rasps. Then, he tugs you in for a kiss, one that sears and tears at your teeth and tongue, one that feels exhilarating and exhausting all at once, one that encapsulates Katsuki in one swift, dominating move.
It’s jagged and rough, but familiar enough to have you swooning in his bulky, caring arms.
teacher!alpha!m!reader x student!blind!omega!Qiuyuan, fluff;
student!Qiuyuan who has never been keen on finding love. He’s not particularly interested in these topics and believes that no one would want a blind omega anyway
student!Qiuyuan who never lets his instincts get the better of him. He never shows reactions typical of an omega. Can’t flutter his eyelashes in a flirtatious manner, speak in higher pitch or calm another person with his pheromones
student!Qiuyuan for whom the only way to experience world is through smell and hearing. But who at the same time, stubbornly uses scent-blocking patches so that no one will ever smell his scent. Too afraid of showing his weaknesses and being compared to omegas. Who has been on suppressants his whole life, almost losing the ability to experience heat
student!Qiuyuan who despite being blind, feels others’ “disgusted” stares on him. Someone like him? An omega?
student!Qiuyuan who has always had very low self-esteem when it comes to being an omega. What fun can you have dating someone who can’t see? Others surely believe he can’t participate in typical teenage activities… And in the future, it would surely be too much of a burden and responsibility to support someone like him. He’s probably not even as pretty as other omegas… Not only is he a man, but he’s also over six feet tall... He’s not like those charming, alluring omegas with delicate facial features and petite, curvy figures. He’s leaner and more bony, damaged by life. He doesn’t give off a harmless, friendly vibe that invites you to approach him. Surely no one would want to choose him…
student!Qiuyuan who is even ashamed of his own scent. A bamboo forest in the morning, sprinkled with fresh dew. Refreshing and gentle, yet at the same time unusual due to a heavy, earthy note… Definitely unlike those sweet floral or cheerful citrus aromas that carry through the corridors behind “true” omegas
student!Qiuyuan who has hated alpha scents since childhood, having grown up in a house full of betas. Who, with a hypersensitive sense of smell, easily detects bad intentions and nasty character of alphas. Who knows that a campus full of teenagers with raging hormones is like a battlefield. That you can’t find anyone trustworthy here
student!Qiuyuan who is always reserved and lonely. A typical, quiet student, not really interested in lessons. Sitting in the back row by open window. Who prefers to stick his head out toward the sounds of sports field and feel pleasant wind breeze on his face. Only form of relief in a stuffy room overflowing with overlapping scents of pheromones
student!Qiuyuan who never tries to make friends, always assuming isolation and rejection. To whom over time, other students are even afraid to speak
student!Qiuyuan whose reluctance to his classmates and whole pessimistic attitude towards love change, when one afternoon, a newcomer walks into a classroom…
student!Qiuyuan who for the first time, takes a deep, joyful breath of alpha’s pheromones. Turns eagerly towards the blackboard- Hoping to see that one-of-a-kind individual- Only chance to reverse his miserable fate-
student!Qiuyuan who in fact unfortunately “sees nothing”. As if for a moment he had completely forgotten that he is blind… But despite the bitterness on his tongue, he feels a strange peace and happiness in heart. As if your distant presence alone is enough to heal wounds of hurt omega
student!Qiuyuan who sensing your dominant yet warm and friendly aura, knows you have good intentions. He believes you wouldn’t harm anyone. And he swoons not only at your scent but also at your gentle chuckle, triggered by a comment from someone in front row
student!Qiuyuan who is surprised when he senses that instead of heading towards some potential “friend” from another class, you’re moving towards teacher’s desk. He gasps upon hearing you introduce yourself as new teacher, replacing the homeroom teacher who went on maternity leave. And immediately he withdraws into his shell again. Despairing over the hopelessness of his situation. Scolding himself for ever deluding himself into thinking that fate would grant him a friend…
student!Qiuyuan who is even more surprised when one Friday, you approach his desk after class. You crouch down next to his chair, looking up at him patiently. He feels your gaze on him and senses that radiant warmth he experienced when he first met you. He doesn’t understand however why you decide to make an effort and cross the entire length of room just to talk to him. And why you try to make him feel comfortable, waiting peacefully for other students to leave a classroom
student!Qiuyuan who doesn't know what to say when you ask in a sweet voice if everything is okay. When you are the first person in this cursed school to take an interest in him. When you don't overwhelm him with adult beliefs, additional assignments or requirements necessary to pass to next grade. When you simply let him know that if he ever needs anything in the future you will always be here
student!Qiuyuan who begins to wonder if all young teachers entering this profession are like you. Full of passion and fighting for student’s well-being- Because yes, even from the tone of your voice or sound of your footsteps, he can sense that you’re very young, not much older than him. And besides, he becomes assured of his belief when he decides to eavesdrop gossips. For the first time since childhood genuinely intrigued by another person- Everyone is talking about you. Omegas, betas, alphas. Girls and boys. Whether out of fascination or jealousy. You’re on everyone’s lips. Young hot teacher. It only takes a day for you to have your own fan club
student!Qiuyuan who mortified, catches himself listening whenever he hears your name nearby. Who unconsciously records every little detail about you in his memory. These fangirls really do have incredible talent and passion… Your favorite drink which you always use to moisten your throat during lectures. Food you most often choose for lunch. Other teachers you get along with best. Place where you most often eat dinner and where it’s easiest to run into you outside of school hours. What kind of car you drive or what brand of shirts you wear most often. Not to mention how many buttons you leave undone and how you roll up your sleeves to your elbows because you constantly feel as if it's too hot
student!Qiuyuan who eventually comes to conclusion that he already has met several younger teachers in his life. And that none of them are as noble as you. And certainly not that PE teacher who immediately cut him off from any activities. Odering him to sit on a bench as soon as he realized that Quiyuan was "that blind kid"
student!Qiuyuan who for the first time, starts paying attention in class. Though only in yours… and instead of basking in breeze, he turns his head towards you. Listening to what you're saying. He actually starts taking an interest in topics you bring up. Genuinely absorbs knowledge and realizes it isn’t as bad as he’d assumed. At least when someone is truly passionate about what they do and when you can hear excitement in their voice… Qiuyuan finally comes to school with a smile, rather than dragged there by the need to please his beloved parents
student!Qiuyuan who realizes that even though you’re kind and understanding towards all your students, joking with them regularly during class, it’s only him you show such great care for. You have such a special approach only towards him- And this isn’t that "special treatment" he’s experienced from other teachers. Where he passed from year to year with lowest grades, because others had given up on him. Not believing he could ever become of any use to society. Out of pity, turning a blind eye to his lack of participation or wrong answers. As if completely ignoring his presence throughout whole school year
student!Qiuyuan who is as happy like a child when you give him a bad grade for an oral response but at the same time encourage him to retake the exam. Finally, someone actually takes him seriously. Shows interest. Doesn’t fake his results and at the same time believes he is capable of more. Even that slightly disappointed tone, which you try so hard to hide, is like flattery to him. Though he definitely prefers to hear you when you’re satisfied and proud. Especially of him…
student!Qiuyuan who finally decides to knock on your office door. Seeking help and hysterically apologizing for not making it during office hours. But for the past two hours, he really couldn’t summon the courage. And the fact that he finally approached your door was really just a random impulse
student!Qiuyuan whom you have to calm down before you two can even talk. Leading him to a sofa, gently stroking his hunched back and serving a cup of steaming lemon tea. Worried about omega’s state, you grab any opportunity to calm his nerves. But only thing that really works is your alpha soothing pheromones and your low, gentle voice assuring that everything will be okay and that you’re not mad
student!Qiuyuan who after talking to you, realizes for the first time that he has a future ahead and that he should fight for it. With shining eyes, he listens as you acknowledge how much he’s had to go through since losing his sight and that the very fact that he manages daily tasks so well shows just how capable he is. How much he can accomplish with his other sharpened senses. And how much he should and must work hard. Not only to prove his worth to others but also to provide for himself and his family in future. Because in your eyes, he is more than capable of it. He doesn't have to be left solely at the mercy of others
student!Qiuyuan who is almost moved to tears when you say he inspires you
student!Qiuyuan who from that moment on, truly changes his life. Begins to learn even from other teachers. Not wanting to just sit around on PE while others play team sports, he starts running on his own on a track around the field. During classes he raises his hand to surprise of the rest and actively participates in lessons. He no longer skips homework but actually tries to complete all his projects
student!Qiuyuan who manages to improve and catch up on material only thanks to your help. Thanks to almost daily tutoring sessions for which you never accept any money. You always explain things so clearly and your tips are so helpful- You never yell at him; you just patiently help him find the solution. And you record the most important topics for him on a voice recorder. Later, Quiyuan always does the best especially on these things. Maybe because he listens to them over and over just to enjoy your voice in privacy of his room… On headphones, because he’s too embarrassed to admit to his family that he’s obsessed with some alpha’s voice. For whom he made space on his phone by deleting all music playlists
student!Qiuyuan who treats you like his master. Everything you say is sacred. He takes every piece of advice to heart and faithfully performs every request. He seeks your approval. To the point that when he gets his report card he runs to you first. Just to hear that tender chuckle and a few words of praise. To feel as you smile warmly at him and ruffle his hair. That tingling feeling… His omega has never felt better
student!Qiuyuan who is ready to bare his fangs at anyone who dares to say a bad word about you. He’s never gotten involved in such conflicts before but now he’ll do it without a second thought. And he doesn’t care that as an omega he’s standing up to some alpha. You believe in him. That’s why he walks out of a fight without a single scratch. His fist stained red from a contact with a nose of that rude, disgusting alpha
student!Qiuyuan who, despite his negative feeling and bad experiences with alphas, trusts you unconditionally. His omega feels safe with you and is willing to do anything for you. All you have to do is ask. Although that lecture about not getting into fights seems to have fallen on deaf ears…
student!Qiuyuan who out of gratitude, asks his mom to teach him how to make bento. Overjoyed she agrees right away. Thrilled at the thought that her little boy has finally fallen in love and found himself a good alpha. Completely unaware that her beloved son leaves all boxes with bento on his teacher’s desk. Every day before classes start. Before anyone else has a chance to wake up as early as Qiuyuan and arrive at school. Although at first you try to convince Qiuyuan that there’s no need for him to do such thing, that what you buy on your way is more than enough, over time you can’t wait to see colorful notes with a message left under wooden lid.
student!Qiuyuan who loves it when you pamper him. When you always bring him something to drink. Make sure your office is aired out before he arrives. Treat him with sweet candies as a reward for progress on completed tasks
student!Qiuyuan who is happy that there is finally someone who understands his problems and with whom he can talk about matters concerning only omegas and alphas. It’s a little embarrassing that during breaks from studying, he talks about such things with an alpha... But considering that he grew up in a house full of betas who can’t relate to his situation or urge of instinct, you’re definitely the best option
student!Qiuyuan who is fascinated examining every corner of your apartment when he visit for the first time. Your flat is rather modest but spacious enough and well-kept. And above all, it’s your own... You’ve worked hard for it while Qiuyuan still lives with his parents... He praises your taste as much as he possibly can. As long as his message gets through to you and you feel appreciated
It's just... for all week you were too busy with meetings and other teaching duties. You couldn’t meet with him for tutoring, so it was only polite to suggest that he visit you over a weekend to catch up. Though you weren’t sure he’d agree... But he did it in a split second. As soon as the information reached his brain. With a loud “yes!”, after which he immediately got embarrassed and hid his face in his long black hair. Too bad, because that peach blush really looks wonderful on him...
student!Qiuyuan who only realizes he has a little big crush on you when you accidentally kiss him. It happens when you’re sitting across from each other on a small sofa... At the sight of his face bathed in sunlight you suddenly lose your words. And he, abruptly confused, looks up from a braille books you bought him. When you are "gazing" into each other's eyes like that... you lean in and press a quick kiss to his plump lips. Completely swept up in the moment
You swear you can hear his heart suddenly racing-
student!Qiuyuan who quickly gives in to you. Or do you give in to him? And your sweet “innocent love” begins to sprout in shadows of your secret meetings
student!Qiuyuan who spends his free time at your place more and more often. He feels almost at home there. Often cooks dinner for you, trying to get rid of your bad eating habits. He even cleans up sometimes, wanting to feel a bit like the lady of a house. And you don’t mind when he “rummages through your drawers.” You want him to feel at ease at your house
student!Qiuyuan who leaves plenty of his stuff at your flat and also gets a lot of new "small" things. Like a personal toothbrush to keep there, a matching mug, personalized slippers-
student!Qiuyuan who, under the pretext of sleeping over at a friend's house, sneaks out of family home to spend the night in your arms. And your shirt… Which despite his tall figure, is always too loose on him and hangs off his lean body like a dress
student!Qiuyuan who heals his insecurities and begins to love his body as he experiences how you react to it. Feeling of your gaze devouring him, loud gasps, whistles, hands exploring places they shouldn’t... Who melts away in the compliments flowing from your lips. Though his eyes show no reaction, out of embarrassment he still closes his eyelids. Trying to hide from you. Burrowing as deep as possible into bedsheets-
student!Qiuyuan who almost bursts into tears when you accidentally catch a whiff of his pheromones for the first time. Firstly out of panic and then out of gratitude. This happens when he starts to feel a little too at ease around you and forgets he’s not at his family home. Where betas can’t smell him anyway. And forgets that after his morning shower, he needs to put his scent-blocking patch back on. When you suddenly gasp and inhale the air in kitchen, he turns to you terrified. He’s afraid you’ll be disgusted and that you’ll finally realize you deserve someone better. That he isn’t such a adorable omega and that it’s better if you kick him out of your apartment. When the opposite happens and you start going crazy over his scent, he can’t believe it. In every spare moment, you bury your face in his scent glands and soak in this relaxing scent. Sometimes, when he’s very busy, he tries to push your face aside. But you’re too strong. So Qiuyuan begins to proudly share his pheromones with the world. His colleagues look at him in surprise and he just smiles from ear to ear. If his alpha likes it, that’s more than enough. And since his scent can bring you comfort, he is happy to always be on duty
student!Qiuyuan who massages your aching temples after a hard day at work and plants butterfly kisses on your face while you try to fall asleep on his lap
student!Qiuyuan who gets easily jealous of your exes. And always makes a grumpy face when he accidentally comes across their photos in your old album. But he understands that you don’t want to throw away the photos where you’re with whole group of friends from your youth
student!Qiuyuan who feels your gaze on him during every class. Struggling to hold back his omega’s reactions, especially during preheat. After he stops stuffing himself with suppressants and slowly regains his ability to go through heat. These situations are the worst. Innocent blushes, hidden from classmates by curtain of hair, turn into clenched legs. Struggling to hold back the burning sensation inside
student!Qiuyuan who is disappointed and yet even more in love, impressed by your composure as you reject his advances in fever time and declare that you’ll only truly experience heat with him once he finishes school. Thus rebelling against your alpha and keeping your instincts in check
student!Qiuyuan whom you help in these difficult moments by playing the role of errand boy and protecting his nest. Not daring to get into bed, only sitting close on a floor and simply stroking Qiuyuan’s head
