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gracieheartspedro · 2 days ago

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Nobody Likes A Secret

pairing: no outbreak rich older!joel miller x afab reader.

how to help the palestinians and what it means to write for the last of us characters

word count: 3k words

description: a rich wealthy playboy who becomes enthralled by his neighbor's daughter. it never ends well when he can not fathom having happiness for himself.

warnings: ANGSTY!!!!!, age gap (joel is in his 50s, reader is in her mid 20s), wealthy!joel, neighbor!joel, reader is pretty naive and delusional, taboo relationship troupe, mentions of parent death, VERY BRIEF SMUT, joel is borderline evil and very mean. joel calls reader "kid". joel is also a liar. talks of having children.

author’s note: I wrote this all in like... two nights. I listened to illicit affair by taylor swift and nobody likes a secret by lizzy mcalpine a lil much and it ended up here. sorry if I make you sad.

You creep into the large 4-car garage, seeing Joel pacing the oil-stained floor. He’s still in his work clothes, but he looks a bit disheveled. His eyes are wild, his face downturned into a deep-set frown.

“Joel? Everything okay?”

He shakes his head. “He knows.”

You know only one person who would ruin this.

‘This’ being an 9-month-long affair with your older neighbor. Months and months of meeting in dark corners, hardly ever seeing each other in the light.

“How?”

Joel fumbles trying to pull his phone out of his pocket, showing you the 5 missed calls from your Dad. You stare at it blankly, tightening your jaw at the possibility that your Dad is too smart for his own good. Shit, he does know, doesn’t he? He throws the phone down on a nearby leather couch that is positioned near a workbench. Joel was pretty good with his hands, but lately his mind has been anywhere but tinkering with wood in his garage.

“He came over an hour ago. Sat me down and told me that he was getting suspicious of some outings you’ve had over the last couple months. Said he realized you were not going to the places you said you were going to. So he assumed you had a new boyfriend or something. Then last night…”

You curl your hands into a fist. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Joel grumbles, running his hands over his face, dragging his lower lids down in frustration, “He said that if I know anything or see anything, I am to let him know immediately. He’s worried you’re fuckin’ around with the wrong guy.”

You had snuck out of your house last night and tiptoed your way into Joel’s car, which was parked in a nearby cul de sac. He promised you a nice late dinner in the city and then he ravished you in a hotel room you two didn’t even spend the night in. He brought you home around 4 am and you snuck back into your bedroom, ensuring nothing in your home was stirred. When you woke up the next morning, your father left you a note that he wanted to do dinner with you that night. Meaning tonight.

You know this is detrimental, and while you do not want to freak out immediately, you can not help but feel like someone is stabbing you directly in the chest. Joel’s body language is giving off negative signals, so even though you want to hug him and tell him that you can talk to your Dad, you know it’s not going to change much.

Your eyes well with tears, thinking of how this was going to ruin everything. After months and months, you thought you were being so smart.

“We can’t do this anymore,” He whispers.

And God damn, did Joel hate seeing you cry.

But the tear-filled eyes you are giving him are warranted. You don’t turn away from him like usual. You never wanted to show him any weakness.

This time you confront him, your nose turning upward and your eyes full of disdain.

“You said we were being careful,” You murmur, the salty tears falling down your cheeks.

“Not careful enough.”

The bitterness tastes like blood in your mouth. You want to scream at him but keep an even tone instead, “Joel… Just let me talk to him.”

“You knew where this was gonna end up,” He states plainly, his voice not wavering.

And maybe he was right, but you enjoyed living in a loved-up delusion. Maybe it was the sex or maybe it was the looks he gave you from across densely populated parties you were forced to go to. You would put on a show long enough to make your father happy and then you would somehow sneak away with Joel. You knew if your father caught you with the much older man, he would lose his mind, so you were always cautious. You made sure the doors were locked. The moans would stay hushed. The car was parked far from your front door. And during the time spent away from the house, you would get a girlfriend to lie for you. You were always so careful.

“Maybe he suspects it’s someone else.” you try to reassure him, but you know it’s falling on deaf ears.

“You know he knows it’s me.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

Joel rolls his eyes. He knows that your father’s words were simply a warning. If you two continued this schtick, you know better than anyone your father would find out. You knew he already kind of had eyes on you and Joel had caught on to a couple of neighbors watching him from their bedroom windows. He gives your father credit, he was thorough.

“We have to stop.”

You did not realize how much your heart was banking on making this work. Joel was about 25 years older, so deep down, you knew that no one would accept the relationship. But in your wildest fantasies, you imagined you two would run away together. He had tons of money, you had nothing tying you down, and it could be a perfect escape. You had brought it up one night after you snuck over to his bed and he didn’t explicitly say no. He just giggled and continued tracing circles on your bare back.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “So you just… don’t want me anymore?”

He huffs, already annoyed you were making it seem like he had a choice.

“It was never gonna work out in the first place, kid.”

You just stare at him. The nickname hit harder than it ever has. After months of sneaking around with you, Joel only ever saw you as that. A kid.

“Don’t call me that. Ever.”

He notices the rise in your voice and quickly realizes he made a mistake.

“Listen-”

It’s like every terrible emotion you have ever had comes bubbling to the surface. The resentment you held towards him when he ignored your calls some nights. Or when he refused to get near you at any party. You had your grievances, but you sat there like a good girl and just accepted him the way he was.

It’s like acid in your throat, it burns.

“No, you listen,” You snap, “You don’t get to play the kid card. You chose this just as much as I did. You told me that my age didn’t matter. You told me that you would want children with me one day. You filled my head with all this bullshit and now when shit gets real, you walk away. You’re a fuckin’ coward, Joel.”

“My reputation and livelihood is on the line for this! You think I don’t still want those things?”

“If you wanted them bad enough, you would fight for me.”

It makes his face drop. His furrowed eyebrows relax and his mouth droops down into a subtle frown.

You do not know where to go from here. The atmosphere in his garage rises with tension, words just hanging in the air.

The Annual Miller Christmas Party was the talk of the town. Everyone who received an invitation would proudly display the cardstock on their huge fridges and show their uninvited neighbors to brag. When Joel came over to hand deliver you and your father’s invitations, he told you to wear something sparkly.

You searched everywhere for the perfect gown for weeks. He had only really shown you attention when forced to be in the same room as you, so you needed to be eye-catching. He was never the guy to wave to you when he was leaving for work or say a quiet hello at the grocery store. Joel was a very regimented man. He never strayed away from his routine which was usually work, hookups with random women, and sleep. He never kept a woman around for too long. You noticed the circulation of women changed every month or so. Joel never wanted to settle down. He had tried that once 15 years ago and his ex ended up with half of his company.

But you always loved the way the man carried him. Despite his playboy behavior, you were entranced with him. You always thought he was handsome and when you came home at 25 to help your mother who had fallen sick, you knew that your crush had morphed into borderline obsession. Living next to him would be dangerous.

The dress you chose was red, which was fitting for the occasion. And of course, it was sparkly. Just what Joel ordered.

You spent all day preparing for the evening and when you showed up on his front door on your Father’s arm, he could not peel his eyes away. You were so radiant and perfect. The twinkle in your eyes shone brighter than the glitter on your gown.

During the night, you drank a couple of glasses of champagne and chatted up some of your Father’s colleagues. You notice Joel’s eyes following you every so often. You can vividly remember thinking, “This man wants me so bad.”

That night Joel cornered you in the hallway by the bathroom. He asked you if you were interested in literature, but really he just wanted you alone in his study. You being you, you enthusiastically said yes and followed him down the unlit corridor. Once he shut the huge wooden double doors, you knew that you would be slipping out of that gown for him in no time.

And that’s exactly what happened.

He drove you crazy, peppering kisses all down your body. He would groan every time he heard your shaky breath, knowing that the effect he had on you would become a dependence for him.

When he first pressed into you, it was different than any other woman he’s ever been with. You did not throw your head back, moaning obscenities. Instead, you stared into his eyes and nodded, encouraging him to continue his movements. It was so sensual and passionate, by the time you two finished, he held you in his arms for 20 minutes. He was never one for pillow talk or aftercare, so he surprised himself.

You were different than any other woman he had ever encountered.

You had slipped over to his front door a couple of days after the Christmas party, knocking to ask his assistant if he was home. When she brought you into his office, he told his assistant to shut the door on the way out. His eyes never left yours as you bantered to him. He loved your confidence. He bent you over his desk after 10 minutes, tugging up your skirt and swatting your ass for showing up on his doorstep looking “this beautiful”.

Joel always made you feel so good. His dirty talk went to Harvard. He could make you cum over and over with his husky Southern accent. Every time he called you “darlin’” or “princess”, you would come undone.

A couple of months into the entanglement, your Mother’s health deteriorated overnight. You and your Father stayed by her side when she took her last breaths. It was devastating, seeing the woman you looked up to your entire life slowly slip away. You felt like a shell of a person, unable to really harbor any feeling other than pain.

Joel called you and let you know he would not be able to attend the funeral due to work commitments. You did not care, understanding that there’s never a good time for someone to die and he had no obligation to come. You arrived at the funeral home and saw a huge arrangement of purple and blue flowers. On the card, was scribbled in his handwriting.

“What a breath of fresh air she was. Thinking of her family, always. Joel Miller.”

When it was time for the burial, you watched a large SUV pull up right before the final words were going to be spoken. Joel hopped out the back and slowly approached, keeping his distance from you and the rest of the attendees. Once she was lowered into the ground, Joel came over to give his condolences to your inconsolable father.

You stayed back, watching everyone except him leave. You sat in the first row of fold-out chairs, watching them throw dirt over her casket. He sat down next to you, never saying anything. His hand extended out, touching your hand that was resting on your lap. It was an unspoken thing, but you never felt more seen in your entire life. He somehow knew exactly what you needed.

Someone next to you.

After a couple of months, you felt more like yourself. You called him one night, asking if he was available for a drive. He parked his truck in your usual meet-up spot. You crawled up into the passenger seat and asked him to drive. You did not care where. You two caught up and once he could tell you were getting back to some semblance of yourself, he made his move. He was stopped at a red light when he placed his hand on your thigh. It was the first time you had sex in his truck. That night kickstarted the affair again, which led to the secret meetings in hotel rooms. You two got more bold with your rendezvous, even taking a weekend to the mountains. You don’t even remember the lie you told your Father as to why you were gone.

Joel always thought you were capable. He admired you for being such a dynamic woman. To be so strong and delicate at the same time was unheard of. Even though you were much younger than him, you were well-versed in everything. You were professional and smart when it came to business. All the while, you were polite and empathetic. He would frequently come to you when he needed advice about work or an opinion on something ethical. He enjoyed hearing you ramble on about things you were passionate about. And God, did he love your laugh.

He did not expect to keep you around as long as he did. But your body was like a drug and Joel had a nasty habit. You were always eager and available, and after a while, Joel started thinking maybe it was too much all at once. When you became comfortable enough to sleep over in his bed and make him breakfast, he knew his world was tilted on its axis.

He needed to find a way to ruin it for himself, as he had done so many times before.

He “slipped up” one night. As he and his chatty neighbor Jeff sat outside and smoked cigars, he spoke about his desire for you. He didn’t particularly say that you two were together, but simply insinuated that he would like to have you alone. And the rumors spread quickly. Soon enough a little birdie was in your Dad’s ear, feeding him information.

Joel kept up the act with you, even though it was not really an act. He did like you, hell, he may have even loved you. But he did not want you to need him. So when people started paying more attention to you and him, he knew his plan was set in motion. In no time, it would all come crashing down.

“If your Dad takes this to the board, I will lose my company. Do you understand that?”

You hated that you understood stupid business jargon. You knew that Joel losing his company would be devastating. But at this point, you could not care less. Because for as long as your affair, you watched his walls fall away. He had let you in more than once and in your delusional state, you believed for a second that he would choose you over his job.

You clench your teeth as you suck in a sharp breath, tears still streaming down your warm face.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then we just end it. This has already gone too far.”

You finally turn away from him, your eyes falling to the concrete floor. As soon as he says those words, chills run down your arms.

“You know Joel…” You drift off, using your shirt sleeve as a tissue. You wipe away a couple of tears and glare back up at him, “I would have given up everything in my life for this. My job. My relationship with my father. Everything. And the fact that you won’t even give me a chance to talk to my Dad to see if he could spare you and this whole charade, really fucking hurts. I’m not worth that to you and that… That’s what hurts the most.”

“Babe-”

“No. You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything.”

The tears flow again as you watch him exhale, his hands on his hips. His hair is unkept and the tie he’s wearing has been loosened.

“I’m sorry,” Is all he can say while your lip quivers. You are trying not to lose it completely.

You just shake your head, “No. You’re not sorry.”

He was. He was sorry, but he could not let you ruin everything.

Joel would soon know that you were everything. And as you left the back door that evening, leaving behind the scent of your perfume, he knew that the smell would somehow taint his sheets, even though you had not been in them for weeks. He already started to miss the feeling of your lips. When he tried to go about his evening, he swore he would see you in the shadows of his large house. He even thought he heard your laugh. You were already haunting him even though the death of your relationship happened just hours before.

You moved on after a couple of years. Met a guy at your 9-5, settled down, and popped out a few kiddos. Some nights you would lie awake, wondering to yourself if Joel was really happy. You never learned the truth of his deceit. After all, your Father was just grateful that his warning to Joel led to his desired outcome, which was him being gone from your life entirely.

And Joel would be haunted for the rest of his life. No woman. No drugs. No party. Nothing ever filled the void you left behind. And it was all his fault. Just like it always had been.

#joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou joel #joel tlou #pedro pascal #affair au #check tags #angsty joel miller #fic: nobody likes a secret

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choccorin · 3 days ago

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thinking about living in the mountains with kento.

you’d wake up in peaceful mornings—no irritating sounds of beeping cars and road rage, just the faint singing of a few birds outside your shared bedroom window, the whirring of the electrical fan, and the soft clattering in the kitchen. the two of you love surprising each other with breakfast, though it’s mostly him because he wakes up earlier than you. each breakfast that he serves always comes with a few slices of bread, whether it be sourdough or even banana bread, whatever matches the dish he made that morning.

you’d spend the afternoon lying on the couch with him. your legs rested up on his lap while the both of you read two different books, occasionally chatting with the other on how the story’s going on in their book. did the main character finally confess their undying love to the love interest? or did the lost cat finally find its way back home? sometimes these catch-ups would go even longer until the two of you forget about the books you're reading and you make your way into the comfort of his warm embrace and take an afternoon nap.

the two of you would spend the evening making dinner, mostly him, though, again. he doesn't want your clumsiness to ruin the food or hurt yourself. you can just sit on the counter and watch him be the perfect house husband he was made for.

after eating dinner and washing the dishes, you two would go outside on the porch and sit on the swing that he personally made based on your request; you said that it would look great and would add character to the house. it’s also great when you want to spend time outside, may it be admiring the bustling trees or the midnight sky. and he couldn't agree more.

the view you get each night is certainly mesmerizing, better than the eye-sore-causing lights back in the city.

thirty minutes would go by before you pull him up and make him dance with you on the grass, barefoot. it’s not advised to dance without shoes outside, but who is he to deny the love of his life?

he pulls you close in between his arms, and as the both of you slow dance, he hums the two of you’s favorite song. you wrap your arms around his neck and place your head on his chest, feeling every vibration coming from it as he hums.

the both of you could dance barefoot on the grass for hours and never get sick of it, as long as you two are together.

kento looks up at the star-filled sky and back at you, admiring every detail on your face—even in the dark. he pulls you even closer, wanting your body to sink into him, and plants a kiss on the crown of your head. a five-second long kiss that's filled with the affection he feels for you. you look up at him and give him the brightest smile, a smile that rivals the sun and stars.

and at that moment, kento thinks knows that he finally achieved his dream life. a peaceful life away from the crowded streets, and a house that’s filled with love, warmth, and solace, and he found it all from you.

#queued!#omg miro can write?!#nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader

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lnfours · 3 days ago

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“Person A taking Person B home after they fell asleep at a friends house.“ 🥹🩵🥹 definitely picturing the reader falling asleep at max f’s house and Lando carrying her home

stop because i can so see this happening 🥹

jordan’s birthday sleepover!

you hadn’t meant to fall asleep during the movie, but you were so comfortable. being cuddled up into his side, his body heat keeping you warm under the blanket pietra had given you earlier. add in the fact that your boyfriend was genuinely just the most comfortable pillow ever, it was bound to happen.

you had a long week, between work and just life in general, it had been tiring. you thought you would be able to handle a simple movie night, however, you were so wrong. the minute max turned down the lights and within the first half hour of the movie, you were out like a light.

lando smiled softly down at your sleeping frame when he realized you weren’t talking about the movie with them, that you hadn’t reacted to anything playing in front of you like you usually did. he brushed the fallen hair from your face, pulling you a little closer as you slept peacefully. your face was squished against his chest in the cutest way. how was he supposed to disturb you?

when the credits rolled and the lights came back on, max’s voice was quiet as he questioned your state, “was she asleep the whole time?”

lando nodded, gently playing with your hair, “just about,”

max nodded and pietra audibly ‘aw’ed at the fact that their friend was so in love. how he gently moved your limbs, your face nuzzling into his neck as he situated himself to pick you up.

“need some help with the doors?”

“please,” lando said, carrying you bridal style. he smiled at the blonde girl on the couch, “goodnight, p.”

“goodnight,” she smiled, “get home safe.”

max opened the front door, “where’re your keys, mate?”

“left pocket,” lando said, turning to let his best friend fish the keys for the mclaren from the pocket of his sweatpants, “can you unlock it and get the door? i’ve got her,”

his best friend nodded, opening the door as he situated you in the passenger seat. you hummed softly, leaning against the window once he got your seatbelt on, ready to fall back to sleep.

he bid a goodnight and a thanks to max for having the two of you before climbing into the car himself. he turned the volume down on the radio so it wasn’t loud enough to wake you, taking occasional glances your way. he couldn’t help it. you looked so pretty, curled up in the passenger side of his car while you slept.

when he pulled into the driveway, you stirred awake as he leaned over to unbuckle your seatbelt, “how long have i been asleep?”

“a few hours,” his voice was soft, “didn’t even make it through the first half of the movie.”

he chuckled softly as you pressed a hand to your forehead, your giggle sounding through the car, “i’m sorry,”

“nothing to apologize for, baby,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly, “let’s get inside and go to bed, yeah?”

with a simple nod you followed him inside the house, kicking your shoes off and changing into one of his t-shirts before climbing into bed next to him. the minute your head rested on his chest, you knew it’d be only a few more minutes until you were back to sleep.

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lostintransist · 1 day ago

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Fallen Angel | New Glasses

John finds you reclining on the couch. Bowl of popcorn chips resting on your stomach and mask, cool and slimy, on your face.

“So, we not going on a date tonight?”

The casual way he drops the statement belies the gravity of it.

The moment it takes to process through your exhausted brain is the only moment of peace for the rest of the night.

Jumping to your feet the chips go flying as your mask slides off your face and into the now empty bowl.

“It’s Monday!” You shout as you stare at him in horror. “Fuck, I will be ready in ten minutes.”

Before you can sink to your knees to clean up your mess John takes you by the hand and deposits you at your room. With a smiling kiss to your cheek he promises to clean up the mess and turn off the TV.

You wipe your face with a makeup wipe and panic spin before shouting down the hall.

“John! What should I wear?”

“Closed toed shoes and layers dove,” he shouted back.

“Layers and clothes toed shoes,” you mutter to yourself on repeat as you start digging around for a clean pair of jeans and a set of matching socks.

“Oh, and no makeup if you feel comfortable. It will melt off.”

His loud voice and words make you pause.

“What the hell are we doing that would cause my make up to melt off?” You ask the empty room.

Eleven minutes later you are knotting the laces of your shoes and pushing off the couch to follow John to his car. It’s practical, how like him. He catches sight of your small smirk at his vehicle.

“What? Not as fancy as Johnny’s?”

Busting out laughing you drop a hand onto his shoulder for support. Johnny had the oldest, ugliest truck you had ever seen.

He smiles down at you, cheeks pulling up to cause crinkles around his eyes. You loved when he smiled that big, with his whole face. It made your heart so happy.

John walked you to the passanger door, opening it for you with a bow and a wink.

“My lady.”

You give a curtsey with your imaginary skirt before rolling your eyes and climbing in and buckling your seat belt.

“So, John, what is the silliest situation you have ever ended up in because of your job?”

“Let me think,” he focuses on driving as he does. “Had to be the time I told the president of US a crass joke.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” You gape at him from the opposite seat.

“Was playing bodyguard at a conference, there was only one man in the room while we were waiting for the VIP and I made a joke to break the tension.”

“What did he do?” You prompt, there has to be more to this conversation.

“He looked at me odd before busting out in laughter. I didn’t realize my mistake until the meeting started and he got introduced to the room. We made eye contact and I have never felt my face go that red before,” John offers you a hand to hold between the seats.

You take it, enjoying the roughness of his palms and the width of his fingers between yours.

“What about you?” John asks.

“What about me what?”

“Tell me the silliest interaction you have had working as a barista.”

“Whew, that might take all night. Top of mind though, was the guy who showed up at the wrong coffee shop for a first date.”

“How long did it take him to figure it out?”

“An hour,” you emphasize the last word. “He thought he had been stood up.”

John laughed at the man’s misfortune. The drive went on like that, trading stories back and forth until John pulled up outside of a pretty nondescript building with a large overhead door that cars typically went through. No cars would fit through this one though, the opening showed tables and decorative glass pieces.

“You know I didn’t ask before but what are we doing on this date?” You ask as you stare at the beautiful and intricate works of blown glass.

“We are making some blown glass pieces. You can do an ornament for Christmas or a cup,” John steps from the car with a finger up to ask for your patience.

Appreciating the way he moves you watch him round the car. Smiling up at him as he opens the door you take the offered hand, sliding the fingers of your left hand into his. Entering the spacious building you look around at the orbs hanging artfully along one wall.

“Hi guys, welcome in. Do you have an appointment?” A young woman with blonde beach waves greats you, eyes jumping straight to John.

You can’t blame her, he is an attractive man, despite the funny facial hair decisions he makes sometimes.

“We do, the couples hour under the last name Price?”

You almost didn’t catch it but he tilted your hand to so she couldn’t see your lack of ring. Smiling up at him he winks at you when he glances from the receptionist. Two small taps to your nose confirm your understanding.

“Okay, are you wanting to do an ornament or a cup?” The blonde asks in a slightly more subdued tone.

“Cup for me, love?”

John turns to you.

“Cup for me as well please.”

“Okay, you can pick up to two colors and whether or not you want a band on your cup. Al will be with you shortly.”

You pull John to look over your options. The date doesn’t leave a lot of room for talking, but warm glances while standing at the furnace, slowly working with Al to keep the slug of molten glass spinning. Whoever decided on when to have newbies help with this process understood the lack of skill the average John would have.

Glad you avoided putting on make-up on John’s recommendation, you wipe at the back of your neck where sweat has started to collect. Once the cups were settled into the annealing oven, you did find stepping from the studio a startling refreshing experience.

“I had fun John. Thank you,” you infuse as much warmth and honesty into your words as you can manage.

He pulls your interlocked hands to his lips, dropping a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Bonus is that I get to take you out again when they are ready for pickup,” he lifts both brows at you from under his hat.

“All that means is I get to spend more time with you. What a hardship,” you roll your eyes as your sarcasm lands.

John scoops you close with a spin.

“Come on brat, let’s get you some food. I know you didn’t eat enough today.” He nuzzles his beard into the space between your shoulder and chin.

You squeal and pull away, “Hey, I resemble that remark!”

He smiles again, wide and full at you.

“Get in the car love.”

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

#Fallen Angel COD #cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #price x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #roach x reader #gaz x reader #john price x reader #lostintransit #asexual reader

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starkeyslibrary · 1 day ago

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That's So True

Inspired by That's so True by Gracie Abrams

pairing: reader x drew starkey

a/n: i just realized that i've never formally introduced myself on here! my bad, my name is rhodee, 21 years old, living in europe and currently studying law. i love writing imagines that'll hopefully make you laugh, swoon or cry (sorry not sorry) a little too hard <3

stick around if you’re into dreamy characters, plot twists, or just want to scream about Drew with me!

hope i'll get to know so many of y'all on here!! okay that's all, enjoy <3

The night Drew had left for the premiere, you told yourself it was just another event, like all the others. You even tried to convince yourself you didn't mind staying home, avoiding the chaos of the red carpet. It's his night, you thought, forcing a smile as he kissed you goodbye, his cologne lingering in the air long after the door closed.

But as the hours stretched on, the gnawing sense of isolation grew. It wasn't just tonight - it had been building for months. Drew's career was skyrocketing, and with every interview, press tour and glamorous event, it felt like he was slipping further away from you. He'd promised that things would calm down after this movie, that he'd have more time. But those promises were always vague, like a finish line that kept moving further out of reach.

The photos hit social media just before midnight. Drew, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his co-star, Odessa A’ Zion. The fan comments flooded in, gushing about how perfect they looked together, how the chemistry was undeniable.

You slammed your laptop shut. It wasn't jealousy - not exactly. You trusted him, but trust didn't erase the ache of feeling invisible.

The sound of Drew's keys jingling at the door pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. The clock on the wall read 1:47 a.m. You hadn't realized how late it had gotten. The door opened, and Drew stepped inside, his movements slow and careful, like he didn't want to disturb you. He probably thought you were asleep.

"Hey," you called out, your voice sharp in the quiet apartment. You couldn't hide the edge of frustration.

He paused, caught off guard, then gave a tired smile. "Hey, babe. Didn't think you'd still be up."

"Well, I am," you said, standing from the couch. "Thought you said you'd be home hours ago."

"The afterparty ran late," he explained, shrugging off his jacket. "I texted you."

"That's not the point, Drew," you snapped, your tone harsher than you intended. “This isn’t just about tonight. Do you even realize how little I see you anymore?”

His brows furrowed, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s my job, you know how crazy things get during press tour. This isn’t new.”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” you shot back. “You’re always out there, Drew. With her, with them – whoever. And I’m just .... here. Alone. Waiting for whatever scraps of time you have left.”

Drew exhaled sharply, clearly tired, and not in the mood for an argument. “This again?” he muttered, his tone clipped. “I can’t keep apologizing for doing my job.”

You flinched at his words. “I’m not asking you to apologize for working. I’m asking you to make me feel like I matter.”

“You do matter,” he said, raising his voice slightly. “But you’re acting like I can just drop everything. This is how it is y/n. This is how it’s always been.”

“No, it hasn’t,” you countered. “It’s different now. You’re different. You barely talk to me anymore. Half the time, I don’t even know what’s going on in your life. But everyone else does. The fans, the press – they all get pieces of you that I don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Drew said, shaking his head. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t see how lonely this is for me. You’re so caught up in your world that you don’t even notice.”

Drew’s frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to do, y/n? Quit? Stop taking jobs? Would that make you happy?”

His words felt like a slap, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I want you to fight for this – for us. But instead, you’re treating me like a burden.”

Drew froze, his anger dissipating as he saw the pain in your expression. “Y/N,” he started, his tone softer, “You’re not a burden. I love you. You know that.”

“Do I?” you whispered. “Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Drew looked at you, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then don’t say anything,” you said, retreating to the bedroom before your emotions could completely overwhelm you.

You shut the door behind you, leaning against it as sobs wracked your body. You hated this – hated feeling like you were losing him. But you didn’t know how to bridge the growing distance between you.

Drew stood in the living room, staring at the closed door. He felt like the worst person in the world. He wanted to fix it; to make you understand how much you meant to him. But he was so tired – tired of the constant pull between his career and personal life, tired of feeling like he was failing at both.

He sat on the couch, his head in his hands. The apartment felt unbearably quiet without you. The fight replayed in his mind, your words cutting deeper with each pass. I want you to fight for this – for us.

He realized then how distant he’d been, how much he’d taken your support for granted. You’d been his anchor through everything, and he’d been too caught up in his own world to see how much you were struggling.

When you woke up, the sun was streaming through the curtains, but the weight in your chest hadn’t lifted. You found Drew in the kitchen, already dressed and nursing a cup of coffee. His face lit up when he saw you, but it quickly fell when he noticed your guarded expression.

“Morning,” he said softly, hesitant.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I, uh, I thought about what you said last night,” he began, setting his coffee down. “And you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you.”

You looked at him, surprised. “Drew – “

“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I forgot what matters most – you. Us. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not part of my life, because you are. You’re everything to me, Y/N. And I know I haven’t shown that enough.”

Tears filled your eyes, and this time, you didn’t fight them. “I just... I miss you, Drew. I miss us.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling you into his arms. “I miss us, too,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I’m going to do better. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a glimmer of hope. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time, it felt like you were on the same page.

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heaven4lostgirls · 18 hours ago

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hello luv! Could you possibly do a poly! marauders with reader who has issues sleeping like some times she can’t sleep for three nights straight and the next day she’ll fall asleep in the middle of class and can’t keep her eyes open? xxx

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: request above!

warnings: mentions of not sleeping well, insomnia? not sure. mentions of regulus also not sleeping well.

word count: 2.1K

a/n: really enjoyed writing this, hope you enjoy it! thanks for the request!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The emptiness on your side of James’ bed is what wakes him up. He blinks blearily as he stretches to reach over to your side of the bed. He’s greeted by an untouched duvet and perfectly stacked pillows.

As if you had never come to bed at all.

Worry gnaws at his heart as he turns over to look at Remus and Sirius’ beds to check if maybe you snuck off to them instead.

Instead, all he sees is Pete’s snoring figure underneath his covers and Remus and Sirius cuddled up together on the latter’s bed as the former’s bed looks unfortunately similar to the right side of his bed.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and thinks better than waking up Remus and Sirius to find you. He grasps his glasses off of his nightstand and tiptoes to his trunk to grab the map.

With a quick glance he’s surprised to find you in the Gryffindor common room, not far at all.

He stuffs the map back into his trunk as he grabs a jumper that he tugs on as he walks sleepily out of the dorm and down the stairs.

He’s greeted by the sight of you curled up on the long sleeper couch in front of the fire as you have one of Remus’ novels in your hands.

He can see the tiredness wearing you down and the frustration that you can’t seem to give into it.

His feet shuffle against the marble floor which alerts you to his presence, you take a quick glance and frown worriedly as you catch a sleep befuddled James shuffling towards you.

He collapses on top of you with an uncoordinated movement and you let out a small whoosh of air.

“You didn’t come to bed” he murmurs into your neck before he sighs out blissfully as your hands cascade into his curls.

“I couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to worry you” you murmur back, and he frowns softly before pulling away to look into your eyes.

“I would have helped” he frowns and you smile before pulling your hand out of his hair and smoothing out the frown lines on his face.

“S’okay, I’m used to it” you shrug offhandedly and James lips tug down again.

“I’m sorry love” James says and his big brown eyes blink lovingly and morosely at you.

You only shake your head and push him to lay back down on your shoulder.

“Not your fault Jamie, s’just how it is” you say and go back to running your hands through his hair..

He lets out small puffs of breath against your collarbone as you feel his form start to melt into you.

You’re unjustifiably jealous as you realise he’s fallen back to sleep, his breathing evening out to notify you enough that he’s no longer conscious

You feel your frustration rising and your form tensing enough that it has James whining in his sleep and snuggling into you harder.

You relax, helpless against your boyfriend as you try to keep your tears at bay.

You just wanted to sleep. It wasn’t fair that you had to work twenty times harder than the average person just to do something your body should do naturally.

It had been days since you had last gotten a proper nights sleep, you’d been relying on naps that lasted anywhere from 20 minutes to 2 hours at most.

It was enough to have you functioning but too little that people had started noticing, Sirius had tried to spray some of his lavender oil onto your pillow which had only assaulted your nostrils.

Remus had offered to give you a massage to help ease the tension in your muscles and relax you but that had only worked until he had stopped.

James had volunteered to do some quidditch practice together but that had only resulted in sore muscles in which Remus had to massage.

In conclusion, you were fucked.

Truly, you had tried everything, and you knew the only way to really go through this process was to wait it out.

Your boyfriends were less than willing to let you wait it out, they hated the idea of knowing you were struggling without being able to help.

You turn your gaze to the fire as you watch the flames crackle in the darkness of the semi-lit common room.

Time continues to pass and soon the sun is taking the place of the moon in the window behind you. As the sun rises, you shuffle carefully out from under James as you leave him with a pillow to cuddle.

You make your way to your dorm and a quick casting of tempus tells you that it’s 5 minutes past 6AM.

Early enough for none of your roommates to be awake but late enough for it to be acceptable for you to be getting ready.

You understand this is your reality, something you have to deal with. Some things come easier for you than it does for others and vice versa. It’s just unfortunate yours had to be a healthy sleep schedule.

As you go through your morning routine you cycle through explanations you can give to people about why you weren’t in bed and why you were up so early.

Fortunately, there was an astronomy assignment you could use as a scapegoat for your sleepless endeavours.

Less fortunately, the only people who wouldn’t believe your lies were the only people you really wished would.

Remus, Sirius and James were all too aware of the fact that you struggled with sleeping, and you harboured some resentment towards yourself for stressing them out over such a trivial matter.

At least that was how you saw it.

By the time you had finished your morning routine, taken a shower and dressed into your uniform, it was 7AM. Breakfast would only start at half past, so you had time to wonder around the castle a bit and get some studying done.

Considering your lack of sleep, you were already quite ahead in assignments, nearly as ahead as Remus and Lily.

Those two really were the swots they swore they weren’t.

You make your way out of your dorm quietly as you grab your bag, as you pass through the common room you take a second to take in James’ sleeping form as you press a sweet kiss on his forehead.

He smiles in his sleep which brings a soft one to your face as you walk out of the portrait hole.

The castle is lovely early in the morning, quiet and undisturbed by the bustling crowds of Hogwarts students that will soon plague the halls.

Now you can admire how the sun warms the walls of the outer barriers and how some of the portrait’s chatter to themselves in a quiet symphony.

The library is open, so you make your way there, slipping into a familiar alcove as you open the book you had been reading the night before.

The unfortunate side effects of reading whilst running on no sleep catches up to you as you feel your eyelids start to flutter.

You wish this would’ve happened last night, or really any of the other nights you had tried to get some rest.

Since you can’t afford to miss your classes for the day, you shake yourself awake and make your way to breakfast as soon as possible.

As you reach the doors of the great hall, you’re met with the scrutinizing gazes of your boyfriends as they sleepily look over all the students who have also decided to have an early breakfast.

You’re shocked, truly.

It’s one thing for Remus to be out of bed and at breakfast early, he’s only grouchy until he has a cup of coffee, James basically lives for early mornings but what really takes the cake is whoever let Sirius get up before 8AM.

He looks like he’s taken a shower and done his usual morning routine, but you can see him complaining as he stabs his eggs, his sleep really is important to him.

As you make your way to the Gryffindor table, you catch the sight of Regulus and Barty at the Slytherin table.

You know he also has trouble sleeping, many nights of meeting and bonding in the astronomy tower had told you that much. Before you two had gotten into relationships, those nights had been your crutch.

You both share a small smile before you pass them, James nudges Sirius harshly in the side at the sight of you, which in turn causes a chain reaction of Sirius yelping and pushing Remus which causes him to spill his coffee and let out a string of curses.

The chaos stops when you reach the bench in front of them and take a seat, there’s only silence. Which surprises you, silence has never been synonymous with the marauders.

“You lot are awake early” you remark softly as you smile and take your seat. They all exchange a glass before Remus clears his throat and looks at you.

“Where were you?” he asks, not confrontationally, just curious

Your shoulders migrate to your ears as you offer them all a soft shrug, “I was in my dorm, why?” you ask

You see Remus hesitate before James jumps in, “I woke up alone in the common room” he says sadly and you frown in sympathy.

“I’m sorry Jamie, I just couldn’t-” you start

“Sleep, we know” the three of them chorus together and your cheeks warm.

“Sorry” you mumble as you push your breakfast around on your plate.

“Nothing to be sorry for angel, we just wish you’d come to us” Sirius offers placatingly, and you nod numbly

“It’s just, hard y’know?” you say

“We know, but we want to take care of you” he replies, and you can only nod as you munch on your breakfast.

You can feel the tiredness catching up to you so instead of your usual glass of water or juice in the morning, you grab a cup of coffee to chug down before your first class.

The boys watch you with a nervous energy, three days of not sleeping is not good for anyone. You’re bound to crash out at some point.

You walk sluggishly alongside the boys to your DADA class and as you take a seat next to Remus, Sirius and James take their seats in front of the two of you.

You try and listen as the class continues, but the words start to blur as you glance at your textbook and black spots dart around your vision.

You allow yourself a few seconds to lay your head on the desk to rest, the soft scraping of Remus’ quill against the parchment and Sirius and James’ soft whispering lulls you to sleep.

Your breathing evens out as you fall asleep, cheek pressed against your textbook and hair framing your face.

Remus pauses in his note taking as he takes a quick glance to you. He huffs a small laugh as he catches your sleeping figure.

He turns backwards to catch the eyes of his boyfriends as he tilts his head to your sleeping form in amusement.

Although Sirius shares some of his amusement, James’ worry betrays itself in his eyes.

Sirius offers him a comforting smile before learning towards his boyfriend and whispering the word ‘cloak’ which has James’ smile shifting from worry to excitement.

Always one to skip class, James makes quick work of throwing the cloak over himself as Remus and Sirius try to act inconspicuous.

Remus shakes you awake softly as Sirius quickly levitates all of your belongings back into your bag which he slings over his shoulder.

You blink drowsily and look at Remus, who helps shift you towards James outstretched arms in the back corner on the class.

All you can do is sleepily walk into his arms as he wraps the cloak around the both of you as he carries you out of the class.

He waits outside to see Remus walk out the classroom confidently before a crash and a curse is heard before Sirius runs out of the class.

Remus looks at him with a baffled expression. “The fuck did you do?!” Remus asks incredulously.

Sirius gives him a glare, “hex Carrow, what’d you do?!”

“…Ask to go to the bathroom” Remus replies, and Sirius’ mouth drops open.

James huffs a laugh which has you jostling in his hold, he mutters a small apology as he adjusts you comfortably in his arms with your legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck.

“Dorm?” Sirius offers with a fond look to your face peaking out and Remus nods as they make the walk back to the dorm.

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purinfelix · 2 days ago

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Gavi bf headcannons 👉👈

pablo gavi bf headcanons ˚⟡˖ ࣪

a/n: aaaa haven't written for my baby in agesss thank u for this req anon !! (ik it's preeeetty old so i hope u don't mind sjdnfdksjnf)

★ was actually quite shy before the two of you started dating, and even at the beginning of your relationship - just because he seemed intimidated by the idea of you and didn't want to put a foot wrong when talking with you

★ but as soon as he got comfortable with you he's talking your ear off about everything

★ like i just know he has the craziest gossip from the lockerroom and has opinions on absolutely EVERYTHING

★ just so so so clingy like you're literally amazed at how he used to function before the two of you started dating bc now he can't go more than like a day without seeing you

★ it isn't like a possessive clinginess (in reality it's actually a lot simpler) - he just knows he feels happy around you, and he loves you, so why wouldn't he want to spend every waking minute with you?

★ like, if there is a situation in which you have to spend time apart he's not going to stop you, but just know he's not going to enjoy it at all and the minute you reunite he'll have to make up for lost time

★ that and maybe a thousand texts about how much he misses you or tiktoks because everything he sees reminds him of you

★ love language is 100% physical touch like is there even a question ...

★ and it's more than just hugs and kisses it's interlocked pinkies, goodnight kisses on the back of your nape - if the two of you are lying on the couch or bed doing your own thing he'll throw a leg over yours just to feel your touch

★ thinking about that time kuonde said he's really fun to tease bc he's so easy to rile up ... yeah

★ like of course it's all loving but you just love the look on your boyfriend's face when you tease him - his pout and pleading eyes ...

★ definitely not a morning person at all, you've spent way too many mornings struggling to wriggle out of his grip in fear of being late for work/class

"Baby, I need to go," you say sternly, though given the fact that you're boyfriend's eyes are still closed you don't feel confident you're going to get your way. "Mmf," is all you get in response, as well as him strengthening his grip on you and burying his face into the side of your stomach.

★ (just remembered that clip of him snoring LOL) - which you actually didn't notice for like a year into your relationship because he always made sure you fell asleep first, it just makes it easier for him to rest knowing you're comfortable

★ but one night when u woke up to get some water you were absolutely shocked by how loud he could be (you opted to sleep on the couch that night because you wouldn't have been able to rest otherwise - but he came and found u in less than an hour because the empty space next to him woke him up)

★ as much as he hates to admit it, he lovesss being babied like he'll try to hold out as long as he can and put on a big manly front but the minute you're cooing and calling him pet names he's melting immediately

★ doesn't fully understand things like makeup/hair/clothes but what he does know is when his girlfriend looks extra beautiful

"I like that thing you did with your hair today, it's really pretty," he hums as the two of you are getting ready to leave on a date. "Oh? My blowout?" "Yeah, sure, it looks good on you - same as when you get those little white lines on your nails done." "French tips?" "Yeah, you tell your nail lady that and I'll pay for it."

#pablo gavi #gavi #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi x you #pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi fanfic #pablo gavi fic #pablo gavi oneshot #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barcelona #jet writes ★#purinfelix #jet answers ✧

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 days ago

Text

Antoine was used to being awake this late out on the road; but here, in the comfort of their creaky bed, he had thought he would be able to sleep with ease. Zelda certainly was. Not even his incessant tossing and turning had roused her from her slumber. She seemed to have slept so little while he was gone that now she was drifting on another plane entirely. But even long after she was snoring softly, he could still hear her voice in his mind. Are you happy when you’re out there?

He knew why she had asked. She had seen his unadulterated joy when he returned home, but not even an hour had passed before he told her they were going back on the road in a few weeks time. He had said it quickly, hesitant to go even a moment too long without telling her the truth. But he knew then that she had seen it too: the happiness that now lived alongside his hesitation that he couldn’t fully explain.

Are you happy when you’re out there? She had asked with so much love and selfless concern that he didn’t know how to answer, even if he had one to give. Because it was more than just the joy she had seen when he got home, or even the newfound satisfaction he felt in his success. It was beyond the frustration and longing that Jo had sensed on the road, or even the release he felt every time he performed.

He slowly raised himself up and off the bed, so as not to wake the sleeping woman beside him. She turned as the mattress slanted in his direction, but her eyes never opened. Are you happy when you’re out there? He wanted to answer. Truly he did. But he simply didn’t know how. Not to her or anyone other than the guitar that seemed to call to him from across the house.

There it was, carefully leaning against the couch where he had left it before he had taken Zelda upstairs. It pained him to see it this way, out in the open yet hiding in the darkness. For weeks he had ensured that it was carefully stowed in its battered case, safe against the raging wind of the road and the weariness of their constant movements. It was hard to remember that he didn’t have to worry about it now. The thick walls of the farmhouse shielded it from the cold desert night, its rest on the worn rug uninterrupted unless he himself chose to reach for it. Then its only journey would be from its resting place to his lap, or maybe, to the porch beyond. Nothing but slow, familiar movements and faces. No bars, no rest stops. No nights of darkness locked alone in its case. Just the warm embrace of home. He reached for it and laid it across his lap. Are you happy out there?

As he moved his hand across the strings, it repeated the question back to him. Are you happy out there? Only it already knew the answer, because it saw and felt not only everything he did, but so much locked inside its hollow body that he could never explain to Zelda. No matter how much he tried, she would always see everything from her wide, innocent eyes. The eyes he loved, but would always wander through a world so different than his. But yet, the guitar knew. Without effort or loneliness, it knew.

It was like it wanted to be seen, the same way he always had behind that piano screen on a crowded night. It needed him to give its silence meaning, and he had. Night after night he had played not only for himself, but for them.

How could he explain to Zelda what he felt nearly every time he touched the strings? It was hazy at first, but now it came to him in vibrant colors and vivid emotions. Sometimes it was a man surrounded by familiar orange hills; and although two generations separated him from the man who had given him the guitar, they shared their round eyes and hooked nose, and even their calloused hands. Only his eyes were so much more weary than the ones he had given his grandson, because the mesa around him was a shaky sanctuary and not quite yet a home.

When he held the guitar it was always out in the open, guarded by a horse and the boundless wilderness. He played with no illusion that his talent would ever be anything more, just an outlet for his existence without the heavy weight of dreams. But because of that, his music was free from all expectation. It was filled with longing and release, a pure jewel in the sun when so much else seemed pitted against him. It was a world unto himself, a cosmos he poured his soul into so that it sang out from the deepest recesses of the wood on quiet nights.

Other times the man was younger, a link between the man who played out in the open desert and the one Antoine knew as his friend. He too shared their eyes and their nose, but something was different inside of him. A fire birthed from watching his own father play, one that burned inside of him so brightly it blinded him to everything else, even his own son.

He would have walked directly into the flames for the music that came from the guitar, and often it seemed as though he did. He swore every day that it would be the day, and it would all be worth it. He would pass that love onto his son just the way his own father did for him, and he would make it big for all of them. He would be heard. He would be seen. He believed it so truly that every time he played he poured his soul into the guitar like drops of blood, irrevocably staining the wood with passion and desperation that refused to go unrewarded.

Sometimes, when Antoine allowed his mind to take him into the shadowiest corners of his heart, the man even looked like him. Or at least what he imagined his own father must have looked like holding a guitar. His mother had told him his musical skills had come from somewhere, hadn’t she? From the streets of Brooklyn at the turn of the century, from a man whose only existence came from the stories she told and the sadness she carried.

A man who’s smile and who’s charm radiated through the music, so much so that he and it were one and the same, much like two people in the early throes of infatuation. The notes he chose were full of enchantment and physicality, all the better to make a crowd dance or someone fall in love. A faceless man who had given him nothing but the color of his skin and a talent he had to imagine he inherited from him. A man he would have called his father, but whose existence now only called out to him from the faintest combination of guitar strings on a lit stage, surrounded by a cheering crowd and faceless strangers.

In sudden, brief flashes as he played: men who looked like him, like Abe. Men who were an amalgamation of all their fathers and grandfathers. Men who didn’t even allow themselves to dream of anything more, or men who had tried and had failed, pushed down again and again and again. Fathers who had never gotten to see their children play, or children who’s memories of them were scarred with violence or abandonment.

Scores of faceless men who’s stories he didn’t know. Men who had played on back porches or behind screens, rarely if ever exalted for their talent. Only now he had a chance. Are you happy when you’re out there?

It didn’t even seem to matter when he had the guitar in his hands. Not when he was doing this not only for his own family, but for them. For the men who had never been seen or heard. For himself and every time he had hidden behind a piano screen shielded from the glaring blue eyes of white men.

Are you happy when you’re out there?

She had asked him simply as a woman speaking to the man sitting in front of her. Her husband. But he couldn’t answer simply as that man anymore, because he didn’t know how he felt. He couldn’t separate it from the notes that came from the guitar or the lyrics crowding his mind. He couldn’t answer for himself without answering for Violette and Jo too. For his mother and his father, wherever he was or whoever he may have been. For all the men who had poured their souls into the wood so that it vibrated under his fingertips like it was alive.

Are you happy? He couldn’t answer her because he didn’t know; but he knew that when he shook Hosa’s hand at that last stop he had felt something even more powerful than the soft embrace of happiness: pride.

#1935 #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #the darlingtons #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #1930s #Zelda Darlington #Antoine Duplanchier

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diamonddaze01 · 2 days ago

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Hey girlyyyy~ I want to tell you that I love you and your work mwah! 💋

Can we have jeonghan hurt + fluff prompt 47. Be it like a mafia one where he has to make a choice between you or his girl best friend (who he loves dearly)

I'll like seriously cry if U do

the choices we live with

pairing: jeonghan x f!reader | wc: 1.0k prompt: "You have to make a choice" au: mafia au | warnings: blood, injury a/n: hello anon! thank you for the kind words! i did take this in a bit of a diff direction because this is the idea i had but i hope you love it nonetheless <333

Jeonghan stumbled into your apartment just after midnight, the door creaking open with its familiar groan. The sound jolted you upright on the couch, where you’d dozed off hours ago, waiting. You knew it was him before you even turned around—the shuffle of his uneven footsteps, the faint metallic scent of blood carried in the cold night air.

“Jeonghan?” Your voice cracked, half dread, half relief.

He leaned against the doorframe, a crooked smirk on his bloodied face, but even that couldn’t mask how pale he looked. His once-pristine suit was torn, dark crimson staining the fabric. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat and streaked with more red.

“Miss me, sweetheart?” His words were light, but his voice was hoarse.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, rushing to his side. You grabbed his arm and looped it over your shoulder, guiding his staggering form inside. He didn’t resist, but his weight against you was heavy, his body trembling slightly.

“You’re going to ruin my couch,” you muttered as you eased him down.

“Not the first time,” he rasped, trying to laugh, but it dissolved into a pained grunt.

You shot him a sharp glare, the concern in your eyes warring with anger. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

He saluted weakly, his bloodied fingers smearing against his temple. You hated how calm he looked, as if this was just another night in a long line of disasters.

Your hands shook as you rummaged through the first aid kit in the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath. Bandages, antiseptic, gauze—it was all second nature now, like muscle memory. You had patched him up so many times before. Too many.

Returning to the living room, you knelt in front of him. He tilted his head lazily, watching you with a soft, unreadable gaze.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, dabbing at the deep gash above his eyebrow. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

He winced but didn’t pull away. “Careful. I’d hate to lose this face.”

“Maybe if you stopped throwing yourself into fights, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

The words came out harsher than you intended, but you didn’t apologize. The anger bubbling in your chest felt safer than the fear threatening to swallow you whole.

“This is the twelfth time this year, Jeonghan.”

“Is it?” He quirked a brow, wincing as you pressed a clean cloth to the wound. “I stopped counting at six.”

Your hand froze, the cloth hovering just above his skin. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know it’s not.” His voice softened, the smirk slipping from his face.

“Then why do you keep doing this?” You leaned back on your heels, throwing the bloodied cloth onto the coffee table. “Why do you keep risking your life like this?”

He sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You know why.”

You did. That was the worst part. Jeonghan wasn’t just some low-level enforcer or a man who stumbled into the wrong crowd. He was Seungcheol’s second in command, the calm and calculating right hand to the man who ruled the underground with an iron fist. Jeonghan had earned his place by being as ruthless as he was loyal, and Seungcheol trusted him to handle the dirtiest, bloodiest parts of the job.

But where did that leave you?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t sign up to be the one waiting at home while you play the martyr for Seungcheol.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t tell me it’s not like that. I know what you do for him. I know what it costs you.”

His silence was deafening.

“You have to make a choice.” The words came out steadier than you expected, but they landed heavy between you.

“What?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” You stood abruptly, the sudden motion making his head lift. “It’s me or him, Jeonghan. Your loyalty to Seungcheol or your loyalty to me. I won’t keep doing this. I won’t keep watching you destroy yourself.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Blood smeared across his fingertips as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple.” You crossed your arms over your chest, desperate to hold yourself together. “You just don’t want to make the choice.”

His jaw clenched, the tension in his body palpable. You wondered, for a brief moment, if he would fight you on this. If he’d lash out or argue or do something, anything, to prove he cared enough to stay.

But instead, he exhaled slowly and leaned back against the couch. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.

“Alright, sweetheart. Calm down,” he murmured, reaching out to tug gently at your wrist. His touch was warm, grounding, even as it made your heart ache. “You’ve had a long night. Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

“Jeonghan—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice softer now. “Come to bed. Just for tonight.”

Against your better judgment, you let him guide you to the bedroom. He slid into bed beside you, his arm draping over your waist as if nothing had changed. The scent of blood and smoke lingered faintly on him, but you ignored it, too tired to fight anymore.

For the first time in hours, you let yourself close your eyes, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

When you woke, the bed was cold.

The space beside you was empty, the sheets neatly pulled back as if he had never been there at all.

Panic settled into your chest as you sat up, your eyes darting around the room. You called his name once, then again, but the apartment was silent.

Then you saw it—a note, folded neatly on the nightstand.

Your name was written on the front in his familiar handwriting, and as you picked it up, the faint scent of his cologne wafted toward you.

Your hands trembled as you unfolded the paper, your heart sinking before you even read the words.

I’m sorry.

Two words. That was all he left you.

No explanations. No promises. Just an apology that felt like a dagger to your chest.

The tears came quickly, hot and unrelenting, as you clutched the note to your chest. You’d given him a choice, and this was his answer.

He had chosen.

And it wasn’t you.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

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justyoursicanon · 2 days ago

Text

Wade who is used to sleeping on the couch alone, preferring to be alone when he sleeps and has nightmares almost every night in the darkness of his shared apartment

Wade who didn't think about having to share the couch at first after inviting Logan to stay with him

Wade who moves to the very edge of his side of the couch, almost falling because he feels uncomfortable being next to someone again while sharing the same couch to sleep on knowing his nightmares won't ever let him sleep

Wade who finally sits up after hours of being unable to sleep from fearing his nightmares would leave him scarred again and again and even wake up Logan

Wade who almost screams the living shit out of himself when he hears the couch creak and turns to see Logan sitting up, looking as if he hasn't been able to sleep as well

Wade who feels beyond guilty and apologized before attempting to stand up and grab his suit to leave and patrol in the mean time

And Logan, who grumbles and shakes his head, asking him to come back and try to sleep again with his help. Because he has experience with traumatizing nightmares, and he wants to help the man that gave him one last chance in life

And finally Wade and Logan, who carefully curl up against each other and sleep peacefully after a long while

#SiC anon rants #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #wolverine #worst wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett #poolverine #deadclaws

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dayabelle · 2 days ago

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Whatever this is

Pairings: Mha!Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Oneshot!

Shes in her twenties, the night soft with the hum of city life outside her window. She’s dozing on her couch, the flicker of a late-night movie casting shifting shadows across the walls. Then, a faint knock—hesitant but urgent—cuts through the quiet.

She startles awake, blinking into the darkness. It takes her a moment to realize it’s coming from the window. Her pulse quickens as she moves toward it, pulling aside the curtain. There he is, slumped against the frame, his face pale, a gash above his brow leaking crimson. His knuckles are raw, his shirt torn, and the faint glint of pain dances in his eyes.

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Oh my God,” she gasps, fumbling to unlock the window. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tries to smile, his voice hoarse. “Bad night.” But his knees buckle as he climbs inside, and she catches him, her hands shaking as she helps him to the couch.

She doesn’t ask more questions, not yet. Grabbing her first aid kit, she works with a single-minded focus, dabbing at the blood, her voice soft but firm as she tells him to stay still. He winces but doesn’t complain, watching her with a mix of gratitude and something else—something quieter, more profound.

When the cuts are cleaned and the bandages are secured, she sinks onto the couch beside him, her breath shaky. “You scared me,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

And that’s when it happens—the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the way he lets his guard slip just for a moment. She sees him not as the tough, unflinching guy she thought he was, but as someone who’s been carrying too much, for too long.

The hours pass, and he stays. They talk in whispers, his defenses softening as he tells her bits and pieces of what led him here tonight. She listens, her own walls crumbling as she begins to see him more clearly.

By the time dawn breaks, painting the room in soft hues of gold, she realizes she’s falling for him. It’s not just the way he looks at her, or the quiet strength he carries despite his pain—it’s the way he makes her feel, like she’s someone worth leaning on. Someone worth knowing.

The living room is cloaked in a warm, muted glow, the faint hum of the city outside their only soundtrack. He leans back against the couch, exhaustion etched into his features, the adrenaline fading and leaving him raw. She sits close, the first aid kit still on the table, her fingers resting idly on her lap as she studies him. His face is pale, the bandage on his brow stark against his skin, but his lips curl into a faint, tired smile when he catches her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. There’s a vulnerability in the way he says it, a hesitation she’s not used to seeing in him.

“Of course, I did,” she replies, her voice firmer than she expected. “You were bleeding on my fire escape. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

He chuckles softly, but it fades quickly, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t mean to drag you into… whatever this is.”

Her heart twists at the way he says it, at the shame laced in his words. “Stop,” she says, her tone gentler now. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just… I’m glad you came here.” She hesitates, then adds, “I’m glad you trusted me.”

For a moment, silence settles between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. His eyes meet hers again, searching, as if trying to understand why she’s not angry, why she hasn’t pushed him away. The look they share lingers, and something unspoken passes between them—an understanding, a connection that neither of them can quite put into words.

“Sometimes, it feels like I don’t have anyone,” he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Like I’m just… out there, on my own.”

Her chest tightens at his words. “You’re not alone,” she says softly. “Not tonight, at least.”

He looks at her for a long moment, something vulnerable and raw flickering in his gaze. Then, almost hesitantly, he reaches for her. His arms wrap around her, tentative at first, as if unsure she’ll accept the gesture. But she does, slipping into his embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She feels his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but slightly erratic, as if he’s as uncertain about this moment as she is. His body relaxes by degrees, the tension melting away as her arms tighten around him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice barely audible.

She doesn’t reply, just lets her fingers trace soft circles on his back. The weight of the moment pulls them both under, and before long, the rhythm of their breathing syncs, their exhaustion catching up to them.

They fall asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, her head resting against his chest, his arms securely around her. In the quiet of the early morning, with the world outside just beginning to stir, everything else fades away—the worries, the pain, the distance. For a few precious hours, it’s just them, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filters through the curtains, painting the living room in shades of gold and amber. The city outside is slowly waking, the distant hum of cars and faint chatter of early risers drifting through the cracked window.

She stirs first, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the tension she saw the night before melted away in the quiet vulnerability of slumber. His arm is still draped loosely around her, and she can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. She studies him in the golden light, noticing things she hadn’t before—the faint crease between his brows, the way his jawline softens when he’s at peace, the faint stubble catching the light. He looks so different from the man who had stumbled through her window just hours ago, battered and broken. Here, he looks almost... boyish, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

Her heart swells with something she doesn’t dare name yet. It’s too soon, too fragile. But as she lies there, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped over them, she knows she’s crossed a line. She’s fallen deeper than she intended.

He stirs beneath her, his breathing shifting as his eyes flicker open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his gaze darting around the room before landing on her. His expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Morning,” she replies, her own voice quiet. She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him more clearly. “How are you feeling?”

He chuckles softly, wincing as he sits up. “Like I got hit by a truck. But... better. Thanks to you.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t pass out on that fire escape,” she teases gently, though her eyes betray her lingering worry. “What happened last night, anyway?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to his hands. “It’s... a long story,” he says finally. “One I’m not sure you want to hear.”

“I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t care,” she says, her tone firmer than she expects. Her hand brushes his, a small but deliberate gesture. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just... don’t shut me out.”

He looks at her then, his eyes searching hers as if trying to decide whether he can trust her with the pieces of himself he’s been guarding so tightly. After a long moment, he nods. “Okay. Not now, but... soon.”

The tension eases between them, replaced by a quiet understanding. She rises from the couch, stretching and offering him a small smile. “I’ll make coffee. You look like you could use some.”

He watches her as she moves toward the kitchen, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. For the first time in a long while, he feels something unfamiliar—a sense of belonging, of safety.

As the rich aroma of coffee fills the air and the morning light grows brighter, they settle into the rhythm of the day, both knowing that something between them has shifted. They don’t name it yet, but it lingers in every glance, every word, every shared silence. Something fragile, yet undeniable, has begun to bloom.

The week passes in a blur, but she finds her thoughts constantly drifting back to that night. She catches herself glancing at the window more often than she’d like to admit, hoping for another knock, even though she knows it’s foolish. He has his own life, his own battles to fight. But the way he held her, the quiet sincerity in his voice, lingers like a warmth she can’t shake.

Then, one evening, just as the city begins to settle into its nighttime rhythm, there’s a soft, familiar tap at her window. Her heart skips, a mix of surprise and anticipation surging through her as she pulls back the curtain.

There he is, standing on the fire escape. This time, there’s no blood, no torn clothing, no pained expression. His face is softer in the faint glow of the city lights, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. His black hair falls in loose, unkempt strands around his face, framing his sharp jawline and tired eyes. He wears his usual dark attire—fitted black pants, a black shirt clinging to his lean frame, and that ever-present scarf looped loosely around his neck. Even now, there’s an intensity about him, a quiet strength that draws her in.

She quickly opens the window, her voice a mix of surprise and worry. “Shota? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, stepping inside with a fluid grace that feels so distinctly him. His dark eyes meet hers, and the faint smile grows just a little wider. “I just… needed to see you.”

His words take her breath away. She watches as he steps throughthe window, his gaze softening as it roams over her face, taking in every detail like he’s memorizing her. Before she can say anything, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, almost desperate embrace.

Her breath hitches as she feels his warmth, the steady thrum of his heart against hers. “I missed you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I missed your laugh, your voice... everything. It’s been a hell of a week, and I’ve been so damn busy, but I couldn’t stay away.”

She melts into his arms, her hands clutching the back of his shirt as if afraid he’ll disappear again. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence filled with unspoken emotions that hang heavy in the air.

When he finally pulls back, his hands linger on her shoulders, his dark eyes searching hers. “I know I didn’t leave things the way I should’ve the other night,” he says quietly. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About... this.”

Her cheeks flush under his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. “I thought about you too,” she admits softly. Her eyes flick over his face, taking in every detail—the faint dark circles under his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair falls messily into his face. He’s tired, but there’s a softness to him tonight, a vulnerability she rarely sees.

“You look like you’ve been running yourself into the ground,” she says, her voice tinged with concern.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Comes with the job. But being here... with you... it’s worth it.”

She can’t help but smile, her worry easing as his words settle over her. “Well, since you’re here, I guess you’re staying for coffee this time?”

He smirks, a rare glint of humor lighting up his expression. “Only if you’re making it.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart swells as she heads to the kitchen, his presence filling the space in a way that feels both comforting and exhilarating. As the night stretches on, they settle into easy conversation, their laughter echoing softly through the apartment.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels like they’re finally moving toward something real, something they both desperately want but are too scared to name. And as the hours slip away, she knows one thing for certain—this time, she won’t let him go.

The air between them feels different tonight—charged, alive. There’s an unspoken understanding that neither of them cares to question anymore. Labels, reasons, boundaries… they’ve stopped mattering. What’s forming between them has a rhythm all its own, one they’ve surrendered to without hesitation.

She sits cross-legged on the couch, her face glowing under the warm light of the lamp. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders as she gestures animatedly, recounting the absurdity of something that happened earlier in the day. He listens, his body turned toward her, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, but his eyes never leave her. The way her lips curve when she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear—these little things ignite something deep in his chest, a warmth he didn’t know he could feel so intensely.

“...And then I told him, ‘Sure, because cats definitely know how to use a spreadsheet,’” she finishes with a grin, leaning back with a playful toss of her head.

He chuckles, the sound low and rare, like a secret only she’s allowed to hear. “That’s your response to workplace chaos? Mock the guy?”

“What can I say? I thrive under pressure,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep things interesting. Not everyone can be all serious and broody like you.”

He smirks at her, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” But there’s no edge to his words, only affection.

She notices the way the corner of his mouth quirks when he smiles, how his eyes soften in a way that makes him seem less like the stoic man the world knows and more like the Shota she’s come to love. It’s in the small moments—his hand grazing hers as he reaches for his mug, the way he unconsciously leans closer when she speaks. Every touch, no matter how brief, feels like a spark, warm and grounding.

Her heart burns at the realization: He’s here. He’s hers. A man like Aizawa Shota—reserved, rational, and always tethered to duty—is sitting on her couch, laughing at her jokes, holding her like she’s the one constant in a chaotic world.

As if sensing her thoughts, he reaches out, his hand resting lightly on her knee before trailing up to cup her cheek. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes.

She laughs softly, her cheeks warming. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitates for a moment, then leans into his touch, her voice soft but steady. “About how crazy this all feels. How someone like you—” Her words falter, but she pushes through. “—how you’re here. With me.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. “And what’s so crazy about that?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “You shouldn’t be. You’ve got a million things to do, responsibilities that are way bigger than me. But you’re still here.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re mine.”

His expression softens, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leans forward. “I’m here because I want to be. Because you make it worth it.”

The words hit her like a bolt, warm and overwhelming. She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just smiles, the kind of smile that makes her cheeks ache, and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He holds her tightly, his chin resting on her shoulder, and for a moment, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

They stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, their breaths synchronized, their hearts pounding in time. When they finally pull apart, she feels lighter, like something inside her has shifted. They talk about their days, their words easy and natural, punctuated by her silly jokes and his dry quips.

But it’s in the quiet moments between the words—the way his fingers trace lazy patterns along her arm, the way she leans into his side without thinking—that they both feel it. This is more than fleeting. It’s something that’s settling into the marrow of their lives, warming every corner of their being.

By the time the night deepens and the city outside quiets, they’re still together, his arms wrapped around her as they sit in comfortable silence. Aizawa Shota, the man she never expected to fall for, has become her anchor. And as her head rests against his chest, she knows without a doubt—this is where they both belong.

The past four weeks had felt like an eternity. Each passing day without a knock at her window or a call from him had chipped away at her resolve, leaving her with an ache she couldn’t shake. Her mind spiraled into overthinking—was she just a convenience for him? A distraction from his responsibilities? Did he grow bored and decide to disappear without a word? The doubts gnawed at her, and the quiet nights without him felt colder, emptier.

She tried to convince herself she didn’t care, but every time she caught herself glancing at the window or checking her phone, the truth hit her all over again. She missed him. She missed the way he’d smile just for her, the warmth of his arms, the quiet strength he carried with him. She missed him.

Then, on a night like any other, she heard it—the knock. Soft, almost hesitant. Her heart leapt and froze all at once, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. She opened the window, and there he was. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but the moment he saw her, his entire body seemed to give out. He stumbled forward, falling into her arms like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been waiting to catch.

Her breath hitched as she wrapped her arms around him, steadying him. “Shota,” she whispered, her voice a mix of relief and confusion. “What happened? Where have you been?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just held her, his grip almost desperate, as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he let go. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I didn’t want to. I had to go undercover—mission came up, no time to explain.”

She felt the tension in his body, the way his breath hitched as he tried to keep his composure. “You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I was just… worried. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name—guilt, relief, maybe even fear. “I’m back,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters. I’m back.”

She nodded, her heart aching at the weariness in his voice. “You’re here now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s enough.”

They moved to the couch, and the night stretched on as he let everything out. The stress of the mission, the toll it had taken on him, the way he’d thought about her every night he was away but couldn’t risk contacting her. She listened without interruption, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her presence a quiet reassurance.

Eventually, he rested his head on her lap, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers gently threaded through his dark, messy hair. It had grow longer, just how she liked it. The tension in his body began to ease, his breaths growing steadier. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a small gesture of comfort.

But the moment her lips brushed his skin, his eyes snapped open, and he shot upright, their faces suddenly inches apart. Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. His dark eyes searched hers, intense and unreadable, the air between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

She froze, unsure of what to do. The closeness, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through her—it was almost too much. But he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked... conflicted, like he was weighing something in his mind, making a choice.

Her lips parted, a soft exhale escaping her. “Shota,” she began, but her voice faltered.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand rose slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was featherlight but burned all the same. His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, his jaw tightening slightly as if fighting some internal battle.

Neither of them moved, the moment stretching on endlessly. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—just charged, electric. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the intensity of his presence making it impossible to look away.

And then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold back anymore. “I don’t think I can keep holding back,” he murmured.

"... then dont" she smiled, and less then a second later. One last lingering gaze.

The tension broke like a dam, and before she could say anything more, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, lingering, but filled with an unmistakable intensity. His lips moved against hers with a quiet certainty, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. She felt the weight of his emotions in the way he held her face so gently, the way he kissed her like he wanted to memorize the feel of her.

When he pulled back, his gaze was on her, and her breath caught. He looked at her with such raw, unguarded tenderness that it nearly broke her. His dark eyes softened in a way she rarely saw, and there was a quiet vulnerability in the way his thumb brushed her cheek.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost shaky.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare back at him, her heart thundering in her chest. Instead, she reached up, her fingers grazing his jaw, her touch featherlight but filled with meaning.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face against her neck, his arms wrapping around her as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. She felt his weight against her, the way his breath shuddered as he exhaled. His body was warm, grounding her in the moment, and she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into him.

Her back pressed against the couch as he shifted, settling against her with a quiet sigh. His head rested against her chest now, his arms wrapping around her tightly, almost like a baby sloth clinging to its favorite tree. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, her fingers instinctively finding his hair again, stroking it in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re not leaving again anytime soon, right?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his voice muffled but firm. “No. Not if I can help it.”

Her heart softened even further as she leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling while her hands continued their gentle rhythm in his hair. She felt his body relax fully against hers, the tension he’d been carrying for weeks finally melting away.

For a long while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s presence, the world outside forgotten. Every rise and fall of his chest against hers, every small shift of his fingers on her waist, burned itself into her memory.

She smiled to herself, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not as stoic as you pretend to be,” she teased lightly, her voice filled with affection.

He let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly to look up at her. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She laughed, the sound soft and warm, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest disappeared entirely. He was here, with her, holding her like she was his entire world. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

... 5 years before.

They met when they were 18. Their last year of U.A. High.

In high school, they couldn’t have been more different—at least on the surface. She was the girl everyone knew, her warmth and laughter a magnet that drew people in. Her smile was infectious, her kindness unwavering, and she had an uncanny ability to make even the shyest people feel seen. People adored her, but she was never the type to let the attention go to her head.

He, on the other hand, was the quiet one who preferred the background. Aizawa Shota was sharp, observant, and fiercely independent, but he carried an air of solitude that made him unapproachable to most. It wasn’t that he was disliked—he just didn’t care for the trivialities of high school life. He moved through the halls with a quiet confidence, his dark eyes unreadable and his messy black hair perpetually in his face.

But for some reason, she noticed him.

It started with a random moment in their last year. She’d seen him sitting alone under a tree during lunch, his nose buried in a book, entirely disconnected from the buzzing chaos of the school courtyard. Something about him intrigued her—his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed so at peace on his own. On a whim, she approached him, her bright smile disarming him immediately.

“Hey,” she said, plopping down beside him without an invitation. “You always sit alone. Don’t you get bored?”

He looked up from his book, startled by her sudden presence. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no annoyance in his tone when he replied, “Not really. I like the quiet.”

“Well, that’s boring,” she said with a teasing grin, resting her chin in her hand. “I think you need a little chaos in your life.”

From that day on, she seemed to make it her mission to be that chaos.

She started dragging him along everywhere, whether he wanted to or not. Behind the school, where they’d sit on the steps and talk about nothing and everything. To her favorite café after school, where she’d insist on buying him coffee despite his protests. She was the one who developed his taste for coffee, even to his throties ot just stuck with her in mind. To the park, where they’d sit under the trees and watch the clouds.

What struck him most was how, when they were together, everything else seemed to fade away. She didn’t care about his lack of popularity, about what anyone else thought. She saw him—not his reputation, not his stoic exterior, just him. And he liked that.

Then came graduation. The reality of moving on, of leaving behind the little bubble they’d created, hit them both harder than they expected. They promised to keep in touch, but life had other plans.

For 5 years, they drifted. Life pulled them in different directions, their once-frequent conversations growing fewer and farther between. She missed him more than she wanted to admit. And he, though he didn’t show it, thought about her often, wondering if she’d moved on, if she even remembered the quiet boy she used to laugh with behind the school.

Then, at age 23, fate brought them back together.

It was a chance meeting, the kind that felt almost too perfect to be real. She saw him first, across a bustling street, his familiar messy hair catching her attention. She called out to him, her voice cutting through the noise like a lifeline. When he turned and saw her, the surprise in his eyes melted into something softer, something closer to relief.

Then came the nights—the nights when he’d knock on her window, looking like the world had been weighing on him. She’d let him in without hesitation, their conversations stretching into the early hours. Slowly, those visits became a constant, a quiet reassurance that they were no longer just ships passing in the night. The nights they spent in their twenties, every knock on her window.

And as they spent those nights together, something deeper began to grow, something neither of them had the courage to name just yet. But they both knew—what they’d found in each other was far from ordinary. It was rare, it was real, and it was theirs.

But life of course, had other plans. He became a teacher, and became even more busy. And as he grew he started distancing himself. Afraid to hurt her with the reality of their different lives and how it would never work.

7 years later. 30 years old.

In the years they spent apart, both carried the weight of their unspoken words, their unfinished story. She, in the comfort of new routines and distractions, tried desperately to forget him, to put the memories in a box and lock it away. But every time she laughed, every time she saw something that reminded her of him, his name would sneak into her mind like an uninvited guest. Shota—the word tasted like both a balm and a wound. She had tried, for so long, to push him out of her thoughts, but there he was, always lingering, a shadow in the corners of her mind.

It wasn’t that she wanted to forget him. She couldn’t. How could she? He had been her world, once. But she tried to move on—she had to. Her life demanded it. She started to date, to build new connections, but no one ever felt right. The way he’d kissed her forehead, the weight of his hand on her back when he held her close—it was a ghost she couldn't shake. She loved the idea of moving forward, but in the back of her mind, there was always him, Shota.

For him, it was worse. He never stopped thinking about her, not for a single moment. Her name felt like home—a strange, bittersweet home that he couldn't return to. When the memories came, they came like floods. He’d hear her laughter in his mind, her smile flashing in his memory, and everything inside him would burn with regret. Why did I leave her? It was the question that haunted him every night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He had told himself it was for the best, that he was protecting her by walking away. But that reasoning had never quieted the ache in his chest, the guilt that gnawed at him.

He couldn't even say her name. It felt like betrayal. Each time he thought about her, it hurt like a raw wound, and so he buried it—shoved it deep, hoping it would disappear. But it never did. The thought of her lingered, twisted, and became a silent weight he carried with him everywhere.

His friends, even those who knew him best, never dared mention her. They saw the way his face would tighten whenever her memory surfaced, and they respected that unspoken silence. They knew it was better to avoid it, as if talking about her would make the pain real again.

But with every passing year, that pain grew only sharper, harder to ignore. He would see a woman laugh in the same carefree way she used to, and his chest would tighten with longing. He’d hear a song they used to listen to together, and his stomach would flip with a sense of loss. Every memory, every moment spent with her, was a reminder of how much he had left behind.

As the years wore on, he tried to fill the void. He threw himself into work, into missions that demanded his attention, but none of it could distract him enough. Every victory felt hollow. He never dated date anybody, he rarely made friends, so dating anybody was out of the question. None of it filled the space that she had occupied in his heart. She was the one I let go, he would tell himself. And in those quiet moments, he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed her.

But she had moved on, or at least, she had tried to. She built her own life, filled with things and people who were kind to her, who made her laugh. And yet, every time she found herself at a quiet moment, alone, she would think of him. Her heart would ache in a way she couldn’t explain. She forced herself to keep going, but in the back of her mind, Shota was always there.

And now, seven years later, as he knocked on her window, she realized how little had truly changed. He was still the man she had known, and yet he was so different—scarred, haunted by his own regrets, and carrying a pain she knew all too well. And he still had that same power to stir something deep within her, a feeling she had buried for far too long.

She didn’t know what to say, how to make sense of this moment. But looking at him, seeing the bruises and blood, she knew that despite everything—the time, the distance, the hurt—they were still connected in a way nothing else could touch. His presence, even broken and raw, still felt like home. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel that comfort, that quiet longing.

Seven years had passed since the last time their lives had intersected, seven years since he had walked away without a word, leaving her heartache and confusion in his wake. Time had done its work, and both of them had moved forward, building their separate lives. She had her own world now—new friends, new routines, and a heart that had learned how to heal, even if the scar he left behind would never fully fade.

He, too, had changed. He had grown into the man he had always been on the inside—stronger, more grounded, but still carrying the weight of his own demons. He had tried to bury the memory of her, to keep her in the past where he thought she belonged, but the truth was, she had never fully left him. He thought about her often, his mind haunted by the days they spent together—the quiet, stolen moments behind the school, the laughter, the closeness. But he had left, had to leave, because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

Now, at 30, he found himself at her window once again, but it wasn’t a planned visit. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t meant to end up bruised and bloody, his body aching from whatever fight or mission had left him shattered. He had no idea how he found her new apartment, but somehow, some instinct led him to her.

The knock on the window was weak, desperate. He didn’t even know why he was there, why his feet had brought him back to her. He hadn’t spoken to her in so long, had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing by staying away. But now, standing outside her window in the dead of night, all of that seemed like a distant memory, a mistake.

She stirred from her sleep, groggily blinking into the dark room. The night was quiet, almost still, and it took her a few moments to register the sound at her window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him—his figure shrouded in shadow, but unmistakable.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. The figure was different—more mature, older, with a weariness in his posture that hadn’t been there before. But when he looked up and met her gaze, her breath hitched. Shota.

Her mind was still racing, but her body moved without hesitation. She rushed to the window, pushing it open as quickly as she could. She didn’t even say anything; her hands were already reaching for him, pulling him inside. He collapsed into her arms, unsteady on his feet, and she guided him to the couch without a word.

His appearance struck her immediately. His face was older, more defined with the years. His eyes, though, still held that same familiar vulnerability, the same depth she remembered. He was bruised, battered, and covered in blood, but there was something in the way he looked at her—an apology, a quiet desperation, and something more.

She quickly moved to get her first aid kit, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating faster than usual. This moment felt unreal—like they had both woken up from some long, drawn-out dream, and now here they were, face to face, with the years between them suddenly irrelevant. She knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she cleaned the blood from his face.

His voice was raspy, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to come here... I just... didn’t know where else to go.”

Her fingers stilled for a moment, her heart catching in her throat. “I’ve heard this before .... Shota,” she whispered, as if saying his name aloud could make sense of everything. She had thought of him so many times over the years, wondering what had happened, if he was okay, but she never imagined that one day, he’d show up like this.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of regret. “I shouldn’t have left. I just... I was too scared. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only hurting both of us.”

Her heart twisted. The familiar ache from all those years ago surged within her, but now, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. There was too much between them, too much unspoken, but the years of silence didn’t change the fact that she knew him. She always would.

She finished cleaning his wounds in silence, the moment stretching on, neither of them knowing what to say. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a history neither of them had fully processed. She was stunned, and maybe he was, too. They both had changed, but in the quiet of the room, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a simple question, but it carried so much weight—so many years, so many unasked questions.

His eyes flickered with pain, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t mean to drag you back into my mess. But I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t be alone.”

She let out a breath, her hands gently pressing against his shoulders, grounding him. The words were there, but the timing wasn’t right. So, she didn’t push.

Instead, she reached up and cupped his face with both hands, her thumb brushing the bruise along his cheekbone. “You’re here now,” she said softly. “And that’s all that matters.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other—two people who had been apart for so long, yet in this moment, were exactly where they needed to be. The room felt smaller, the distance between them nonexistent. The years, the pain, the silence—it all melted away in that one glance.

And for the first time in seven years, the weight that had hung between them seemed to lift.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heating system, the sound of the snow falling softly outside, and the occasional crack of the fire in the corner. It was winter now, colder than they both remembered, but warmer in ways they hadn't expected.

They sat together on the couch, just like they had so many years ago—before life had pulled them apart, before time and distance had stretched their bond thin. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came with familiarity, with shared history. But now they were different people, adults with lives they had built separately.

She glanced at him, her gaze soft but searching, and couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in him. He looked more weathered, more worn, as if the years had taken their toll on him in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Yet, despite the bruises on his skin, despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he was still her Shota—the one who had stayed in the back of her mind, the one she never truly let go of.

After a moment, she asked softly, "Do you want to go to my bedroom? This couch is too uncomfortable for you." She had noticed how much he towered over her now, and God she liked it.

He hesitated, unsure of how to answer, feeling like he was intruding in some way. His chest tightened with the overwhelming need to protect her, to not impose on her life any more than he already had. But she didn't give him much room to protest. She looked at him again, with that familiar, determined spark in her eyes, and said, "You don’t have to be so polite. Please, just let me take care of you."

With a sigh, he relented. She helped him to his feet, supporting him gently as they walked to her bedroom, the soft shuffle of their feet on the hardwood floor barely audible in the stillness. To anybody else, this would have seemed dirty and inappropriate, but to them, it didn't matter.

Once inside, she settled him on the bed, pulling the thick, warm blankets over them both, a comfort that made the weight of everything outside the room seem so far away. There, tucked under the covers, it felt like time had folded in on itself. The ache from all those years apart seemed to dissolve, replaced by something different, something softer. He lay there, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his body unwilling to let her go, as though he had spent too many nights alone, too many years trying to survive without her.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into his embrace, but tears slipped down her cheeks nonetheless. She didn’t try to hide them. She couldn’t. The years of trying to forget him, of convincing herself that she was better off, were crashing over her like a tide she couldn’t fight. The pain of missing him, of the uncertainty, of the questions that had lingered without answers—it all flooded back in an instant.

Without a word, he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her like he was afraid to let her slip away. She could feel his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. His embrace was like a promise, a silent apology, and it was so familiar it almost made her ache even more.

He held her tight, as though he were afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again, like she had seven years ago. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never should have left you."

She giggled softly, trying to hold back her tears, but they spilled over anyway. “You’re squeezing me so tight, Shota,” she murmured through a watery laugh, her back nearly cracking from the force of his hold. She didn’t mind. In fact, it made her feel more alive than she had in so long.

His grip loosened slightly, but not by much. He brushed his lips against her hair, the quiet comfort of the moment settling over both of them. It was different now, more fragile but no less significant. They were no longer two young people trying to figure out what it all meant. Now, they were two adults, broken by time and life, but still clinging to something that neither of them had fully understood until now.

The snow outside began to fall harder, and they stayed there together, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s company. She played with his hair, the same messy strands she had once found so charming. Her fingers traced the scar under his eye, the one that marked him as someone who had been through battles—literal and metaphorical.

“You’ve changed,” she whispered, her fingers stilling for a moment, tracing the curve of his ear. “But I can still feel you. I still recognize you, Shota.”

He smiled at that, the first real smile she’d seen from him in what felt like forever. It was soft and honest, a quiet acknowledgment of the distance they had traveled, the years they had spent apart. But in that moment, they were closer than they had been in a long time.

“I’ve changed,” he admitted, “but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m different now, but with you, I can still be…me. The me I was with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself from the emotions that rushed to the surface. She leaned up slightly, kissing his cheek softly before resting her head back against his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, finding their way back to each other in the quiet. No more words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said over the years hung in the air between them, but it no longer felt heavy. They had time, now. Time to heal, to find new answers, to rebuild what had been broken.

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had finally found their way back home.

As they lay there together, the world outside seemed so far away, the cold winter air forgotten in the warmth they shared. Her skin, soft and delicate, radiated a warmth that enveloped him in a way he hadn’t known he needed. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against his, the way her heartbeat fluttered gently under his touch, reminding him that she was real, that she was here with him. His hand, which had once been so unsure of where to place itself, now found its way to the small of her back, cradling her as if she might slip away at any moment.

Her warmth, the feel of her skin against his, was a balm to the aching part of him he’d buried for so long. His heart had hurt for years—ever since the moment he walked away—but now, in this quiet space, in the tenderness of her touch, that pain seemed to fade, just for a moment. Her skin was like a living, breathing reassurance, a reminder that some connections never really break. The heat of her skin, soft and comforting, wrapped around him like a quiet promise. It soothed the hurt that had nested in his chest for so long, making him feel whole again in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing her in—the faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was so familiar, so deeply entwined with everything he had ever known and wanted. Her warmth was a contradiction to the chill that had haunted him, a promise that maybe, just maybe, the years apart hadn’t broken them entirely.

For her, the feeling of his embrace was no less powerful. She had spent so much time convincing herself she was fine, that she had moved on, that life had continued in the absence of him. But with him here, with his strong arms around her, she couldn’t deny how much she had missed this—the way his presence filled up the spaces inside her that she had let go empty for so long. His warmth made her feel alive in a way she had forgotten. She felt the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear, steady and sure, like the constant rhythm of a song she hadn’t realized was playing in the background of her life all these years.

But it wasn’t just warmth in a physical sense—it was deeper, something that ran through the both of them like an unspoken thread. He could feel her warmth reaching deep into the scars in his soul, the ones he had left untouched for far too long. Her touch was a healing salve, drawing him back into the present, into this moment with her. Her skin against his felt like an unspoken apology from the universe itself—a reminder that the pain of the past could be soothed, that what they had lost might be waiting to be found again.

As they lay there, so close, so warm, the world outside might have been cold and distant, but inside this room, they were exactly where they needed to be. Her warmth against him made his heart hurt in the best way, a sharp ache that told him they had never been fully apart, that they had always carried a piece of each other. He wasn’t sure if this was the beginning of something new or the continuation of something unfinished, but for now, he didn’t care. Her warmth made him feel whole again, and for the first time in so long, he allowed himself to believe that they might just have a chance to heal together.

Her breath, soft and even, was a lullaby against the storm inside him. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer, as though to make sure she was really there. The ache in his heart, the one that had been a constant companion, started to feel different. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was something new, something raw, but something he could hold onto.

She felt him tighten his grip, his fingers tracing the line of her spine, and she shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the intensity of the emotion that hung between them. She didn’t need to say a word. She could feel the way his heart was in his chest, beating steadily against her. He was scared, just like her. But the warmth between them, the connection they had once shared, was something that no amount of time could erase.

And as they lay there together, he kissed the top of her head softly, whispering the words neither of them had dared to speak for so long: “I’m sorry... I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words, warm and steady like the heat of their bodies pressed together, were all she needed. In the moment, they didn’t need to ask for more. They didn’t need answers. They just needed each other. And in that warmth, wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night, they found a place to heal.

"Shota.."

"Y/n"

She slowly lifted her head from his chest, her breath shallow, her pulse quickening. Her gaze met his, and in that moment, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time: care. Deep, raw care. It made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened as he gazed at her, and it felt like he was searching her face, trying to find the right words, or maybe just trying to reassure himself that this was real—that they were really here, together, again.

She hesitated, her lips parted as if unsure whether to move or to stay suspended in the moment. His eyes never wavered from her.

She felt the pull, the old connection drawing her in, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in slowly, closing the space between them. Her lips brushed his, a light and tentative kiss, soft and almost fragile, as if testing the waters after all this time apart. The sensation of his lips against hers stirred something deep inside her, a flood of memories and feelings that she had kept locked away for years.

But then, as if he couldn’t help himself anymore, he responded. The kiss deepened, and his arms tightened around her. His hand moved to the small of her back, gripping her firmly, pulling her closer until there was no distance left between them. The kiss was no longer tentative; it was full of longing, of need, as if all the words they couldn’t say were wrapped up in every touch. His lips pressed against hers with an intensity that took her breath away, the urgency of his embrace matching the hunger in his kiss.

She melted into him, her body responding to his, her hands instinctively reaching to find his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt as she felt him pull her even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. His warmth, his strength, his presence—it was all consuming, and she let herself be lost in it. The years apart, the pain, the regret—it all faded as their kiss deepened, leaving only the raw, electric connection between them.

When they finally pulled away, both of them breathless, the silence that followed was thick with everything they hadn’t yet said, but somehow, words weren’t necessary. They just stared at each other for a moment, the world outside the room completely forgotten, their hearts both racing. He didn’t let go, his arms still holding her tightly as if afraid she might disappear if he let her go.

And in that moment, neither of them cared about anything else.

The silence lingered between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like a quiet promise that everything was going to be okay, even though they hadn’t spoken the words out loud yet. She looked at him, her heart still racing from the kiss, from the sheer intensity of the moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with sincerity. There was something about the way he said it—like he meant it, like it was more than just a promise. It was a vow, and for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

She searched his eyes, her expression softening. “Please don’t. I... I need you here.”

His hand gently cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. “I won’t leave. I swear,” he whispered, his thumb gently tracing her jawline, the contact grounding her in the moment.

She smiled at him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Good,” she said with a playful, teasing tone, her laughter bubbling up unexpectedly, bright and free. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the simple joy of being around him, of laughing with him in the quiet of the night.

The sound of her laughter filled the room, and it was like music to his ears—familiar, comforting, and full of life. For a moment, he couldn’t help but smile, the weight of everything else lifting as he listened to her laugh. It was like they were back in time, in those carefree days of their youth when nothing else mattered except being together.

As the night wore on, the warmth of his arms and the peaceful quiet of the room made everything feel like it was exactly where it needed to be. She snuggled into him, feeling the pull of sleep wrapping around her like a soft blanket. The last thing she remembered was his steady breathing beside her, his presence anchoring her, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

She fell asleep in his arms, her body relaxed against his, her head resting on his chest once again, just like it had all those years ago. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath her ear, and she drifted off to sleep with a quiet sigh, her mind finally at peace.

And he, too, lay there, not wanting to move, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them. He watched her, the way her breathing slowed, the way she fit so perfectly against him, and he allowed himself a moment to just… be. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the weight of regrets or fears. He just felt... complete.

Soon, his eyes grew heavy, and the warmth of her body beside him lulled him into a peaceful sleep. They both slept soundly through the night, wrapped in each other’s presence, the kind of sleep that comes only when you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

#bnha #mha #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #eraserhead x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa x you

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writingpoorly · 2 days ago

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Jaster absolutely has a Tumblr

Ever since he’d been kicked out of the Journeymen protectors Jaster has been drunk. Drunk and furious. He'd been in the right! Since when was killing a deal breaker for a Mando'ade?

The priorities of the Mando’ade have been misplaced for generations. At that thought, Jaster goes back to his private documents folder and opens the Ori’ramikad’nare document he had been working on since his buir’s death.

He was no lawyer or politician and didn’t specialize in legal documents, but he thinks he’s done a pretty thorough job with it. Granted Mando’a was a straightforward language, unlike Basic. He’d broken down each tenant of the Resol’nare and expanded on how a modern Mando’ade should be expected to responsibly and ethically adhere to the six tenants.

With a reckless, drunken thought, Jaster decides to post it. Being hundreds of pages he didn’t expect any of his followers to actually read the thing, but it didn’t do any good sitting in his files. He’d cited everything so no one could accuse him of plagiarism or anything ridiculous like that.

Nodding to himself he uploads a link to it ensuring that no one should be able to edit it before giving a toast to his buir’s memory and promptly passing out.

Jaster wakes up past noon the next day with a pounding headache and an annoying dinging coming from somewhere near him. Ignoring the lesser issue for now, he gets up to relieve himself and take pain meds before slumping on the ratty couch set into the wall of his ship. He sets a glass of water down on his sorry excuse for a caf table and hope by the time he empties it he'll feel more human.

It takes a few long moments to realize that the dinging sound is still coming from somewhere. Eventually he finds a discarded pad and opens it to discover that the sound had been notifications on his blog. The simple tone he had programmed as the notification sound had turned into a droning noise with the excessive amount of comments and reblogs he was getting on something.

With dread he clicks into it expecting a drunk him to have posted some embarrassing picture or error ridden text post, he’s embarrassed to discover that drunk him had instead posted the ori’ramikad’nare last night. What makes him almost drop his pad though, is the steadily growing number of notifications in his ask-box, dms, and on the post itself.

Jaster quickly turns off his asks and privates his account so that hopefully less dms will come in. He has easily gotten thousands of notifications in the relatively few hours between passing out last night and now.

His comm unit on the table buzzes and Jaster looks at it warily. It buzzes again, somehow sounding like a reprimand and Jaster picks it up cautiously.

[Skirata: Mereel you kriffing dikut!]

[Skirata: What did you do?!?!]

[Skirata: Why is your blog all over the Mando’web?]

[Skirata: You better not be drunk again]

[Skirata: I swear to the Manda I will end you!]

[Mereel: Kal I don’t know what happened]

[Mereel: I posted the ori’ramikad’nare]

[Mereel: Now I have thousands of notifications]

[Skirata: Check the news pages on Mando’web]

[Mereel: I’m not sure I want to]

[Skirata: I will end you, don’t test me]

Deciding to do as he’s told, for a completely unrelated reason to Kal threatening him, Jaster grabs his pad. Ignoring the continuing notifications he opens up his preferred new channel.

‘Breaking News: Anonymous Source Posts Codex Challenging Current thoughts on Mando’ade Culture- Could this verde be trying to gather supporters to become the next Mand’alor?’

Horrified he opens a different news channel.

‘New Mand’alor Posts Manifisto Detailing How They’ll Change Our Culture- Page 234 will shock you’

How is it getting worse? Jaster snatches up his comm again.

[Skirata: You better be checking the news]

[Mereel: Kal what do I do?!??!]

[Mereel: They’re saying I’m trying to be Mand’alor]

[Mereel: I’m not qualified for that??]

[Mereel; I don’t even have a job anymore]

[Skirata: Jaster calm down. Go make shig]

[Skirata: I’m already on my way to you]

[Skirata; We’ll figure out how to get you out of this]

They did not in fact figure out a way to get him out of it. Turns out when you start a cultural revolution in a group largely made up of Bounty Hunters it’s difficult to hide from the people who want to follow you.

Go figure.

#star wars #jaster mereel #kal skirata #haat'mando'ade #true mandalorians #mando'ade #ao3 writer #figured i'd make this its own post

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itacats · 23 hours ago

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Through Sickness & Solace (mini-series)

FT: Price x gn!reader

Warnings: being sick (cold), panic cleaning, not cleaning up while sick (?), please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: The final story in the series will be out tomorrow, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one! Thank you for sticking with me through the journey so far. I also hope you’re all taking good care of yourselves—whether you’re battling the sniffles or just need a little extra self-care. Stay cozy, and I’ll see you at the finale tomorrow!

SUM: A weekend spent in solitude, where illness and loneliness begin to unravel your sense of independence. As the cold sets in, the familiar comfort of being alone turns into a stark reminder of how much you miss the warmth of companionship, especially the presence of John Price. When he unexpectedly returns early from his mission, his quiet care and tenderness help you realize that strength isn’t always about handling everything alone. Through his gentle attention, you come to understand that allowing others to care for you can be its own form of strength.

Simon Riley Soap MacTavish

Take Care of Yourself

The weekend had always been your fortress, a quiet retreat from the noise of the world. You'd wrap yourself in thick blankets, lose yourself in the soft glow of a candle, and sip tea while sinking into the familiar embrace of your favorite shows. There was a certain kind of peace in the solitude, a chance to recharge, to exist entirely on your terms. But as this particular weekend approached, a shadow of old memories whispered at the edges—recollections of childhood nights spent alone with a fever, a blanket tucked up to your chin, yearning for someone to sit by your side.

John Price’s last-minute mission left you with a familiar pang of emptiness, though he’d promised to be back by Sunday. You missed his steady presence, but the plan was clear: you’d dive into the weekend with Netflix as your companion, tackling the sniffle that crept in on Friday evening. You’d handled worse before—what was a minor cold? Armed with ginger tea and an iron will, you resolved to ignore the ache in your throat, savoring the comfort of your own space.

But Saturday dawned with a vengeance. The cold sank into your bones, each sneeze and cough wearing you down bit by bit. Determined not to let it defeat you, you bundled up with a box of tissues, a steaming bowl of soup, and settled on the couch. Episodes blurred together as you cocooned yourself, losing hours to fictional worlds as your own grew increasingly dim.

By the time the afternoon waned, your little sanctuary looked more like a battleground. Mugs of half-finished tea cluttered the table, and the tissues piled up like fallen soldiers in the fight against your relentless cold. You wanted to straighten up, but every movement felt like wading through water, your limbs heavy, your mind fogged with fatigue. The more you stayed curled up, the more the silence around you seemed to amplify, filling the room with an eerie quiet that made you long for Price’s laughter, his calming voice. Alone, the sickness crept into your mind as much as your body, filling the silence with a dull ache.

That evening, as your body curled deeper beneath the blankets, the pang of loneliness returned with a biting clarity. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of isolation settling over you like a second illness. It was absurd, you thought—you had long prided yourself on self-sufficiency. But in this weakened state, it hit you: independence wasn’t quite the balm you’d once believed. You missed the warmth, the companionship, the ease of leaning on someone else. You blinked back the sting of tears, vowing that by the time Sunday arrived, you’d have everything back in order, even if it took every ounce of strength you had left.

Sunday evening arrived in a flurry of tissues and empty tea mugs, and the mess felt like a reflection of your own struggle. You looked around in dismay as the familiar comfort of your home had transformed into a chaotic sprawl of sickness. Fever settled in like a heavy fog, pressing on your senses and leaving you teetering between helplessness and frustration. Driven by a sudden burst of energy, you threw off your blankets and clambered to your feet, determined to clean up before Price returned. But every step was a struggle, and as you reached for a mug, dizziness swept over you. You felt yourself wobble, the room tilting—

Then, a familiar creak. The front door opened, and there he stood, John Price, his rugged face softening with a mixture of shock and concern. His eyes swept over the scene before him—your unsteady figure, the scattered mess, the feverish flush on your cheeks. Without a word, he crossed the room, steady hands guiding you back to the couch.

“Whoa, easy there,” he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. “Sit down. Let me handle this.” His hands were a steady warmth as he pressed you back into the cushions, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made you want to cry.

You tried to protest, a weak murmur of “I can take care of myself,” slipping out between coughs, but the fight was slipping away, and you sagged back into the cushions, allowing him to take the reins.

As he moved through the room, picking up the mugs and clearing the tissues with a quiet efficiency, you watched him through half-lidded eyes. A warm, unfamiliar feeling spread within you, mingling with the fever’s heat. You’d built so much of your life around the idea that strength meant handling things alone, that needing someone else was a sign of weakness. But watching him, hearing the clink of mugs being cleaned and feeling the weight of the blankets he carefully arranged around you, that belief began to unravel. Maybe, you realized, true strength wasn’t about bearing every burden alone.

A quiet sigh escaped you as Price returned, placing a cool hand on your forehead and adjusting the blankets with a gentleness that only heightened your sense of vulnerability. You felt the weight of his presence settle beside you, grounding you, his warmth a silent reassurance.

“Next time, don’t try to be a hero, yeah?” he said, his voice a blend of teasing and concern. His hand lingered, brushing a stray hair from your face, and you managed a small smile, a spark of warmth flickering within. For the first time that weekend, you felt truly at ease, wrapped not just in blankets but in the simple, undeniable comfort of not being alone.

As you drifted off, his voice murmuring softly in the background, the room seemed to breathe with you—a space no longer echoing with loneliness, but instead filled with trust, quiet companionship, and the kind of warmth that went beyond physical comfort. In his presence, the walls of solitude softened, the silence became a gentle hum, and the sickness felt more manageable. You closed your eyes, letting yourself surrender, not just to sleep but to the knowledge that sometimes, strength lay in letting others care for you.

And there, in the quiet glow of the evening, the two of you settled into a new rhythm—a quiet understanding that, at least in moments like these, you didn’t have to face the world alone.

Here's the current post schedule with some upcoming stories to look forward to!

#bt extra #call of duty #fanfic #cod fic #cod #gn reader #john price #price x reader #captain john price #tf 141 #sickfic #sick comfort

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muchosbesitos · 14 hours ago

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RUNNIN’ OUT OF TIME!— miguel o’hara x fem reader

after countless missed dates and hundreds of text messages gone unanswered, you’d grown okay with the negligence from miguel towards your marriage. only coming to your breaking point after he missed your daughter’s birthday.

contents: angst (lol), mentions of divorce, smut, oral (f receiving), ‘just the tip’, unprotected p in v (wrap it 🫵🏼), doggy, ass spanking (like once), orgasm denial, use of toy (m receiving), switch reader + miguel

author’s note: so i know i said i wasn’t gonna write for him (and the atsv fandom’s pretty dead) but the fic’s my baby so i wanted to repost it 🥹

word count: 11k

There wasn't a big A-Ha! moment when you came to the realization that you loved Miguel O'Hara. The words just slipped out naturally the moment he'd said them to you, like they belonged to him alone. Because in all actuality, they only did belong to him. There was no one else you could see yourself waking up to next in the morning. No one else you wanted to spend time with for the foreseeable future. Maybe it was the memories between the two of you that helped you come to the conclusion that you loved him.

From the time that he carried you back to your shared apartment

Your legs wobbled with every step you took on the concrete, the heels you had on digging into the back of your ankle and the sides of your toes. You didn't have to take the heels off to know that you were mostly likely bleeding. "Wait, Miguel. Just wait up a bit," you were trying to catch up to his long strides, failing miserably with each new sting of pain that shot up your foot. You made a mental note not to wear heels whenever Miguel suggested a 'brisk walk' as a date idea.

He looked back to see you leaning against a pole, taking off your heels for some kind of temporary relief before you continued the rest of the walk. Not that you looked too enthusiastic about that either. Though he couldn't have his pretty girlfriend standing on a dirty sidewalk, could he? With what seemed to be no effort, he took you in his arms and resumed the walk. "How bad's the pain?" He looked down at you once he was sure he wouldn't bump into anyone in a three block radius.

You opened up your mouth to speak, about to tell him that it was bearable enough to the point you could still walk, but he interrupted you by saying, "Don't lie to me because you think you're inconveniencing me. Just tell me the truth." The truth was that you were debating on staying on that sidewalk and calling an Uber at this time of night. Not that he needed to know that, though. "It's not so bad now that you're carrying me," you reluctantly admitted, looking away from him.

If at any point during the night he struggled with the task, he didn't seem to show it. He hadn't even cracked a sweat. Somehow he'd managed to maneuver the front door open, setting you down on the couch with the utmost care necessary. "I'm gonna go get you the first aid kit. Is there something else you need?" You shook your head, laying back onto the couch cushion while you waited for him to come back.

He came back, raising your feet before taking a seat down next to you. He put your feet down on his lap, getting an ointment from the box. You wondered just how many things he had in there for these types of occasions. Throughout the couple months of dating, you'd seen him pull out an ointment for ant bites, scratches, and now blisters. "Try to stay still for me, will you?" He murmured, starting to rub the ointment over the exposed skin. His touch was the gentlest you'd ever felt, barely feeling the subtle brush of his fingers.

"Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana," he hummed as he finished applying the bandages, making sure that they were well wrapped before standing up. You made no attempt to stand up from your spot on the couch just yet, letting your feet recover from wearing those heels for five hours straight. "You need some help getting into the bedroom?" He questioned, scooping you into his arms with that same ease as before when you nodded.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, my lady."

To the time that he begrudgingly agreed to dance with you in the rain

"Come on, just indulge me a bit," you stood in the middle of the empty road, extending your hand out to him while the rain poured down relentlessly. "I'll indulge you inside where we don't have any chance of catching a cold," he grumbled from his spot on the sidewalk, trying to appear menacing. He really did just look like a sopping wet cat, especially with the way that his brows furrowed slightly. "Mami, let's go. I'll let you dance with me inside, please. Any song you want, too."

You kept your arm extended to him, waiting. You knew that he was bound to fall for your whims any second. He let out a small groan, pushing himself off the sidewalk before walking over to where you were standing. "If you get sick, I won't hesitate to tell you that I told you so," he intertwined his hand with yours, the warmth from his body a nice contrast to the chill air surrounding the two of you. "Do you know how rare it is for Nueva York streets to be this empty?"

Usually, there was at least a mad man that would be running around the streets. Even in these conditions. But the two of you were alone, streetlights illuminating your 'dance floor.' His reluctance seemed to fade away as the two of you swayed on the street, with seemingly no rhythm whatsoever. "If you wanted to sway with me, we could've done that inside," he pointed out, letting out a small snort. "Just because I said I wanted to dance didn't mean that I promised to be good at it."

He guided you through a slow rhythm, his coordination slightly better than what you would've given him credit for. His feet moving to a silent melody in his head. "I was a chambelán at this quince, they had us practice the routine until we ended up crying or collapsing from exhaustion," he spoke up before you had the chance to ask, "But at least it's given me some pretty gnarly dance moves."

"Hey, Miguel?"

"¿Qué paso?"

"Never say 'gnarly' again. You sound older than what you are," you burst out into little giggles at the scoff that left his lips. "I'll let you know that all the scientific studies I've participated on have shown that gnarly's making a comeback."

"Hey, Miguel?" You were debating on if this was the right time to admit what had been threatening to escape your lips for a while now. All you could do was hope that he didn't think that this admission was too soon.

"If you're gonna ask me about the resources that I have for those studies, I don't have them on me now. I'll get them later, though," you could only roll your eyes at his persistence, a laugh bubbling from your chest. Even as the laugh echoed through the empty street, you weren't exactly too concerned with how loud you were being. It wasn't like it compared to the way your heart was beating against your rib cage, your hands starting to clam up in his grasp.

"No, it's not about that. Not that gnarly's making a comeback either way."

"Mark my words. Gnarly. Will. Be. Making. A. Comeback," he accentuated his words carefully, giving you a mock glare before he continued to speak, "But if it's not about that, then what's up?"

The moment of truth. Maybe this was a mistake. You could feel your throat close up, your movements starting to get a little sloppy. Just tell him. His reaction can't be that bad, right? You knew he had no reason to react negatively but every single worst-case scenario started to run through your head relentlessly. "I love you."

"I love you too," while it was the response that you were expecting, it still caught you off-guard. He held your gaze, showing no signs of regret or hesitation as he whispered those words to you. "I don't think that I've loved someone the same way that I love you," and even now, he had to top off your admission. You weren't sure how much time had passed by while the two of you danced away, all that you knew was that the cold tomorrow was probably worth it. If only to say that you got the chance at this experience.

He didn't say anything the next morning when you woke up with a cough, your skin on your nose starting to get raw from how many times you'd gotten up to wipe it. Even though you could tell that he was itching to tell you, the words practically on the top of his tongue if you had to guess. "I got you some chicken soup," he spoke up after you woke up from what seemed to be your 50th nap on the day, the faint aroma from the soup wafting up your stuffy nose.

Definitely worth it.

And even the time that he'd gone up to receive his award with your lipstick all over his face

"I need my good luck kiss, c'mon," he gently pinched your side, a small laugh escaping from your lips as you attempted to push his hand away. "You'll get my lipstick all over you," you pointed out, remembering that the Chanel lipstick you had on was in fact, not transfer-proof. Miguel didn't seem to care too much though, a grin on his face as he leaned in to kiss you. "At least they'll know that my lady loves me."

You'd imprinted the mark of your lips on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, satisfied by the work you'd done when you looked at it. Perhaps you'd gotten a little carried away. Not that he looked bad covered in your red lipstick, by any means. He was no longer Miguel O'Hara, the world-renowned geneticist with more awards under his belt than he could count. He was simply just a love struck idiot with a grin on his face. A love struck idiot for you.

"What time do the awards start again?" You wiped away the lipstick on the side of your mouth and under your lips, grabbing the tube from your purse to fix it. The last thing that the two of you needed was to hear Aaron's snide remarks about how Miguel was incompetent. You went to hand him a clean makeup wipe, but he rejected the advance. "I believe they started about five minutes ago," he responded, pulling his jacket sleeve to look at the watch adorning his wrist.

"Why are you not freaking out about this more?" You questioned him, panic evident on your voice as you pushed everything inside your purse and moved to get out the car. He put his hand on your thigh, gently rubbing it through the material of the silk dress you'd worn for tonight. "Why are you freaking so much about it?" For someone who valued punctuality, he seemed to be oddly calm in this situation. Well, you supposed there was nothing you could do now that you both were late. You took a couple deep breaths, grabbing the stuff you'd missed when you were in a rush.

While you were busy gathering your bearings, he went around the car and opened the door for you. Extending a hand out to you. He grasped your fingers in between his own, helping you with getting out of the car before he even thought of stepping into the building. "They're about to announce your name, O'Hara. Get in there," Delgato hissed as the two of you walked past him, his head craning up to look up at Miguel. "Maybe if you stopped standing in my way, I might be able to."

You could practically see the sheer anger in Delgato's face as he muttered to himself, moving out of the way nonetheless. "Now I know why you end up so stressed," you muttered, making your way down the stairs to take a seat. The room was a bit packed but the two of you managed to find some good seats in the middle. A couple people turned to look at the two of you but their attention was captured once more by the person speaking up on stage. Something about a drug slowing the speed in which some disease grew.

"And now for our next award of the night, please give a hand to Dr. Miguel O'Hara from Alchemax."

The cameras started clicking immediately as soon as he stepped onto the stage, a couple whispers of how unprofessional he was being being shared around in the audience. A couple thank you's were shared, to his lab colleagues and assistants who all simply just nodded upon being acknowledged, before he delved into what the topic of his research had been about. Well, just enough to keep the audience and you entertained. Even though only a couple of the words coming out his mouth actually managed to stick, you couldn't help but listen intently.

To the way that he described his work, with such passion and dedication. The way that he visibly lightened up whenever he got to speak about something that was fascinating to him. Even with all the talk circulating through the audience, you just couldn't help but be so proud of him. His eyes met yours through the sea of people, a smile on his face as he finished with the summary he'd gone over time and time again in front of the bathroom mirror. "Are there any questions?"

He was starting to get agitated, even you could tell from a distance. Well, it's not like you could exactly blame either parties here. The audience wanted to know why he'd shown up with lipstick adorning almost every corner of his face and he wanted to get asked questions about his research. "Any questions that aren't related to my current appearance?" He decided to ask, and it was almost comical how many hands went down. He answered the questions of those who remained, about five. But all he seemed to care about was having your attention in the audience as he spoke.

And while you'd expected him to win tonight, you hadn't expected this. Having him on one knee while you two were supposed to be celebrating his achievement. "So I didn't really prepare a speech before this or anything. But I was just wondering if you'd give me the second win of the night and agree to marry me," As corny as it was, you found yourself nodding to his proposal. "You mean to tell me that worked?" He asked, hesitatingly reaching over to grab your hand to slide the ring on.

"Yes, you idiot. You're acting like I expected anything more from you," you answered, watching as he slid the band on. It was fairly simple, a small stone perched on the middle of it. Your birth stone. "I promise to make you the happiest woman alive," he murmured against your lips, gently tilting your chin so you'd be looking at him. "You already are," it was your turn to be smooth. He let out a small chuckle, his lips gently pressing against yours.

So how did it get to this point?

To the point of having dozens of your calls and messages ignored, and if there was a response, it'd be a simple one-worded response. Enough for you to want to drop the subject all together. Dates between the two of you were a common occurrence, or at least often enough to the point where you didn't have to spend five minutes wondering when the last one had been. Promises left unfulfilled, accumulating only to be left discarded in the dust.

As much as you tried to resist it at first, you started to grow.. okay with it. It felt almost selfish to ask more of him, knowing how much effort he put into making sure that the three of you had a roof over your head. You were able to get a part-time job, giving you more time to spend with Gabriella. A nagging thought kept bugging you though. You married him for the purpose of having him as a husband, not solely a provider. Maybe you weren't as okay with it as you thought.

Your eye twitched when the last balloon was being filled up. How was it that almost every member of his family was capable of showing up and he wasn't? Even some of them came from Mexico for the week. For all the events that he'd missed, you at least would've thought that he would make some attempt to show up for Gabriella's party. You could see her looking around, with the hope of catching a glimpse of her father. It wouldn't hurt to call his work to see what was so important that he couldn't get off, right?

"Alchemax Industries. What can I help you with today?" The receptionist's bored tone came through the other end of the line after spending a couple minutes on hold, your foot irritably tapping against the hardwood floor. All you could do was hope that they wouldn't send you to another line like the previous five times.

"Hi, I'm calling about one of your employees. Miguel O'Hara. I was wondering until what time he was scheduled to work today," you answered quietly, in attempts that no one would overhear. The last thing you needed were any additional comments from his family about how you couldn't keep him around. You listened as the receptionist on the other side started typing out on their computer, silently thanking them.

"¡Te voy agarrar!" You heard yelling behind you, moving to the side before you ended up getting trampled by a bunch of five year olds. "Okay, sorry about taking a while. So about the employee that you're calling, there's a mistake. Miguel hasn't-" The rest of it fell onto deaf ears, your grip on the phone tightening as you struggled to keep up your composure. "Ma'am?" You heard the receptionist ask after a couple moments of silence. The fact that the call had ended hadn't even registered until a while later.

The words kept sounding through your head as the party continued, despite how much you'd tried to drown them out. With water balloon fights in the backyard with some of the kids, karaoke with Gabriella, and the breaking of the piñata. But you couldn't. Your eyes kept darting over to the door, almost expecting to find Miguel walking in at any given moment now. Though you weren't exactly surprised when it remained shut after the first five times that you'd checked. Everyone was having a good time and all you could do was miss him.

Chatter and laughter filled the atmosphere as you made your way through the penthouse, trying to find Gabriella. She'd disappeared right after the cake was cut with the pretense that she needed to use the bathroom about half an hour ago. And while she did spend up to that in the bathroom, it was only really whenever you gave her your cellphone to play around with. And you knew that none of the kids were playing hide and seek. "Gabi!" You called out, searching for her in the guest room.

The last time you'd seen her, she was busy talking with her tías. Nice women, really. Just too involved in finding out whatever chisme they could get out of Gabriella without any regards towards her feelings or the setting they were currently in. You wouldn't be surprised if they brought up the topic of separation to the poor girl. "Hey, have you seen Gabi around?" You didn't even question why Gabriel was exiting one of the rooms with one of your friends, too concerned about Gabi.

Gabriel wiped some spit from the corner of his mouth, shaking his head. "I'll let you know if we find her," he assured you, trying to hide your friend with his body. Like that'd erase the suspicion. Though you guessed it wasn't the right time to go over the whole 'don't hurt them' spiel. You'd do that when you knew your daughter was safe. "Okay, thank you," you told him, going to look for her in the secret spots you knew she liked to hide. In the laundry room. The library. Out in the balcony.

You stepped inside your shared closet with Miguel, not expecting to find her inside. You only really bothered to check as a last resort. But there she was. Her knees pulled up to her chest with her head buried deep in them, sniffling that was almost enough to bring you down to your knees. You walked over to her, sitting down in front of her before gently pulling her hands away from her face.

Only then could you see the extent of her pain. Her cheeks were tear-streaked and her nose was starting to turn pink at the tip from how much she'd been rubbing at it. "What's wrong, mija?" You wiped away the tears that brimmed at the edge of her waterline with your thumb, drying it on your jeans. All you'd been trying to do was make sure she was having a good time at the party and your efforts had all but flopped.

"Why didn't he show up?" With every little crack of her voice, you could feel a piece of your heart shatter. You knew perfectly well who she was referring to her. Just like you'd been waiting for him to arrive, you caught small glimpses of Gabriella searching hopelessly around for her father. "I don't know. I wish I knew what could've been so important but I don't," you whispered, holding her close to your chest. There wasn't any use lying to her, not when you knew she'd look through it.

"Mami, me duele la cabeza," Gabriella spoke up after a couple seconds, looking up at you. You could only guess. From what you could gather, you figured that she must've been crying at least for the previous half hour. "I can't give you any pills.. but I'll read you a story once you lay down for bed," you told her, helping her stand up from her spot on the floor. Gabriella left the closet to go brush her teeth and get ready for bed, leaving you in the deafening silence of the closet.

"Party's over," you announced on your way downstairs, already imagining the flurry of complaints that would come your way. You knew that if it was up to everyone else, they would find a way to keep the party going until two in the morning. After thanking everyone for coming and sending them home with leftovers that would last them through the weekend, you cleaned up the house a bit. Picking up a couple candy wrappers from the floor and sweeping off the multitude of streamers on the floor.

You'd spent the next hour tidying up the house, cleaning up juice stains from your once pristine white floors. Well, at least Gabriella managed to have a good time. Mostly. You'd almost expected her to fall asleep by the time you went back upstairs, but you saw her peering over at you when you opened up the door. "Alright, what story did you want me to read?" You questioned, stepping over to the library she had in the corner of her room. Naming off the first suggestions that appeared in your field of vision. "Can we do The Little Prince?"

Gabriella scooted over on the bed to let you sit down next to her, listening intently as you begin to read the story. Almost like she hadn't been listening to this story for the previous two weeks. At some point, she'd learned some of the passages from memory and began to recite them from the top of her head. You finished the book, half expecting her to still be awake and wanting another book. But no. Her eyes were shut, her arms tightly wrapped around one of her plushies while her breathing slowed down.

"Que sueñes con los angelitos," you whispered, pushing a couple loose strands of her hair back before kissing her forehead. She stirred in her sleep, her grip on the blankets tightening slightly. You moved when she finally managed to still, putting the book back on the shelf where it belonged. Prepping it for tomorrow. You made your way out the room, making sure to leave her night lamp on before shutting the door behind you. At least her headache hadn't bothered her too badly.

You poured yourself a glass of wine from a trip you'd taken with Miguel to Italy, swirling the burgundy liquid around. Much how your own thoughts were currently swirling around without any clear direction. Not your usual drink of choice, you had to admit. But it was a nice distraction. The subtle glow from the moonlight illuminated the otherwise empty room, the quietness almost too much to bear. There was nothing to distract you from the thoughts running rampant inside your head, each one of them leading to what seemed to be the same conclusion.

A divorce.

Even thinking about it felt wrong, though. You and Miguel made a pact upon getting married—stating that no matter how mad the two of you got at one another, that word would never be mentioned. Not even as a joke. But you supposed that was made during a different time. A time where Miguel wouldn't put his family on the back burner simply because of work affairs. A time where you didn't have to come up with excuses for his behavior.

It wasn't just for yourself that you were considering this solution. But also for Gabriella. His absence was starting to affect her in more ways than you could possibly fathom. Not just today for her birthday, but also throughout the last couple months. You could see the different attempts that Gabriella had made to talk to her dad, most of them ending up unsuccessful. Only leaving her more and more confused. Leaving her wondering what she'd done wrong.

"¡Mami!" Gabriella called out from the other room while you were busy finishing up dinner in the kitchen, setting a separate plate for Miguel to put in the microwave. A nudging feeling that you would find the plate the same way you'd left it running through your head. You walked over to Gabi, spotting her in the kitchen table with a coloring book set in front of her. You were almost impressed by how precise she was at such a young age.

She'd managed to color in the photos without going through the lines once. She was always a bit of a perfectionist though, much like her father. It felt like staring at a reflection of a mini Miguel at times. If only he would try to maintain that relationship you knew Gabriella needed in her life.

"Yeah, what's up?" You wiped your hands on a napkin before taking a seat next to her. Looking over at the design on her book, you decided to commit the sight to memory. It wouldn't hurt to search it up later and use it as a form of gift inspiration for her birthday party coming up. "There's this parent career day tomorrow and I was hoping that you could come."

You wouldn't have expected her to ask you for help first. Given that your job mostly consisted of logistics and paperwork most of the day. The last interesting thing that had happened in the office was an affair between one of the CEO's and an intern. "You sure you don't want your dad to go instead?" Even if it wasn't by much, you figured that genetics would be more interesting than how graph analysis works. Gabriella played with her pens, avoiding looking at you.

"What's the point of asking if he's not gonna show up?" She spoke up after a couple moments, a small sigh escaping from your lips. You couldn't lie to her any better than you could lie to yourself, you knew that much. But you at least had to try. If only to stop that frown from forming on her face. "How about I present what your dad does for work? So it's almost like he's there," Except he wouldn't be. You figured it was a good enough compromise for her though. "But why can't he show up? Do we not matter to him anymore?"

The same question that clouded your thoughts while you laid in bed, arms wrapped around one of his pillows so it wouldn't feel so empty. So you wouldn't be reminded that the stupid California King was too big just for you to lay on it. "We do matter, he's just busy with work. It's how we're able to live the way we do," you answered, trying to keep your answer simple without dumbing it down. She was smart enough to understand. Smarter than you sometimes gave her credit for. "Okay. Your option sounds good."

You'd stayed up well past midnight that night, reading through a couple of Miguel's research papers in some attempt to figure out what you needed to describe. So far, all you had was talking about flasks and the basics of chemistry that you'd learned. Adorning a poster board with glitter also proved to be more work than you would've imagined, the clean-up taking longer than you would've expected. At least it didn't look too bad. Well, just enough to impress a classroom full of ten year olds.

Just the fact that Gabriella wasn't even making the effort anymore was enough to reassure the decision that maybe a divorce was necessary. Even if the thought was still painful to think about. At some level, you still loved Miguel just as much as the first day that you'd uttered those words to him. Just as much as the day you showed up on the aisle to officially intertwine your life with his. But you knew that neither you or Gabriella could be content just expecting the minimum from him.

The front door swung open, a loud groan escaping from Miguel's lips as he stepped into the threshold. His work shoes squeaked against the floors you'd just cleaned as he trudged over to the living room. "Hey, where's Gabi?" His lips barely grazed your cheek when he bent down to greet you, his voice riddled with exhaustion. He took a seat on the couch, his back slouched against the cushions. "She's asleep. Given that it's currently midnight."

You heard shuffling from his side, the bright phone screen illuminating his face. From this angle, you could see the dark circles underneath his eyes. It almost made you regret wanting to even bring this topic up. He squinted, tapping at the screen with his pointer finger to turn down the brightness. "Ah shock, you're right. I missed her birthday," Normally you would've been okay with the fact that he'd even bothered to remember the event he'd missed.

"Where were you?" You questioned, reaching over to turn on the lamp. You felt like one of those detectives in the old movies you'd watched with Miguel, the light dim enough to create an ominous shadow over yourself. "What do you mean? I was at work all day," he responded, rubbing a hand through his face. He was committed to making the lie work, you had to give him that. He even had the Alchemax lab coat and badge on. And under normal circumstances, you might've just let that slide. Like all the other previous instances.

You calmly took a sip from your drink, letting the suspense marinate for just a little while longer. "I called Alchemax. It's funny that you say that, given that their system shows that you quit months ago. So, I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth," you told him, his eyes widening almost comedically. The silence was enough of a tell for you to realize that you had him cornered now. He managed to meet your gaze after a couple seconds, speaking almost begrudgingly, "You called my job?"

You gave him a dirty look, almost surprised that it was what he was choosing to focus on. "Right, right. Not the point," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The silence was almost deafening, the two of you trying to keep things quiet for the sake of keeping some normalcy in front of Gabriella. "She kept asking about you, you know?" You started off, setting the wine glass with a thump before speaking again, "I kept lying to her. Telling her that something at work was more important than you being able to show up to her party."

"I want a divorce." It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and you could almost see the different wheels in his head work. The wedding ring around your finger suddenly felt too heavy, the life that the two of you built together threatening to crash down in a mere matter of seconds just by that single sentence. "The least that you could do now is tell me the truth. Because what I'm imagining right now is that you have some kind of secret family on the down low."

In your defense, what more were you supposed to think? Especially when he's made no effort to tell you anything up to this point? You picked up the wine glass, glancing over at him to see what he'd do now. You'd be lying if you said that you fully expected him to start telling you the truth. But you hoped he did. If only to make you reconsider the idea of getting a divorce. If only to let you sleep better at night.

"Okay. Fine, I'll tell you. Just please.. consider the divorce one more time. Please. And believe me when I say there is no other family," he stood up from his spot, his hands clasped together as he stood in front of you. This was starting to sound dangerously similar to the number of excuses that he'd given you before but you decided on giving him the benefit of the doubt. You stayed silent and he took that as a cue to continue, "I haven't been around because... I'm Spider-Man."

The wine in your mouth poured down your nose, the liquid have gone down the wrong pipe. You coughed, attempting to clear your throat as the words settled in. There was no way that he was being serious. But the way that he was looking at you made it seem like he was. "And I know that it doesn't justify putting the two of you on the back burner but there's a lot of crime in Nueva York and throughout the universes in case you haven't realized." Universes?

Now you were certain he'd either lost it or he was just pulling excuses out of his ass. Probably a combination of both if you had to guess. "You're kidding," you deadpanned, waiting for some kind of indication that this was all just a joke. He flicked his wrist, a string of what seemed to be a web sticking onto the lamp next to you. You reached over, tentatively scooping the substance onto your pointer finger to examine what it was. It was indeed.. a web. You were starting to wonder if you'd drunk too much wine.

Nope. Still half a glass left. You punched the side of your arm, waiting for some kind of indication that you were dreaming. All you received was a sharp shot of pain though. Now all you had left to do was actually acknowledge the situation. Accept the fact that your husband was the self-proclaimed vigilante of Nueva York.

"Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" You managed to ask after the initial shock had died down, clearing your throat. He shifted his feet awkwardly, sitting down next to you once more. "Because I've seen too many instances of this play out. I didn't want any danger to come to you after you found out," he responded, his hands reaching out to hold your own. "But please, trust me. I only have eyes for you. Every single of my absences has been for the better of Nueva York."

It all started to make sense, though. The amount of files scattered on his desk, information on previous villains. A couple comic books from the previous Spider-Man on his bedside table. The awkward disappearances when the two of you were out on the street.

"Please say something," he urged after a couple seconds of your silence, his calloused thumb rubbing small circles on your hand. What could you really say, though? It felt wrong to still be pissed off at him while he went off to save the city, and yet.. you still couldn't find it in yourself to forgive him just yet. "I know that the city of Nueva York needs you. But so does Gabriella. She doesn't deserve to be questioning what she's doing wrong as a child."

He was about to speak up but you quickly interrupted him, "She thinks she's not doing enough. That all those trophies in her room aren't enough for you to be proud of her. I beg of you to find some kind of balance before you end up losing the both of us for good." With that, you downed the rest of your wine before retreating to the kitchen to clean up the glass. You expected him to come back to bed, though you hadn't heard him come in after half an hour of tossing and turning. All you heard was the guest room door being opened.

You were awoken to the sweet scent of buttermilk, all kinds of different alarms going off in your head. The thought of Gabriella burning herself in the kitchen was starting to imprint itself in your brain. It certainly wasn't Miguel. Despite how groggy you were, you quickly rubbed your eyes and made your way over to the kitchen. Niña Bonita welcomed you as soon as you stepped inside, noticing Miguel stirring some batter with Gabriella by his side. At least she wasn't too close to the stove.

"Mi niña bonita, my dulce princesa," he hummed along to the song, gently ruffling Gabriella's hair. You stood at the doorway in silence, a small smile making itself known on your face despite how mad you were at Miguel. Gabriella attempted to push off his hands, but even she couldn't hide how much she was enjoying this time with him. "Mami, you finally got up!" Gabriella called you over once she noticed you.

"When'd you take the time to learn how to make these?" Usually it was you that took care of the cooking. "I'm not completely useless in the kitchen, I'll have you know," Miguel retorted, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. Though you knew better. You could see a couple pancake pieces sticking up to the ceiling. Just how long had he been up to try to perfect this skill for Gabriella? "Take a seat, they'll almost be done. The sous chef's been doing an excellent job helping."

"Papi promised we'd go to the aquarium today, to make up for missing my birthday," Gabriella announced as you were in the middle of pouring syrup onto your pancakes. You had to forcibly stop yourself from reacting, trying to ensure that you wouldn't be having syrup with a side of pancakes. "You sure you can handle it?" You gritted under your teeth when Gabriella went to retrieve her tablet in the living room. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I couldn't. Haven't given you any reason to but have some faith in me."

You raised your brows, waiting for him to realize just how contradictory that statement was. Not that it ever came, though. "Can I stay the night over at my friend's house?" Gabriella piped once she finished her pancakes, all too eager to grab your plate along with Miguel's. You glanced over at Miguel, seeing the resistance on his expression. "Which friend is it?" You questioned, trying to rack your brain if it was something that she mentioned before. "The one from soccer practice, Candice."

After making some calls to Candice's mom to make sure that sleepover was actually something that she was aware of, you gave Gabriella the go-ahead. She practically rushed into her bedroom after the three of you had finished with breakfast, picking out a pair of pajamas and clothes before stuffing them into her backpack. Triple checking it so there would be no reason for room to doubt her preparation. While she was in the shower, you snuck in her stuffed animal. Just as a safety precaution.

The trip to the aquarium was honestly more trouble than it was worth, in your opinion. Parking was nearly impossible, the vein on Miguel's forehead threatening to pop with each turn that he made around the lot. Waiting patiently for whatever spot would open up for half an hour before realizing that no one was leaving. Even Gabriella had started to get fidgety in the back seat, asking Miguel if you all were there yet over and over again. "Just get the valet, I'm sure it won't be that expensive," you suggested, hoping that it wouldn't add on to the frustration Miguel was feeling.

"Wait, hold on," like a beacon of hope, one of the spots opened up just as soon as you said that. Before he had the chance to park the car though, one of the newly arriving guests immediately seized the opportunity and took it before he had the chance. With one slam to the steering wheel, he relented and went over to get in line for the valet parking. "Here, you can watch a documentary on turtles," you pulled it up on your phone before leaving, not that you thought you would have to use it. And just like that, Gabriella immersed herself on what was on the screen.

Seeing the price of valet parking almost made you want to regret ever suggesting at all. Seriously, who charged $50 just for a parking spot? Gabriella let her grip on your phone slip when she was handing it to you, your brows furrowing as you already started to imagine the crack on screen just from the sound it made hitting the concrete. You quickly picked up, pocketing it up before Gabriella started to feel guilty. "Don't worry about it. I was due for a new one anyways," you assured her, holding to her hand while Miguel held her other one.

The three of you were visibly annoyed as soon as you stepped foot into the aquarium, the excitement towards this trip dying down with every single thing that kept going wrong. Not only had it taken half an hour and $50 to even enter, but now, none of the shows were even available? Even the dolphins had gone down with some kind of fish flu. Why it was even so full was beyond you. "Come on, we'll still have a good time," Miguel sounded like he was trying to collectively convince all three of you, offering Gabriella a piggy back ride as compensation.

Gabriella didn't seem to mind it too much, her head raised like she was royalty while perched on Miguel's shoulders. His grip on her legs was tight, assuring she wouldn't fall down. Given that she had a tendency to test herself and lean as forward as she could when one of the fish approached. You'd never seen her this excited about a trip before. You quickly realized the reason for her excitement. Miguel kept giving her subtle facts about each of the different species that you approached, whether from his own brain or the information board put up.

And she held on to every single word that escaped from his mouth, listening to him like he was the most interesting man in the world.

After seeing how full the gift shop was at the end of the tour, you decided to wait outside with a couple other guests. All you could hope was that Miguel would talk to her while the two of them were inside, give her some of that connection that she longed for. She came back bouncing back with a shark plushie— one identical to the one Miguel had gotten you on a prior date. Just the sight make your resolve melt a bit. You glanced over at Miguel, seeing him give you a shrug. "It's what the princess wanted."

Exiting the aquarium was almost as troublesome as entering, a line of cars parked at the exit. Gabriella didn't seem to mind it as much, plotting a story line with her as a mermaid with the shark. It'd been a while since you got the chance to see her be so animated. Throughout the car ride, she couldn't stop talking about how the trip at the aquarium and explaining the exhibits to you in explicit detail. Well, that was until you got to Candice's house. She was quick to leave as soon as she saw her friend waiting outside, her two feet almost too slow to match her energy.

The tension in the air was thick from the moment Gabriella had departed the car but it was much more obvious now that the two of you were stuck in a room together. After making a beeline to go change into a pair of shorts and a shirt—calling it a night, you were surprised to find Miguel still laying on the bed. Idly tapping at his phone with one finger, the faint sound of a Candy Crush! reaching your ears. You figured that he would've left to go monitor the city after spending the day with Gabriella. Maybe he was determined to make it work this time around.

No.

You couldn't start thinking that way just because he bothered to stick around for one evening.

He settled in between your legs, continuing to tap away at the screen. As much as you wanted to protest, you decided not to. From this angle, you could see him struggling with solving level 3976. How much time had he seriously dedicated to this game? Time that he hadn't spent dedicating towards you. Great. Just the thought was enough to piss you off once more. You grabbed your own phone from the bed stand, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes every time one of those stupid family channels showed up. If you had to bet, you'd guess their marriage wasn't that good either.

Miguel looked up at you from his spot in between your legs, with furrowed brows and brown irises practically boring into you. He looked so needy.. so desperate. "Please mamita, I need you. I need to touch you again," he pleaded, his lips leaving a searing sensation as he kissed up your leg. It'd been too long since you'd received any form of intimacy from anything other than your fingers and your vibrator. And while they did get the job done, they didn't exactly offer this kind of foreplay.

He moved the flimsy material of your pajama shorts to the side, kissing the innermost part of your thighs. Your fingers tugged at the strands, trying to pull him to your cunt. With every single teasing breath against the thin material, you could feel yourself clenching around nothing and dripping onto your panties. "Not yet," and the bastard had the nerve to laugh. It was the last sound you heard before you felt a small sting on your thigh, your eyes almost popping out of your skull. When he said he was Spider-Man, you'd been expecting the whole swinging around.

What you hadn't been expecting, however, was a pair of fangs that were almost the same length as your head. Just how far did the extent of these spider powers go? You were thinking of every possibility, unaware that you'd even spaced out. He regained your attention by pulling the waistband of your shorts, the elastic snapping against your skin. "Only thing you have to be focused is on me," he spoke up before you had the chance to say anything, moving to take off your shorts off. You raised your hips, your panties and shorts falling off in one swift motion.

He'd been nothing but desperate earlier, but his touch almost seemed reverent this time around. Kissing up your legs as if you were something to worship, drinking up your gasps as if they were the finest tunes he'd ever listened to. His hands pried your thighs open, leaving you completely exposed to him. Only before he got the chance to lean in was that you got the chance to see just how desperate for this he truly was. His pointer finger ran through your folds, collecting whatever slick had started to accumulate.

"You say you want a divorce but this pretty cunt's telling me a different thing," almost like he was timing it—which he was, he pulled his fingers out of your cunt. A loud squelch echoed through the otherwise silent room, a small groan escaping from your lips. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him hear your moans. "Let me hear you mamita. Let me hear good I'm making you feel," he prodded, his fingers moving in a scissoring motions. You bit on your bottom lip, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

"Eso, no me nieges. Te lo ruego."

Miguel pulled his fingers out of your cunt, his eyes boring into yours as he licked the glistening slick off them. Practically feining to get every single drop. He leaned in to be face-level with your cunt, licking a stripe up your folds before parting them apart with his tongue. "Oh fuck," the moan slipped out of your lips before you had a chance to think better of it, the small chuckle he let out against your cunt vibrating throughout your body. His head moved from side to side, practically engulfing himself in between your legs with his nose pressing against your clit.

Your legs trembled in his grasp, struggling to keep them open when all you wanted to do was close them around his head. You wanted him to stop. You wanted him to keep going. The constant whiplash was enough to make you into a whining mess underneath him, despite your better judgement. "Please," you didn't even make sense to yourself. You weren't exactly sure what it is that you were even begging for. "Shh, it's okay. I'll give you what you need," and yet, he seemed to understand your pleas perfectly.

His mouth closed around your clit, his eyes boring into yours as he sucked on the neglected nub. Your nails dug into his scalp, a groan escaping from his lips. Like a domino effect, that small groan vibrated against your clit which caused you to only tighten your grip on his hair. You bucked your hips to meet his lips, his grip on your legs tightening. "I got you mamita, just let me take my time pleasing you," he murmured, kissing a trail from your inner thigh to your folds once more. His tongue fell flat, licking a stripe up your glistening folds.

The tip of his tongue prodded at your entrance before the wet muscle pushed inside, your juices leaking down to his mouth almost instantaneously. If anything, he didn't seem to mind it. He almost looked like he was in complete bliss. Miguel made no attempt to continue the ploy he'd started with the eye contact earlier, his eyes shut as he got lost in the taste of your essence. "Oh, Mig, Mig, Mig-" Broken fragments of his name escaped from your lips as his pointer finger rubbed small circles on your clit, the dual stimulation enough to have your toes curling.

You reached down to play with your erect nipples, rolling them in between your fingers. The orgasm you were chasing was so close, so attainable. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," every single word from your vocabulary seemed limited. All you could do was repeat yourself and hope that he would get the picture. "That's it, you got it," he coaxed you into an orgasm, your toes curling and your grip on his hair tightening. If anything, he seemed to revel in how you were gripping him.

Every word at the tip of your tongue failed you as you came with a shudder, your release coating his mouth and chin in the process. Miguel eagerly took every drop that you had to give, even going back into your cunt to get anything that he might've missed. You practically had to push him off before he started to eat you out again. While you knew that he could handle it, you weren't too sure that you could. You let your back hit the mattress, basking in the afterglow from your orgasm.

Before Miguel had the chance to finish with unbuttoning his pants, you took the chance to clear your throat. His hands halted their movements, his eyes shooting up to you like a deer caught in headlights. "With the way you've been acting, do you seriously think you've earned the right to fuck me?" You questioned, seeing his expression visibly deflate as he removed his hands from the buttons. "Please. I'll do anything, mi vida. Es tortura tenerte tan cerca y no poder tocarte," it was a rare sight to see.

Miguel prided himself in being above begging. And yet, here he was.

"Go on and lay on the bed for me," your tone offered no room for protests, his steps quick as he went to lay down on the bed. You trailed your hand from his knee to his crotch, cupping his heavy balls in your palm. "Look at me and tell me you have the right to fuck me, if that's the case," you spoke up, looking over at him as your hand switched from one ball to the other. Giving each the same amount of attention. You watched as he opened his mouth, closed it back up again, and repeated the process until he eventually gave up.

"I can't," he huffed out, almost in a whisper. You reached over in your bedside table, pulling out your trusty vibrator. "And why's that?" You asked him, your touch featherlight when you rubbed the vibrator against the outline of his cock. Just enough to give him a taste of what he could have. "Because I don't deserve to fuck you. I know. But I'm still selfish," he admitted after a while, his words barely above a whisper. Good enough of an answer for now.

A shaky groan escaped from his lips when you turned the vibrator on, the lowest intensity almost too painful to bear. Shudders ran across his body as you rubbed the vibrator on the tip of his cock, sliding it down to his frenulum. "Ngh, don't stop," his voice was practically a whimper by this point, his hips bucking to meet your touch. Not that you allowed for that continue for long though. You pushed your thighs down with one hand, his muscles flexing underneath your grasp.

You moved the vibrator to rest against the tip of his cock, precum leaking onto the tip of it. You tentatively brought it up to your lips, swirling your tongue around it as the familiar salty taste overwhelmed your senses. His eyes were locked on yours, his hips bucking up in some miserable attempt to gain some friction. You set the vibrator back on the tip of his cock, a hiss escaping from his lips. "Turn it up."

"What's the magic word?" You shifted to grab the remote, lowering the intensity despite the groans that escaped from his lips. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, if you had to be honest. Well, the closest he could get to that point anyways. "Pl.." he couldn't finish his sentence, a choked groan escaping from his lips. He looked over at you, like he was expecting you to understand. And while you did, you also wanted him to use his words. Hear how pretty he sounded begging.

"P-Ple-nghh."

“Plea-shockk."

"P-Ay mierda."

It was a cruel game you were playing, you were aware. You kept the vibrator at the same speed, raising a brow as you looked at him. "Sounds like you don't really want it," you taunted, deciding to put the vibrator to the highest level possible. Only for a fraction of a second, though. Just as quickly as relief had come for him, it was gone. He let out a groan, trying to will the word to slip out of his mouth. Just one word.

"Please," it seemed like your little show of motivation had finally paid off. You turned the intensity of the vibrator gradually this time around, allowing him to get used to the sensation. "See what you get when you ask nicely," you decided to taunt him even further despite knowing better. You knew your cunt would be paying the consequences for your relentless teasing later in the night. Not like the thought mattered now, though. Not when you had Miguel begging and at the verge of tears just for your touch.

His balls felt heavy to the touch, almost like he was at the point of cumming. You gave both of them equal attention, rolling them in your hand. Miguel's eyes could only clamp shut, his mouth parted. "Please let me cum, so close," he begged so nicely, a couple drops of precum leaking down to your thigh. You could always be generous and let him cum. Then again, the idea of prolonging his orgasm was just too enticing to resist. Each buck of his hips became more erratic, more needy. Before he got to that point of climax, you pulled the vibrator away from his cock.

"I asked nicely," he pointed out, his voice cracking slightly. He scrambled to sit up, almost searching your expression to see if he'd done something wrong. "I'm aware," you simply responded, wiping your vibrator before placing it on the nightstand to clean it throughly later. "I just didn't feel like letting you," you added, waiting to see if he'd offer more resistance. You could see he wanted to say something, but he was holding himself from saying anything. Smart man.

Miguel set a pillow underneath your stomach, your back set in a mean arch as you laid on it. He stepped behind you, his thumb rubbing against your folds before he dipped it inside. Your wetness immediately engulfed his finger, your walls stretching out as he pushed it deeper inside. "What happened to the attitude you had earlier, hm?" He used the same taunting tone that you had, mocking you. A protest died in your throat as the tip of his cock went inside your folds, your head craning back to look at him.

"Just the t-"

"Yes, yes, just the tip. I promise," he cut you off before you had the chance to finish speaking, rolling his eyes. You were already testing his patience by allowing just the tip. He retracted, the tip of his cock an angry shade of red as precum dripped down his shaft. Your walls clenched and unclenched rhythmically, your own body betraying your resolve. He pushed the tip inside once more, keeping it inside your wet cunt. "Please, let me fuck you properly. You're punishing both of us, not just me."

And here you would've figured that his negotiations were reserved just for the state of Nueva York. You shook your head, determined to see this through. "If it's not enough for you, we can just stop here," And how you wished your voice would've come out with more bite. Now you sounded just as needy as he did. Maybe even more. "No, no, it's fine," he was quick to respond, retracting. It was almost painful how slow he was going, almost making you want to give up on this whole argument. Getting stubborn wasn't getting you anywhere.

"Please let me fuck you properly," he pleaded after a couple thrusts, his hands on your hips. Well. At least you didn't have to give in first. "Fine," you tried to sound annoyed, though you weren't convincing him any better than you were yourself. A strangled gasp left your mouth as he bottomed out, your cunt stretched out to the brim. Your walls clenched against his shaft rhythmically, trying to get used to the intrusion. Your hands reached over for the pillow above you, your grip on it tightening as he pulled out.

His skin slapped against your own with each thrust that he made, his grip on your hips tightening. "Don't stop, Mig! So, so good," he'd turned you into a babbling mess within a matter of seconds. "Wasn't planning on it," he responded quickly, each word punctuated with a harsh thrust. You craned your head to look at him, the sight having a new wave of arousal coat his cock. His head was lolled back, his face contorted into one of pure pleasure. You rocked your hips to match his rhythm to the best of his ability, your ass smacking against his hips with every movement.

"Oh shock, slow down," he was mesmerized by the sight of your ass rippling with each move that you made, one of his hands reaching down to cup the flesh. "Not gonna last long if you keep at it," he added, raising his hand before giving your ass a slap. The mixture of pain and pleasure mixed together, your own release starting to approach. "Fill me up, Mig!" You could only whine that out, a groan escaping from his lips at your words. The hand on your ass moved down to your clit, his thumb rubbing on the nub in circles. Fervent circles to match the pace of his sloppy thrusts.

You clamped tightly around his cock, your arousal coming out of you in waves. Your stomach hit the pillow underneath you, your body giving out on you. As soon as you clamped around him, Miguel knew his own orgasm wasn't too far off. With one final thrust, he shot his cum up your cunt. Filling you up like you'd asked. He pulled his flaccid cock out of you a couple moments later, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His fingers pushed back the cum threatening to drip down before he went over to get a wet towel to clean you up.

"It shouldn't take me threatening to divorce you for you to get your act together," you spoke up once you managed to catch your breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead. Not exactly the topic that you would've imagined talking about after sex. But you figured it was important for him to know that just a good lay wouldn't be enough to resolve this issue. He swiped his arm over his forehead, wiping away at nonexistent sweat beads. Something to do while he tried to figure out what to say.

"I know. And I'm sorry that it ever got to this point, I promise that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you how worthy I am to be next to you," he spoke up after a few moments, turning to face you. His hands itched to be wrapped around you, for some semblance of that intimacy that he'd neglected for so long. But he didn't make any effort to touch you. He knew it'd take a while for you to get to that point. The conflicted expression on your face was enough to tell him that you didn't believe him.

And it's not like you were looking forward to starting any issues between the two of you. But with the amount of empty promises and "I'm sorry's", you figured that you'd earned the right to doubt him. You got up, putting up your pajamas in an attempt to divert the conversation. You didn't want to voice that you were worried about him failing to fulfill his promise. "I know you don't believe me, but I promise I'll do my best to prove it to you," he whispered, pulling the blanket over the two of you before exhaustion overtook your body.

Instead of the usual emptiness that you'd grown used to waking up to, you found Miguel laying by your side with his arms tightly wrapped around your body. Like he didn't want to let you go. "I can feel you staring," he mumbled, half asleep as he begun to stir. He kept one arm wrapped around you, bringing the other hand up to his face to rub his eyes. "Just surprised you're not at work yet," you responded, pushing a couple stray hairs away from his forehead. "Well, I'm trying to prioritize my family a bit more."

His promises didn't feel as empty as the ones he'd spoken about before. He seemed determined to bring them into fruition this time around. Or at least you hoped that he would. For you and Gabriella. "I know it doesn't amount to much with how many times I've said it, but I really am sorry for neglecting you for so long. I got so carried away into maintaining the safety of Nueva York that I forgot to maintain my own marriage."

"I know you can't be everywhere at once. Me and Gabriella are aware you have responsibilities but still.. I don't want to have to feel like I'm being selfish for asking for some time with my husband," you spoke up after a couple seconds, looking over at him. Neither of you made any attempt to leave your bed just yet, too engulfed in the temporary state of bliss. "And you won't have to feel that way anymore, I promise."

Maybe things would work out for the better this time around.

#muchosbesitos ✐ᝰ.ᐟ #marriage in trouble trope follows me even now #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x fem!reader

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