You were curled up comfortably in your reading chair with a book in hand by your bedroom window, letting the dim light cast by the dark clouds catch on the pages.

It was a grey day. Grey clouds. Grey air.

You jumped slightly when you heard your front door small open before realizing who it was, your body losing most of the tension caused by the loud noise.

Donald Peirce was home.

And he was angry.

With a tired sigh, you placed your book down and started to count down in your head as you heard his heavy boots slam against the ground as he advanced towards the room where you were located.







Your bedroom door flew open as your boyfriend stormed in, shoving it closed roughly with his shoulder before he started hopping around trying to tug his shoes off, cursing loudly and fluently at the inanimate objects as his attempts failed.

Finally, he pulled one off before swinging his arm back and throwing it into the corner of the room, the next flowing quickly. The shoes each hit the marked wall with a loud thud and fell to the ground. You cringed slightly as look looked at the corner of the wall which was already riddled with dents from all the previous nights that he came home like this and repeated the process.

He turned sharply towards your shared double bed and with a few quick strides he flopped himself face down onto it, the mattress and his body bounced at the impact of his heavily landing while a loud groan of frustration that was muffled by the pillows.

With another sigh you stood up from your spot to walk towards him, settling yourself o the edge of the bed while reaching out to massage his right shoulder gently with your warm hand.

"Wanna talk about it?" you asked, keeping your voice low and soft.

"What do you think?" he growled out, allowing you to feel the vibration travel through your figures.

Of course, he didn't want to talk about it. He never does.

You honestly didn't expect him to, he said the same thing every time you asked this question.

Now Donald never lied to you, ever, but for some unknown reason talking about work was just a no-go zone. All he ever told you was that he was head of security in some research facility, what exactly they were researching you didn't know. But what you were sure of was that there was a lot more to his job then he would let on. Sometimes He would be gone for weeks at a time but more common than not a couple of days at least and all you would have to know that he was okay would be when Donald called you himself, talking in a hushed voice as he checked up on you to make sure you were doing well without him there. Some nights he would come home with cuts, bruises, burns and other injuries that he never offered any explanation to how he got them.

Not even any of his work friend that occasionally came over for dinner dared to mention work, whenever they even skirted the border of the topic Donald would shot them a fierce glare, his commanding blue eyes silencing them instantaneously with their smoldering intensity.

He was stubborn as hell. Once he had his mind set on something that was the end of it, he would root himself down and then there was no possible way to persuade or move him. It's just a part of who he is and you loved him, all of him.

And so was his work.

At least he got paid well, allowing you to live in extreme comfort with a nice house and never in need of anything.

Actually, at first you thought he was running some drug ring, I mean considering the circumstances that you knew about his job it wasn't that hard to start to believe that. You confronted him about this very early on in the relationship, earning an amused smile on his behalf as he swore on his life that he was no drug lord.

Despite this, you knew Donald was a dangerous man, and it didn't take the four years that you've known him (three of which you've spent living with him) to figure that out. All you needed was one look at his neck tattoo, stupid tinted sunglasses, big coat, heavy boots, sexy hair and the devil in his grin.

He was a fire, blindingly bright.

And you were a moth, drawn to his flame.

Admittedly, when you first approached him you were expecting the heat to burn and scorch your wings. But he didn't. His heat keeping you warm (though it did sometimes get a little too hot for comfort), his light blinding you while also guiding you, his smoldering intensity keeping threats away for fear of his combustive wrath, and his explosive passion keeping you captivated.

With another sigh you moved your hand up to run your hand through his dirty blond hair, enjoying the feeling of the strands slipping between your fingers.

You repeated this action a couple of times and watched his body rise and fall as he's breathing became softer and some of the tensions left him. Finally, he rolled over onto his side a looked up at you, his hair a mess from you having had played with it.

"I'm sorry, baby." He said, blue eyes showing the sincerity of his short apology.

'sorry for what?' you thought to yourself, 'sorry for always being away? Sorry for constantly getting yourself hurt? For having these outburst of angry? For keeping secrets? All of it?'

Instead of saying any of this you just smiled sadly at him. "It's okay Donny." You spoke softly.

It was his turn to reach out to you, placing his right robotic hand on your forearm gently, careful to make sure his grip wasn't too tight and pulled you down onto the bed next to him. He then wrapped his left arm around your waist, moving your body so that you were pressed together, your bodies molding perfectly into one form with your head buried in the crock of his neck while his chin sat on top of your head, his stubble scratching your scalp slightly.

You noticed that he had probably thrown his coat of on the way to your room and was most likely laying discard on the floor of the hallway. You made a mental note to make Don pick that up later.

Anyhow, this left Donald now in his black wife-beater, displaying his muscular chest, shoulders, and arms that you could feel against yourself. You moved your arms from around his neck so that you could slip them in between the two of you before spreading your hands out across his torso and traced patterns and swirls over his chest, letting your hands glide over toned his abdomen, feeling the hard muscles.

Donald let out a content sigh in response to your actions and started doing the same thing to you, but on your back with his flesh hand, creating shapes and designs over it.

You pulled your head back slightly, so you could see his face. He had his eyes closed and you could see just how worn down and tired he was looking despite the uncharacteristic small smile he had on as a result of being able to hold you.

"you look tired" you pointed out, your voice still soft and caring as that was the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you.

"A li'l bit doll" he replied, his eyes opening lazily to meet yours, and you couldn't stop your heart from skipping a beat as a result to his deep blue eyes seemed to gaze straight into you.

"well then," you started with a pat on his bicep, "I'll go make us something to eat, you stay right here."

"Naw sweet cheeks, ya don't gotta worry about me, I'll be up in a minute to help." He answered, raising his body up on one arm, ready to sit up.

"oh no no no no no. You're staying right here and getting some rest!" You scolded him lightly while easing him back down onto the bed.

With a sigh of defeat, Donald got back onto the bed. Smiling in triumph, you leaned down to kiss him firmly on the lips, his body instantly reacting to this as he kissed you back, his slight mustache tickling your upper lip in a way that you were oh so familiar with. He tightly snaked his arms around your hips and pulled you in closer, deepening the kiss. But then his hand made its way to your but and gave it a teasing squeeze, resulting in you rolling out of his arms, instantly missing his warmth.

"Ah ah! You, sir, have to wait for dessert if that's how you want to play." You sassed him jokingly while watching a playful grin spread across his face.

"And what would I be having for that," he asked, going along and wriggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manure that made you giggle.

"You'll just have to wait and see," you said while getting off the bed and walking towards the door.

"I love you, Y/N." Donald stated while watching you place your fingers on the door handle.

You paused for a moment before sending a grin over your shoulder and in his direction.

"I know." Was all you replied with before opening the door and walking out, clearly picturing the amused smirk and crocked eyebrow on Donald's face as you advanced down the hallway, not missing his quiet chuckle at your words as you did so.