#i pour too much angst into cross sorry...

[what-have-i-unleashed]

so uhhhhh long post ahead

(cw: emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, survivor's guilt, if there's anything more please tell me)

underverse-adjacent, so it's cross being in the same team as nightmare and killer only. xchara is there too but his presence does nothing to comfort cross.

cross is touch-starved because he was stuck in the empty world for such a long time, and he also craves interaction with another person. and ink used to be that for him until cross realized he could not depend on ink for his goal (restoring xtale) and he felt somewhat betrayed by that notion. this man has trust issues now, not only with other people but also with himself. can he trust himself to be attached to another person? can he trust his decisions, when his past actions only brought him more grief than they're worth?

enter nightmare and killer, who do not care about the morality of his idea to steal and hack the codes of other universes to create his own. in fact, they're enabling him and xchara, only because their goals intersect. but that is more than anything he could hope for. after xtale, after the situation with ink, finally someone is on his side, silently assuring him that what he's done is for the greater good.

killer… does not like cross, mostly because of the whole xchara thing. but someone has to teach the newbie on how things work around here, and it's not going to be nightmare for sure. so he takes cross under his wings, pointing out how things are done. his teaching leaves a lot to be desired though, mostly because he's a cryptic asshole who just won't say directly what he means.

but as cross gets to slowly hang around killer, being mentored by him, he starts to observe how killer carries himself and feels a nagging thought probing at his mind, a thought definitely not from xchara at all. killer is the only source of affection cross can have in this situation - killer is free with his physical affection, always touching cross like patting cross' head, glomping on him, or resting his arm over cross' shoulders. cross likes these gestures from killer, but he cannot show it because he knows what killer will do upon seeing a weakness. his morality and killer's are different - they shouldn't be compatible.

and yet, that nagging thought gets louder and louder in his head. why does he look at killer too much? why does he anticipate any form of praise from killer? why does he hate it when killer contradicts him? one day, xchara will bluntly tell cross that he has an obsession with that guy. it's exhausting watching cross acting like a complete middle schooler with a crush who adamantly denies it. and like, there's no freaking way, right? there's no way a person like cross can have a crush on a sadistic multiversal terrorist. he has better tastes than that!

and like, cross is partially right. he has better morals than that, but it doesn't stop his soul from latching onto the first person who can offer him some physical and emotion comfort, however little there is. but also... cross likes the idea of killer, because he doesn't really know killer. he's in that queer phase of "do i like that person - or do i want to be them". killer is, for all his flaws, a good soldier. he's dutiful by nightmare's side and an excellent fighter. he's decisive, witty, and scarily smart. everything cross aspires to be, his ideal self. he doesn't want to be unsure, he doesn't want to be scared, he doesn't want to be weak. cross' conflicts within himself are multiple, and no doubt nightmare and killer take notice of that.

cross wants to be decisive and self-assured, but he also wants to be told what to do, to follow someone's will. because he's scared of himself - he's still not processed the guilt over his decisions and actions in xtale. he wants control but he also craves guidance, so if he's wrong, at least it's not his fault this time, right?

and killer would play with his head like that. "it's ok, i can show you", "it's ok, it's up to you", "i'll take responsibility for this". if cross listens to killer, then every mistake is on killer's shoulders and not his. "you don't have to feel guilty, because i will be your sacrificial lamb" type of situation. but also, cross will feel he owes killer for this, and he'll stay, over and over and again and again, despite all the horrible things they've done, despite all the times killer guilt-trips him into doing something not in his morality. but it's okay, because it's killer's hands guiding him to do it, and cross will do it if only to make killer happy with him.

and i think sometimes killer will use his wiles to get cross to agree to be his lab subject. cross has such a fascinating soul, and killer won't mind tormenting xchara for a bit. killer will assure cross that this is just something to strengthen cross, to make him a better soldier. a little bit of praises and surefire conviction will get cross relax in his presence. nightmare sure has found a perfect toy for his bloodhound, something that will keep his interests up and boredom away in the down time.

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.2k

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

warnings: thigh riding, liddol hickey, spittt, groping, dirty talk, name calling, only one spank!!, arguments 🙄, mentions of smoking?, daddy kink, fake sympathy, creampie, little cum play,

summary: jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

a/n: this is for us angst girlies 🫂

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Something is not right.

Your nose picks up on the unfamiliar scent on Jungkook as you bury your face into his chest. He squeezes you tightly, big arms embracing you with a warm hug.

“Hi, love,” he softly whispers. Jungkook cradles your head and you melt into his hand. He is bent down to your position on the bed, his loose tie hanging from his neck.

“Missed you.” Your voice gets buried in the kiss Jungkook presses on your lips. You catch his tie and pull him closer.

“I told you not to stay up.” He leans back. Accusatory eyes peering down at you.

Your nose scrunches when he steps away, the pungent waft snaking up your nostrils.

“Did you smoke?”

His round eyes widen at the question, but he denies it with a firm shake of his head. His neatly styled hair doesn’t move – except the short, wispy flyaways on his forehead. Jungkook’s lips pucker the slightest bit. He appears innocent and you believe him if he tells you so.

“I was with Mingyu a lot,” he explains. He places his folded suit jacket on the dresser and begins to loosen the sleeve of his shirt. “You know how he is when he’s stressed.”

You lean against the headboard. “I don’t like the smell.”

“I know.” He starts unbuttoning the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry.” He walks over to his nightstand and exchanges his Rolex for his smart watch. You watch him with knitted eyebrows. “I’m gonna head down to the gym – do a quick workout session.”

“Jungkook it’s late. You just got home from work.” You reach for his arm.

He turns to you, chiselled chest peeking out from underneath his unbuttoned shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not tired.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Then let me watch you work out.”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. “You stay here.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep for me, yeah? I know you have an appointment tomorrow morning.” His knuckles trace the outline of your jawline.

You sigh and draw back.

“Hey – don’t be upset.” He catches your chin with his fingers. “I told you I was gonna work out today.”

A harsh glower settles on your face. “Well, I thought that meant you’d come home earlier.”

“I tried to, love. I really tried.” His worried eyes search for understanding in yours. “I don’t want you upset. I never want you upset.”

He tilts your chin, so you meet his eyes. Jungkook’s gaze is soft. The amount of softness you’d have if you were staring at a delicate, precious thing. He always looks at you like this.

“I only ever want to make you happy. Nothing else.” His eyebrows raise to stress the tender words he whispered into the room. “Just want to make my wife happy.”

Warmth spreads in your chest. “I know that,” you answer meekly.

Deep down, there’s an overwhelming desire to pour your heart out to him, to express the multitude of things that have been gnawing at your soul, each one a sharp thorn in your side, leaving you utterly upset. But considering how late it is you don’t think it’s the right moment to unleash this torrent of pent-up frustration.

You’re both tired from the useless arguments. You don’t want to make this day any more exhausting for him.

“If you want to make me a happy wife then finish off that workout quickly and join me in bed,” you say. “I need cuddles.”

His eyes crease before a gentle smile sweeps over his mouth. “Good night, love.” He catches your lips in a swift, tender good-night-kiss. “You should shut that thing off. It’s too late for that.” Jungkook regards your iPad with a disgruntling scrunch of his nose. He hates screen time before bed. But you just love drawing on it.

You’d tease Jungkook with it sometimes. Annoy the hell out of him until he’d see no other choice but to put you to sleep his way.

But now Jungkook tucks you under the bed, makes sure to grab his number one enemy when it comes to having you to himself at night and hides in his nightstand.

You watch him slip off his shirt as he crosses the room. You get a glimpse of his broad shoulders and unfairly teeny tiny waist before he leaves the bedroom.

You turn to your side. A tiring sigh flies past your lips.

With two gentle claps of your hands the dim lights in the room shut off.

The spot next to you is empty. Cold.

It’s unsettling how quickly you’ve gotten used to the feeling.

~

The mattress dips beside you.

“Hmm?” You stir awake, emitting confused murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook hushes from behind you. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your head turns in his direction. “Jungkook.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He is a magnet, always pulling you in. Even when you are sleepy and can barely force your eyes open.

His fingers find their way to your hair and in slow patterns he strokes over the length of it.

“What time is it?” you mutter the question into his skin.

“Just past midnight.”

“Two hours?” Your peeved grumble prompts him to peck your bare shoulder. “You said quick workout.”

“I didn’t work out the entire week, babe.”

You rest your head on his arm, glaring up at him. “It’s just Wednesday.”

Jungkook shushes you with a firm squeeze on your hips. “I’m here now. Done with everything.”

When you hear him emit a tiny, exhausted blow through his nose – barely audible in the quiet room, but you notice because you notice every little detail about him – your eyes turn worried.

“You okay?”

Jungkook lets the questions linger in the air before he nods firmly, uttering a, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

You tentatively sweep his short hair from his forehead. It’s a little damp from the shower.

“The day was filled with lots of important meetings. It was a lot today.” Before you can place your hand back on his chest, he catches your wrist and adds a small kiss to the back of your hand.

You figured as much. Jungkook barely texted you back today. Needed hours to respond.

“Was at least the food that I ordered for you good?”

“Fuck – don’t remind me.” He bites his bottom lip, pleasure spreading over his face. “The food was incredible. Have you eaten there before?”

A smile curves your lips. “Uh-huh. Went there with Namjoon last week. I didn’t know when you’d have time to have dinner there with me, so I got my favourite from the menu for you.”

Jungkook has been coming late from work for over two weeks now. You barely had cute dates anymore.

“We can go there.” His tatted fingers toy with the hem of your lacy nightgown. “You wanna go there tomorrow? I’ll finish work earlier.”

Your eyes sparkle. “I’d love to.”

Jungkook’s dimple appear at your beaming face. He drags your thigh over his abdomen, the silky fabric of your nightgown riding up the curve of your butt. His palm rests on the exposed skin.

“Why didn’t you blow dry your hair?” you ask. You tug at some damp strands.

“Didn’t want to wake you.” Jungkook cranes his neck down to gently kiss your forehead. “We should sleep now. It’s late.”

Your brows furrow in exaggerated displeasure. “Not yet.”

“What’s wrong, love?” He cups your cheek worriedly.

“Wanna hang out more.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. “You wanna hang out?”

“You’ve been making me feel really lonely,” you say in a pout.

“Love, fuck.” His hand on the swell of your ass squeezes your flesh. “Don’t say that.”

“You’re barely home.” You get closer to him, if even possible, knee skimming past the front of his grey sweatpants. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin at that motion.

“You really don’t wanna sleep, huh?”

“Nuh-uh.”

You slowly start to grind your hips against him.

“Then let me make up for all the time I’ve been away from my wife.”

You giggle when he draws you on top of him. You straddle his thigh as Jungkook leads your face down to his mouth. It’s an impatient and longing kiss, the type that has your mind bewitched, compelling you into chanting his name in a never-ending rhythm.

Jungkook rids himself of his sweatpants, tossing them to the ground with his feet.

Your hips continue to move on his now bare thighs, moving your kisses from his lips to his neck. He doesn’t like having marks on his neck, but you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you start sucking on his skin. Just merely a second after, Jungkook pulls at your hair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he questions with a sharp gaze.

“Having fun?” Your desire to leave a little hickey might also stem from media outlets starting to question why Jungkook and you haven’t been spotted together recently, but you’d rather not admit that. You don’t want him to think that you care about public perception, even though Jungkook is very well aware of it all. You just like to pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You just can’t wait for the photos tomorrow when you will show up in a cute outfit with Jungkook holding your hand, a small love bite adorning his neck after not making a public appearance with him for a couple weeks.

He sniffs a laugh. “Just can’t help it, can you?”

“Never.” You bat your eye lashes.

His hands are on your waist, encouraging your slow movements. He bunches the soft material of your baby blue nightgown in his palms, staring at your clothed pussy.

“I can feel how wet you are for me.” His eyes move with the motions of your hips, a gentle smirk capturing his lips. “What’s gotten you so worked up, babe?” He flexes his thigh, coaxing a gasp from you.

“You.” You’re already a little breathless, his heartbreakingly handsome face fuelling the deep desire of needing more.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Have I not been taking care of my love? Hm?” Jungkook asks you in mock sympathy.

You nod, pressing your palms against his ripped chest while your hips grind a bit rougher on his thigh.

“I’m sorry.” He traces your bottom lip, gentleness coating his words. He pops his finger into your mouth, making you suck on it. You swirl your tongue around it until he withdraws his finger, sneaking it in your panties and pressing it against your sensitive clit.

A whine flies past your lips at his touch, moving even faster.

“You’re gonna cum for me like this?” He starts circling the pad of his thumb on your clit.

Arching your back, you lean in for a kiss, uttering little moans of his name against his lips. You can feel the smug smirk on his mouth, can feel his possessiveness in the way he squeezes your ass and hear it in the loud smack that echoes through the room after his palm collided with your butt.

When you feel the pleasure exploding within you, you bury your face into Jungkook’s neck. Your body trembles. Jungkook tilts his head and gingerly pecks your temple, hands skimming over your back.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Jungkook puts you on your back, tugging off your panties and carelessly throws them away. He does the same to his pair of black briefs.

You watch him spit on his dick and stroke his hard cock while you get comfy on the pillows. Jungkook rubs his tip over your soaked pussy, leisurely pressing his dick inside when his head is against your entrance.

“Fuck, I missed your pussy.” He wraps your legs around his waist, staring at how your pussy takes his entire length.

As he moves his cock, his hand raises to your head to tame your chaotic hair. You pucker your lips a little and he instantly answers your silent request with a smooth press of his mouth against yours.

“Want your vibrator?” he asks.

“Too sensitive.” Your nails graze his back, your feet keeping him close to you.

Jungkook pushes your silky nightgown past your tummy and over your tits. He loves watching them bounce as he thrusts his cock into your pussy. He gropes them, toying a little with your nipple as he swipes his spit over your nub. His eyes are practically glued to the supple swells on your chest.

Until he finds something prettier than your tits. Your face.

He wears a boyish smile on his face when you meet his gaze. You bite your lip, pleasure and giddiness swirling through you.

“Taking my cock so well,” he praises. “Such a good slut for daddy.”

You gulp, teeth sinking further into your lip.

He lowers his head, pulling your earlobe between his lips before he whispers, “Right? You love being a good slut for daddy.”

Chills spreads over your neck and you manage a meek nod as loud whines escape your throat.

“Use your big girl words,” Jungkook demands. “Tell me whose girl you are. You can do that, can’t you?” His voice turns sweet again, though the taunting glint remains in his eyes. Your pussy foolishly clenches.

“I’m daddy’s girl,” you utter with bright eyes.

Jungkook flashes you his dimples. Excitement spreads in your tummy at his approval.

“Open,” he instructs and you part your mouth. He drops a tiny bead of saliva in your mouth. With one hand around your throat, he feels you swallowing it. “Good girl.”

He pushes the back of your thighs towards your body, picking up on his speed.

“Jungkook,” you moan weakly.

“Gonna fill this pussy with my cum.”

He pounds you faster, harder, filling the room with filthy sounds.

“I’m close,” you mumble, fingers clawing at the bed.

“Cum with me,” he rasps.

Jungkook grunts your name and you feel yourself topple over the edge as his tip kisses the sweet spot inside you, repeatedly hitting it until your hands fly up to his shoulders and nails dig into his skin.

His hips still, painting your pussy white. Jungkook plants slow kisses on your collarbone, trying to catch his breath.

When he pulls out, his cum follows, but he pushes your mixed juices back inside. You moan lightly, tapping your feet against his back to tell him to get you something to clean you up.

But Jungkook remains on top of you just a little longer. “You did so good,” he whispers. He catches your left hand and pecks the ring that adorns your finger. “I love you.”

“Love you,” you mutter back, a tiny, exhausted smile curving your mouth.

“Forever.” With a doting kiss he conceals the promise he has been making to you for four years.

Getting off the bed, he puts on his briefs and disappears into the bathroom to fetch a warm cloth. When he returns to clean you up, he is gentle with you, peppering kisses on your tummy and thighs and flashing cute smiles your way as he does it.

With his sweatpants and now dirty cloth he walks back into the bathroom.

“Have you thought about costumes for the Halloween party?” you ask him.

“Halloween party?” His voice ricochets through the bathroom.

“Chanyeol’s Halloween party,” you remind him as he saunters back into the bedroom. The grey sweatpants hang dangerously low on his hips. “Wanna go through my Pinterest board? I collected some cute ideas.”

He grabs white lacy panties from the dresser. “It’s in two weeks?” Jungkook helps you slip on the new panties, ducking down to press a light peck on the little bow sitting on the centre of it. “I’ll see if I can find the time.”

You look at him puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook rakes his hand through his messy hair. “You know I’m extremely busy at the moment.”

“But we always go to Chanyeol’s party.” You reach for his hand, tugging him closer to the bed. Disappointment pulls your lips into a pout.

Chanyeol’s Halloween party is always big, extravagant and ridiculously dramatic, but that is exactly what makes it fun. You love extravagance. Love dressing up.

Jungkook’s finger brusher over your dainty ring. “You can still go. You don’t need me to go with you.”

You drop his hand with a frustrated huff. It’s not the response you wanted to hear. “Missing out on Jimin’s birthday last week wasn’t enough?” you ask disdainfully. A bit mean. You don’t care.

“I’m not doing it purposefully.” He levels you with reproving eyes. “I wish I could’ve come.”

You tuck your feet back underneath the blanket, pulling it up to your lap. “Just squeeze in a little time for the party.” You almost add a “please?”, but you’re feeling terribly annoyed; the kind that makes you unconsciously clench your jaw and pull your brows so tightly, they practically touch.

“I’m not going to schedule around a silly Halloween party, ___.” His tone drips with irritation.

“Fine,” you reply, scooching back on the bed. “Don’t know why I even bothered.”

“Love.” It’s a futile attempt at taming the sudden raging anger that crawled up your neck.

“You’ve been doing this constantly, Jungkook.”

He still stands in front of the bed. Tongue poking his cheek as he debates his next words. He swipes his hand over his face, sighing into his palm.

“You don’t understand,” he grumbles annoyed.

“I know you don’t.”

Jungkook scoffs at your reply – even wears a crooked, ridiculing smile. An angry flush appears on his cheeks.

“Let’s not do this before bed,” he suggests. Tiredness is written all over him.

We’re already in the middle of it. But you keep that to yourself. You don’t have the energy for a bigger fight. He’s drained it from you from all the fights the nights before this.

“I don’t care anymore,” you say. “Shouldn’t have asked you anyway.”

Jungkook turns off the little lamp on his bedside table before he gets into bed. You turn your back to him.

Your heart is heavy with confusing emotions as you lie there in silence. You almost feel your eyes well up with tears, but you blink them away as soon as you feel them.

“Want me to accompany you to your appointment?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

“No.” Yes.

“I’ll start work a little later.” Jungkook’s hand sweeps across your tense shoulders. You must’ve unintentionally stiffened at the mention of your gynaecologist appointment. “I know you’re a little anxious.”

As sleep gradually embraces you a little later, you try to pull back every time invisible strings tug you closer towards Jungkook. You don’t want to sleep in his arms this night, but your heart stubbornly ignores what your mind wants.

Your silent resistance eventually ends, surrendering to the inevitability of your limbs becoming entwined with his. Your cheek is pressed against his chest and his nose is buried in your hair while the soft cadence of his heartbeat finally lulls you into a deep slumber.

This is just the way Jungkook and you function.

Yet, despite your efforts, small seeds of doubt continue to sprout up in your mind, making you question just how much longer you can tolerate this.

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[iheartmapi]

Vicious

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: After Spain’s match against Germany, Alexia injuries her knee. Having to take a health break from playing irritates her, Y/n tries to cheer her girlfriend up to no avail, they fight and Alexia leaves…she’s gone for a long time so you go looking for her.

Angst with happy ending.

TW: crude language, degrading language about oneself, ACL injury

Word count: 1,691

The sun was setting slowly behind the city landscape, the warm tones slowly turning into various shades of violet and dark blue almost reminded you of the way Alexia’s mood drastically changed after her ACL injury.

You stood in the kitchen of your shared house, occasionally looking behind you to see your moody girlfriend sitting on the couch in the living room, her injured leg perched up on a small stool, you were making some tea, the electric kettle buzzing, two cups were on the counter, for Alexia’s tea you had went with a blend of chamomile and lavender, it was advertised as “calming” and that’s one thing she definitely wanted right now.

As the kettle got done with heating the water up you swiftly poured it into the cups. You carefully put them on the coffee table and finally sat down next to your girlfriend. The silence went on for maybe like two minutes..during the few past days it felt as if you were walking on eggshells around her, you turned your head to look at her and smiled even though she wasn’t even glancing in your direction, only looking into emptiness with her brows furrowed and arms crossed almost like a small child that didn’t get its candy. “Hey, don’t worry so much I’m sure you’ll heal quickly, why don’t you drink some tea-“ You were about to finish your sentence but Alexia opted to cut it short “I don’t want tea right now” Well that was rude…but you shouldn’t be so hard on her, after all you knew how difficult dealing with this injury was for her, so you kept on trying, trying to cheer her up. “Oh…well how about we see what they’re playing on the TV? We can always watch some show or movie or anything really-“ Alexia sat up straighter, irritation clear in her eyes “Can you quit it with the tea and TV? Or better, just quit trying to cheer me up, it’s annoying” she barked at you, “Alright, Jesus…sorry for wanting to be nice” you answered calmly but it was evident that you were offended and perhaps getting annoyed with how unapproachable she was being lately.

“”Nice”? For fucks sake Y/n! Do you see my leg? I’m useless, and I’m supposed to be a ball of sunshine just because you want it?!” She waved her hands around like a maniac “But why would I expect you to get it” she scoffed, you turned to look at her again your eyes narrowing “Seriously? Am I some subtype then or something?“ Alexia looked away, running away from your gaze that was demanding an explanation “I didn’t say that” she answered more quietly now “You kind of did though” you argued, “Oh my god can’t I just live in peace for one goddamn minute?! Here you go again, making a problem out of nothing, it’s like this every time something isn’t in tip top shape…it’s tiring Y/n, I swear you’re so difficult for no reason” that kind of hurt, you were appalled by her outburst “It’s not my fault, don’t you think it’s hard for me as well? Especially when-“ You bit your tongue before you could finish that sentence, maybe it was true and you were really making a problem out of nothing..but you had your emotions too, and Alexia shouldn’t be expecting you to be fine every time she gets enraged like this.

“Especially when what?” She repeated your words, her tone sharp, you took a breath not wanting to answer that, “Especially when what Y/n!” She said once again, this time nearly yelling, “Especially when you’re such a vicious bitch everytime you’re mad!” Quietness fell upon the both of you, before Alexia suddenly got up from the couch, slowly though as to not make her leg worse..but even for her it was clear how hasty she was trying to be with her moves.

“Where are you going?” Your eyes were trying to run after her, she waddled towards the front door “Doesn’t matter” she fumed, you didn’t follow her at first, but as you heard the sound of jingling keys you stood up as well and rushed to the front door, surely Alexia was leaving.

“Alexia?” Confusion crossed your face, and then worry and regret for your earlier words “Alexia come on! I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!” She didn’t answer your pleas, and just left…you sighed as the door closed.

She was a grown woman, you couldn’t just stop her from leaving the house if she wanted to..you sulked onto the carpet beneath you, hands covering your face, why the hell did you say that? You were definitely too rough on her..but at the same time what were you supposed to do? There was nothing you could do now, you were just going to wait for her to come back home, after all she couldn’t be out for too long, especially with a leg like that.

So here you were now, sipping on your tea as you sat and welled in your own sadness, eyes glancing at the empty cup on the coffee table that was supposed to be Alexia’s..It’s been probably three hours now, and there were no signs of life from Alexia, you picked up your phone; the lack of messages or missed calls from your girlfriend was no surprise to you, you picked your best friends number, Mapi, you had to talk to someone when there was no one in this empty house filled with bitter tension.

“¡Hola, tía!” Mapi’s voice echoed from the other side, “Hey” you answered, a small smile on your face, which was heard in your tone but the overwhelming sadness took it over, Mapi could easily recognise that, “Is everything alright? You sound very down in the dumps” you weren’t sure how to answer, eventually you just sighed and told Mapi about what happened earlier with Alexia.

“And then…she just left the house, it’s been three hours I’m starting to worry, I mean- what if she like fell down and hurt herself even more or something?” You said “You know how she can be, I’m sure she’s fine, she can’t stay mad at you forever Y’know?…especially not you” Mapi said with her cheery voice “I have to go and look for her” you answered seriously “Have you seen her? Do you know where she can be?” You then added, looking for any kind of answer for someone in reasonable humour “Nah…sorry, just be careful ok?” The girl attested “Yeah..I promise I’ll be” the two of you said your goodbye’s and you hanged up..you grouched, trying to think of ANY place Alexia could be right now.

Then one thought came rushing to you like an arrow, what about a specific football pitch she always went to after lost matches? You figured; if she was gone for so long, and you didn’t know where she was then it wouldn’t hurt to drive there and see for yourself.

You literally bolted to your car, and just drove…fifteen minutes passed and you arrived at the spot, the football pitch was set in the outskirts of the town, here it was quiet for a change, the sky was now dark since so much time has passed…as you looked around the place you could understand why this place brought a sense of comfort to Alexia.

Through the tall fence you noticed a figure sulking on one of the benches, as you entered the pitch, it became apparent to you that it was Alexia..thank god you thought first, at least you knew she was safe.

You sauntered over to the bench, the melancholy, regret and anger all mixed together into one confusing combination hanging in the air.

The two of you didn’t say anything for now, instead you just sat yourself next to her on the bench, once again Alexia’s gaze was far and blurry she was just simply staring nowhere. “Alexia…” you kept it quiet not wanting to cause any more arguments today. Finally, your girlfriend looked at you with something else than annoyance and silent resentment.

“Please, let’s go back home” you asked half-whispering, her chest rose as she took a deep breath, it’s like she wanted to but didn’t at the same time, maybe going straight to the point wasn’t the first option, there we’re definitely some things the two of you needed to say to each other. “I’m sorry…I know it’s hard, I know how useless you must feel right now..I really just wanted to make you happy, I hate seeing you like that..that- that I’m just willing to try anything to make it better” you started, Alexia turned to you at once her eyes almost glassy “I’m..I’m sorry too Y/n I just don’t know what came over me..I guess the irritation took over me, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you” she answered “I don’t know why I did that, but I just…I don’t know, it’s my whole life, and now with this stupid knee I’m just stuck home, and I just feel like I’ve got no other purpose” she almost teared up, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into an embrace “Alexia…you know that’s not true” you whispered “Injuries happen, you’ll get back to playing in no time I’m sure” you added, a quiet sob was heard, it was unlike her to be so vulnerable…but you appreciated that she was able to show that side of herself with you.

Pulling away, you placed a kiss on her temple, “You’re right, let’s go back home” she said wiping the traces left behind by some tears with her sleeve.

You got up and offered her your arm, she took it and the two of you slowly made your way towards the exit of the pitch.

“I’m sorry I called you a vicious bitch”

“No, don’t apologize, you were right then…I guess I was a bit of a bitch” she smiled

“I’m sorry for calling you annoying” she then added more seriously

“You were being honest then too” you grinned as well and the two of you chuckled.

“I guess we’re a good match together”

(Thanks to @kshvue099)

[sturnina]

Please. — c.s.

― tags;; angst with a sprinkle of fluff, aftermath of an argument, happy ending

― wc;; 901

― author's note;; feel free to take inspo, just tag me if you do and don't copy the entire thing + english is not my first language, so i apologise for mistakes <3

Chris Sturniolo doesn’t beg. Ever. For one, it’s not necessary; he can get what he wants without having to plead and implore for it. And he thinks it’s degrading, to show weakness through words that, in the end, don’t mean more than should he simply ask for something.

That is, until he finds himself outside of your front door on a Tuesday night, in pouring rain, a pathetic bouquet of flowers drooping in his hand. He’s holding onto it like it might pull him out of this situation, like it’s the last thing preventing him from breaking down right now, right here, on the porch of the house where the love of his life lives.

His thoughts are running wild, circling around the same moment again and again, and he wonders was this a bad idea? Is it too early? Should he come back later? Are you going to let him in; are you even going to look at him?

And then, in one swift motion, he does it, he rings your doorbell. He wishes he could say he nonchalantly leaned against the wall, holding the flowers like a gentleman, smiling at you, when you opened the door, but the truth is, he’s stiffly standing in the middle of the porch, now both of his hands clasping around the bouquet. The second he hears the doorbell inside of the house, he regrets it, and wants to turn around, to run back home. Matt and Nick don’t even know where he is, he should just…

You open the door.

Despite the reserved expression on your face, his shoulders slump with relief. You look him up and down, seeing the drooping flowers, the rain dripping off his jacket and hair, his pitiful expression.

“…Hey,” he finally croaks out.

Sighing, you cross your arms. The door isn’t fully open as if you were ready to close it any second.

“What do you want?”

Chris straightens his back and holds his flowers up. “To apologise,” he says a little timidly.

You arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He clears his throat and lowers his hands again as it doesn’t seem like you’re going to take the flowers just yet.

“I was stupid. I am stupid. I should’ve known how much it meant to you. How badly I hurt you, I mean. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. I was busy with filming, I was tired, and exhausted, and…”

He sees your stern expression that seems to get colder with every word of his explanation, and quickly clears his throat.

“And that is not the point. The point is, I’m so sorry for forgetting about our anniversary date.”

“You didn’t just ‘forget’ about it, you ignored me the entire day! I tried calling you how many times, seven? I was worried!” you say, another wave of emotion bubbling up in your chest.

Chris internally flinches at your words, but he knows it’s all true. “I know,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “I know, I’m an asshole, I worried you without reason, I hurt you, but can I come in? We can- I don’t know, we can watch a movie, order pizza- or sushi, I don’t care…” He holds out the flowers again, a helpless, pathetic gesture.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. “I’m tired, Chris,” you mutter. “I’ve been up all day, and I spent half of it worrying about or being mad at you.”

“For a reason,” he quickly adds, “I just think-”

“Chris.”

He stops and just looks at you.

“Not today.” You go to close the door, but he is quick to stick his foot in between the frame and the door.

“Please.” He sounds so pathetic, so weak, and you know you shouldn’t give in, you want to let him drown in his guilt just for a few more hours.

“Please, we don’t have to talk. I just want to cuddle, we don’t need to watch anything, just please let me in, let me try to make it better…”

He holds up the flowers a third time, and you can’t resist anymore. Hesitantly, you take the bouquet out of his hands and let the door handle go. He immediately opens the door wider, scared you’ll close it immediately again. But you don’t, you step aside to let him in.

The relief that washes over him is visible in the way his posture straightens the second he steps over the threshold into the warmth of your house. It is visible in his eyes, in the way he quickly scans your face to evaluate whether you’re still mad — which you are, by the way — and the way he immediately goes to hug you. The movement is clear but slow, giving you a moment to back off. But you don’t, and his arms embrace you. Chris buries his face in your neck and holds you tight, almost scared to let you go again.

“I’ll organise another date,” he promises, “tomorrow. Twice as good as the one we’d planned.”

“Twice?” you ask, your voice slightly muffled through the fabric of his hoodie.

“Three times.”

You can’t help but giggle slightly at that. Because, despite your cold attitude toward him, you missed him, and you’d been missing him the entire time. Still, you know you’re not going to let it be that he ignored you for an entire day.

masterlist

[hyuckswoman]

mark and you arguing pt2

pt1

genre: angst then fluff

summary: after rain comes sunshine, he finally listens.

pairing: mark x y/n

“good morning” you say to your boyfriend as you pass through the kitchen reaching into a cabinet to take out a glass 

last night had been tense, because of the argument you had a really hard time sleeping, waking up every five seconds. it didn’t help that your boyfriend was the exact same, the only difference between you two being the guilty look on his face

you wanted nothing more than to tell him to forget about it and just cuddle him to sleep because being mad at him or more like emotionally tired wasn’t easy. yes, he fucked up but he’s still the greenest of green flags ever and you just love him too much so being apart with all those angsty feelings was taking a toll on you

but you decided to stand your ground nonetheless, it couldn’t be like every other time where he swooned you with his words and you ended up forgiving him. he had to learn. and even on your end, it’d be fucked up to put yourself through this. so when you woke up this morning with no one next to you, you decided to not care. turns out he was just in the kitchen though

“good morning lovely, i tried to make breakfast, i couldn’t so i went and bought some, your favorite of course, i’m just reheating it right now, juice is in the fridge by the way” your boyfriend greeted you, his back facing you (which you 100% guarantee is because he’s shitting his pants and hopes the tension eased) 

it did not though

“not only did you call me bitchy yesterday, you also said some dumb ass thing about if you were with her.. mark you’re not dumb you damn well that it’s going to take more than breakfast to ease things with me, don’t piss me off so early in the morning please” you said pouring water into your glass, getting out of the kitchen. you and mark took pride in your communication skills, so you weren’t giving him the silent treatment more like you didn’t want to be in the same room as him right now because him acting as if nothing happened pissed you off even more 

the guy was going to have to practically beg for you to be okay with him again 

“..i know, and i’m sorry” mark sighed as he joined you in the living room with the food he bought earlier hoping that despite you not being happy with him, you’d still eat cause no matter how bad the situation is, it’s important to take care of yourself! 

“like i said yesterday, i heard you mark but you know.. actions speak louder than words, until we’ve reached a point where she won’t ever be the cause of a disagreement there’s always going to be some sort of tension” you said as you reached for the food. yes, the food wasn’t an enough apology but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it 

“i know, that’s why i’m going to see her later today, set some real boundaries, tell her off kind of because i do really- and i’m not just saying this to please you or whatever, she has crossed some boundaries that she shouldn’t have so yeah maybe her and i aren’t as close friends as i thought we were” your boyfriend says pouring your favorite juice into your now empty water cup 

first of all, you did appreciate your boyfriend doing all of that (FINALLY!!) but you weren’t going to explode with joy because of him doing the bare minimum 

second of all, your boyfriend is just as much in the wrong as she is. and you debated on telling him that he should also self reflect but decided that you truly wanted him to realize it without you spelling everything out to him 

so you just hummed to the news, finishing up your breakfast heading upstairs while your boyfriend cleaned up and got ready to meet his friend

external pov? 

“hi markie” his friend said as your boyfriend took seat in front of her 

“did i make you wait long?” he replied. despite him not greeting her, her smile grew as she realized he cared about her enough to worry about her time 

“no don’t worry i just got here, anyway you wanted to talk?” she asked in anticipation, it was probably going to be good news (although good news for her meant bad news for you) she hoped your guys maybe broke up or something 

“yea and i’m going to talk for a while so please do not interrupt me” he asked as she nodded eagerly waiting for the breakup news to drop 

“i wanted to talk to you about yesterday, or every single hangout we’ve done ever since i started dating y/n. like i said, y/n and i are dating and i truly think she’s the one so i want to do everything in my power not to fuck it up. and that includes you stepping over boundaries that you shouldn’t step over seeing as though we’re friends. i think last night made me realize how odd? you were around me, how your hands lingered on me maybe a bit too long for a friend, or how you cut off my girlfriend when she was trying to talk, how you made backhanded comments towards her and look, i'm not asking you to like her but she's my girlfriend and she deserves some respect and i'll choose her over you in the blink of an eye. that’s why i’m choosing to put some distance in between us, at least until i’m 100% sure your behavior won’t be the same” mark finishes his rant, his fingers playing with his ring, dreading his (impulsive) friend’s reaction

“ain’t no fucking way you’re being serious right now mark, i’ve known you my whole life and you choose some random girl over me?” his friend says angry that not only you guys are still together but he’s dropping her for..you?? 

“if you don’t have anything respectful to say about y/n i’ll just leave clearly you’re not listening” your boyfriend answers, his patience getting tested 

“no, you don’t get the last word i do. you want to drop me for her? fine. i’ll do fine without you mark but what you cannot do is put the blame all on me. yes, i’ve been inappropriately acting with you but it’s only because you allowed it. each time i thought i was maybe reading too much into the mixed signals you were giving me you reassured me by apologizing because- in your own words - she was being irrational. mark, you are as much to blame as i am and i won’t sit here and let you shift the blame entirely onto me because you allowed me to flirt with you, which is something you would’ve never done if you loved your girlfriend as much as you say you do. and for the first time ever, i do hope you guys break up but not because i want you to myself but because she deserves better than you. fuck you mark” his friend says leaving the café leaving a dumbfounded mark. 

i mean she wasn’t wrong, if he had set clear boundaries from the start she would’ve never flirted with him. your boyfriend started to wonder if that was perhaps the reason why you weren’t THAT enthusiastic this morning when he told you he’d make things right.

so the whole drive home, mark’s head was clouded with thoughts that mainly centered around him being the biggest asshole ever, not only from the words he told you yesterday but also from the way he’s been acting all this time. and it saddened him that he put you through all of that. 

it’s with a heavy heart that he entered your shared house, silently praying god you weren’t going to realize that you do deserve better than him (which he knew was selfish but didn’t care) 

« so… how did it go? i don’t know what you told her but if it’s the same thing you told me this morning I’m guessing she didn’t take it very well » you say watching your boyfriend enter the house 

you guessed it must have went sour judging from the gloomy face he’s making and how deep in thought he seems to be. You didn’t like his friend but you know he liked her very much so you hoped that she said something along the lines of ‘yes i understand and i’m sorry, i’ll respect your boundaries better in the future and i’m hoping we can still be friend’ to salvage their friendship but at the same time you weren’t a fool and you knew that it realistically could never happen 

« it didn’t go super great, we’re not friends anymore but you know in retrospect it’s not a huge loss she wasn’t as good of a friend as i believed she was » you boyfriend started sitting down next to you on the couch 

you wondered what was up with him though, he looked genuinely devastated and it worried you to see him in such state 

« then what’s up? i wouldn’t usually pry and instead wait until you open up to me, but mark i’m concerned you look… sad. and i know we’re in a disagreement right now but i still sincerely believe that you’re the love of my life so i hate to see you upset » you say as your boyfriend slowly lifts his head and looks at you with glossy eyes before his first tear shed 

you immediately hugged your boyfriend rubbing his back as he mumbled through tears about how you deserved better, which you were confused about where it came from, so when his tears quieted down you looked at him waiting to explain

« she just… she said something about how we’re both in the wrong and it upset me because she’s right and she made me realize it instead of me realizing it on my own.. and she said you deserved better and at first i thought whatever she’s just mad i don’t care but she’s not wrong. You deserve better than a boyfriend who lets his friends flirt with him and who dismisses you and acts as if their friend is correct. i’m not trying to victimize myself or manipulate you with my words i’m just really sorry that i’ve been such an undeserving boyfriend and i selfishly don’t want to let you go when maybe i should so, please, give me another chance and i’ll prove to you that i can be the boyfriend you deserve. i swear i’ll be better just please don’t leave me » you boyfriend says. 

you were honestly kind of taken aback by every single one of his thoughts. you did feel a little guilty at first but that quickly went away when you remembered why you guys were in this situation in the first place. 

« listen, like i told you i’m not mad. i was just tired of you not listening to me but it seems like you’ve heard me this time even though i wished it had not gotten that far. i love you and i do not deserve better than you, you fucked up but i fuck up all the time as well and even though i did not picture the end of this situation with me reassuring you, it does not mean that you’re manipulating me, you feel guilty and that’s normal because you messed up but we’ll move past this. it’s a little bump in the road. and i sincerely think that if this situation has taught us anything it’s that we shouldn’t listen to your friend, ESPECIALLY when she says you’re not good enough for me. now dry your big boy tears and let’s go watch a movie yea? all is better don’t worry anymore » you told your boyfriend. 

you really meant your words, everything that mark needed to learn from this he learnt, you knew him well enough to guarantee that you won’t ever be put in a similar situation ever again and that this whole mess kinda made your boyfriend grow up a little? 

plus you were never one to hold grudges, so finally calling this fight over to cuddle and watch a movie with your highly sensitive, still borderline crying boyfriend was quite an easy thing to do. And even though you told him it was okay the next billion times he apologized to you during the following days, it did not stop him from spoiling you with gifts, kind words, actions etc.. like the man shoved all five love languages down your throat and even though it wasn’t necessary, it was always nice and made you feel loved.

that’s why in retrospect, you were (kinda) glad this whole thing happened and he was glad he learnt how to be better for his pretty girl. 

[paigebuckets6]

Number One Pick

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x reader

Genre: Homoerotic friendship, cheating, smut, angst + comfort ending.

Summary: You want Caitlin to pick you over her boyfriend Connor, just once.

Warnings: Smut with plot! Fingering, name calling/pet names, teasing, mild degradation

The game against Chicago Sky was close.

Caitlin had been booked and busy lately, playing 11 games in 20 days. This was the second game you were able to attend in person, as the only other had been her very first game of the season.

During the third quarter, you watch Chennedy Carter knock Caitlin to the ground while waiting for an inbound pass. You scream "flagrant foul!" with the rest of your section, but the refs declare it an away-from-ball foul.

It doesn't end up mattering anyway, though, cause the game ends 71 to 70.

The crowd is roaring, and you're cheering as loud as you can, watching the pride all over Caitlin's face. This was Indiana Fever's second win of the season, so you can't help but grin like an idiot at Caitlin and her teammates all celebrating on the court, high fiving, and yelling.

After Caitlin finishes her after post-game interview, she picks you up into a bear hug, her eyes lit up with happiness.

"We won!!! I missed you so much y/n"

Caitlin buries her face in your neck and her hands linger on your waist for a few seconds longer than necessary before she puts you down. You smile at her, patting her back.

"Yeah, I saw!! You did so good"

Caitlin rubs her arm absent-mindedly,

"I'm tired as hell.. I think my ankle hurts from earlier, too."

You just smile, and grab her bag from her.

"Come on, I parked outside"

Normally Caitlin drives, but you know she's exhausted from tonight, so you drive. She falls asleep in the car, and while you're stopped at a stoplight, you watch the way her hair's fanned out prettily on the headrest. Her eyelashes are dark, creating crescent shadows under her eyes. She looks so tired, the dark circles much more prominent than you remember.

You pull up to Caitlin's hotel- you're staying with her for a few days. She's been lonely lately, and wanting you to come visit. After her game tomorrow against New York Liberty she'll have a few free days until her game against the Washington Mystics on the 7th.

You're shorter than Caitlin- most people were, considering she was 6'0, and certainly not as strong, so you can't pick her up in her sleep, but in this moment you wish you could.

"Caitlin, we're here"

She blinks groggily and gets out of the car, and you make it all the way upstairs before she just flops onto the bed.

"Ugghhhh.. sorry y/n, I know I asked you to come stay, but I'm just so wiped..."

Caitlin groans into her pillow as her phone starts blowing up with notifications. During games she keeps it off, but now that she's at the hotel and connected to wifi, everything's pouring in.

"Probably just Twitter covering the Carter foul.. bullshit"

She turns over onto her side, looking at you.

"Yeah I saw that, what the hell was that foul??"

Caitlin rubs her arm again and you scoot closer to her on the bed, checking for a bruise.

"Nothing, you're good- and man, maybe they'll reevaluate?"

Caitlin just kicks off her shoes, chucking them closer to the door.

"They asked me about it during the post-game interview.. whatever, honestly, we still won."

Just then, Caitlin's phone rings, high and shrill. Connor's name flashes on the screen, bold and large.

"Who- oh him"

She ignores the call, flipping her phone over.

"I'm gonna take a shower- hopefully I'll be less dead after that and dinner"

Caitlin walks away then, not bothering to even give her phone a second glance, as she pulls clothes out for her shower.

Around 20 minutes later you hear the water turn off and she comes out of the bathroom with her hair wet, in nothing but a tank top and shorts.

You shift your position on the bed at the sight of her, crossing your legs at the feeling.

Caitlin presses a knee into the mattress and stands with her arms out.

"Come here, I'm sleepy"

Your heart wrenches a little, you're sure you're half in love with Caitlin- and how could you not be. Whatever this is between you two, you refuse to label it as just friendship. You wish you could.

Even still, you crawl over and hug her waist, breathing in the scent of her fresh shampoo. Her head rests on top of yours, water droplets hitting the back of your shirt.

"You should eat something-"

You say, your words slightly muffled by her chest and shirt. Her hands are in your hair, tangled in the strands, combing gently.

"Yeahhhh.. about that"

Caitlin tilts your head up to look at her, her fingers cool under your jaw. You feel her switch her weight to her other leg, sliding her knee between your legs.

Her brown eyes are dark, desire dilating her pupils, and you feel yourself longing for her more than you'd like to admit. You feel the pull in your stomach and subconsciously your hands grip her waist a little tighter as you stare at her.

You know what's gonna happen, even though you've told yourself over and over again to not let it happen. To just be friends, to set some boundaries, because she's got Connor and you can't just keep doing this, that she'd never pick you over him. But you just can't find it in yourself to hold back right now, the want too much.

Caitlin kisses you hungrily, hands on your face, and she pushes you over onto the bed, hips straddling your waist.

You moan into her mouth, hands pulling her in. You squeeze her ass as she adjusts on top of you.

"Take this off," She demands, and you take off your shirt quickly.

Caitlin just raises a brow, unhooking your bra for you, and sucks your nipple immediately, fingers kneading the other.

"Oh Caitlin-" You clutch at her hair as her hands continue to roam over you, pulling off your sleep shorts.

"You're so wet for me.. just waiting for me to do this huh?"

Caitlin's face is cocky, playful smirk playing on her face. Her fingers dip into your wetness, circling your clit, and she smirks wider as your hips raise slightly at her touch.

"Did you touch yourself thinking of me when I was away? Been my little slut?"

You moan at her words.

"Yes..." You admit.

"You like it when I call you a slut? My slut?" She asks, pressing kisses right under your jaw.

You moan a yes out as she pushes two fingers easily into you.

"Look at that, taking me so well"

Caitlin's going at a quick pace, her palm rubbing against your clit. You're gonna come fast if she keeps this up, and you feel it building in your lower stomach.

"I'm- I'm gonna come.. Caitlin"

You arch your back as she continues to hit your g spot roughly.

Caitlin grabs your face, making you look at her again.

"Come for me, I wanna hear you say my name y/n"

"Fuck Caitlin.. Caitlin.." You moan her name as you climax, finishing all over her.

She sucks her fingers when she takes them out, and you pull her down into a kiss.

"Wait, what about Connor?" You whisper, giving her an out, even though you know that's never stopped her.

"Who cares about him-" She says, panting slightly, too busy chasing her own high as your fingers dip into the waistband of her shorts.

"Fair-" It's your turn to smirk, even though the temporary win is bittersweet.

You find her clit easily, her underwear soaked.

"You made me feel so good, baby." The term of affection slips out by mistake, but she doesn't seem to notice as you kiss down her neck.

"Come on y/n, make me come-"

Caitlin's demand is cut short when her phone rings again, and Connor's name flashes on the screen for the second time.

"You gonna pick that up?" You tease as she sits up, looking at her phone. Your fingers are buried inside her, curling to hit her g spot, and you can tell she's warring with herself, even on top of you.

"I- uh-" Caitlin's moans are breathy, her hips rocking into your thrusts.

"You should answer, tell him who's fucking you"

You're being a little mean, annoyed at yourself for letting yourself get swept up in her again, annoyed at his existence, she doesn't even love him- so you tease her further by pulling her down onto you again.

"Fuck- I.. I can't.. I'm gonna come y/n"

Caitlin's moaning into your ear, her hand still clutched around the phone, the call ringtone loud and annoying, just like Connor himself.

"I want everyone to hear who's fucking you like this, cause it ain't him-"

"Y/n... oh god y/n" Caitlin comes, her body flush against yours. You bite her as she does, leaving a pretty hickey smack in the middle of her neck that she'll have to cover up later.

The call goes to voice-mail, and Caitlin's phone sits forgotten beside you two.

Caitlin gets off you, refreshed grin on her face.

"That was good.. UGH.. I guess I'll have to call him back later-"

You're not surprised, this is common. You wonder if you should say something, if you'll finally have the courage to tell her that this is the last time, that you can't keep doing this because you like her more than you should.

"Is it always gonna be like this Cait?"

You ask her, watching her run some water on a towel to throw to you, as per usual.

"What? It's just sex y/n" Caitlin avoids your eyes as she replies, pulling a shirt on.

"You're my best friend, it can't just be sex- he doesn't fuck you like this, doesn't make you feel like this!"

Caitlin's stepping into her shorts, her eyebrows knit together.

"He tries! And I don't know.. we're just friends..."

She trails off, like she's unsure of her own words.

You can't believe she wants to keep avoiding how she feels,

"Who was there at your first game of the season? Who was on call after every game after, debriefing with you? It wasn't him!"

"Y/n.."

You keep going as you throw on clothes of your own, suddenly feeling vulnerable naked in front of her.

"We act like girlfriends, in every sense but the title- we do everything together, we have sex, we call every night- do you even love him? You know this is more than sex."

Caitlin's standing up now, hand on her forehead.

"I... I don't know if I love him.. but I'm not gay! Or at least.. not-"

"What, not for me? Do you hear yourself??" You scoff at her.

Maybe it's too much, everything that's been going on, because Caitlin bursts into tears.

"Cait-" You say, lost for words as the tears run down her cheeks. She hates crying.

"It's too much.. being out here alone, not playing with Kate, Jada, Gabbie- being the rookie.. dealing with Connor.. and.."

She wipes at her eyes, looking at the bedspread as she tries to get out her next words.

"And how I feel about you- I know it's not fair to you that I'm still with him"

Your heart physically aches at her confession and you tap the spot on the bed next to you, placing her phone on the bedside table.

Caitlin hides her face in your chest, arms clutching you tightly.

"I'm sorry y/n"

You soothe her, stroking her hair,

"Shhhhh.. it's okay Cait"

She looks up at you, pushing herself upright.

"No, you're right.. it's not.. I thought if I kept trying to like him, that it might happen- and if I tried hard enough, maybe I'd feel even a fraction of how I feel around you, around him."

You move the hair out of her face, wiping away her tears.

"I get it" You say, as she continues.

"You're more than my best friend.. it'd be stupid to say this was just sex.. I don't want to lose you"

Caitlin's clutching your hands, and you want to believe her, to believe in you two.

Her phone rings again.

"It's Connor" You say softly.

There's determination in her eyes now, a fire you hadn't seen before. She takes the call, swiping across the screen.

"Hey I can't talk, I'll text later" Caitlin says briskly, before hanging up. You smile wide at her, despite yourself and the situation, and she smiles back.

"I'll dump him, I'm gonna make this right.. you're my number one pick y/n.. I swear it"

Caitlin's eyes are wide, solemn and honest. You believe her.

The clock on the wall reads 1 am and the tiredness hits you like a wave. You know she must be exhausted too.

You say softly,

"Why don't you start by cuddling me and sleeping?"

Caitlin's eyes light up at your words, relieved.

"Okay, I can do that"

Caitlin settles under the covers, and you feel yourself falling asleep as you kiss her forehead.

Guess she really would pick you over him.

---

Authors Note: I know I usually write for Paige but I've been wanting to write a fic with this concept and couldn't make Paige work. Hope y'all don't mind the change, Paige fic coming soon.

[daisymbin]

34. "you made me believe in us." scoups/jeonghan with happy ending

(p.s. i love that you’re doing these and theyre so good too 🥹/ side note: i chose 34 out all the angst prompts cause it seems like it would hurt less 🥲 idt id survive the rest because the one line alr hurts)

omg you softie 😿 thank you for your kind words & for requesting!! i chose cheol if thats okay with you! if you would still like jeonghan's vers. do let me know!!! hopefully I did it justice 🫶🤍 here's situationship!cheol 🥰 this one's a bit longer then usual, sorry about that 😅

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

angst prompt #34: "you made me believe in us."

the car ride home is quiet—too quiet.

seungcheol’s knuckles are white where they grip the steering wheel, his jaw set tight, and his eyes fixed on the road ahead. you sneak a glance at him, your heart sinking at the tension radiating off him in waves.

“cheol?” you ask tentatively, your voice soft. “what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t answer, his lips pressed into a thin line.

the silence stretches on, and the pit in your stomach grows heavier. you know something’s bothering him—he’s never been good at hiding his feelings—but no matter how much you try to reach out, he keeps shutting you down.

by the time you both get home, the air between you is thick with unspoken words. he walks in ahead of you, kicking off his shoes and heading straight for the kitchen without so much as a glance in your direction.

“cheol,” you call out again, following him. “seriously, what’s going on? you’ve been like this all night.”

he doesn’t respond, just pours himself a glass of water and leans against the counter, staring into the sink.

“okay, fine,” you say, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. “if you’re not going to talk to me, then at least tell me what i did to piss you off.”

his head snaps up at that, and for a moment, you see something raw in his eyes before he quickly looks away.

“it doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

“it does matter,” you insist, stepping closer. “cheol, if i did something wrong, just tell me.”

he slams the glass down on the counter, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room.

“fine,” he snaps, his voice rising. “you want to know what’s wrong? it’s you. it’s the way you spent the entire night talking to that guy like i wasn’t even there.”

you blink, caught off guard by the anger in his voice. “what are you talking about? he’s just a coworker—”

“i know that,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “but do you have any idea how it felt? sitting there, watching you laugh and talk with him like... like i didn’t even exist?”

you open your mouth to respond but hesitate, unsure of what to say. his words cut deeper than you expected, and you can feel the weight of his emotions pressing down on you.

“why do you even care, cheol?” you ask finally, your voice shaking. “you’re not even my boyfriend.”

the words hang in the air, sharp and cold.

seungcheol freezes, his expression crumbling as the tension in his shoulders collapses. he stares at you like you’ve just slapped him in the face, and the silence that follows is deafening.

“cheol,” you whisper, closing your eyes as regret over your words quickly settles in you. but seungcheol doesnt move or say anything. though the words are true; you didn't mean to hurt him.

“you made me believe in us,” he says softly, his voice breaking.

his words hit you like a punch to the chest, leaving you breathless.

“what— what do you mean?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

he laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he stares down at the floor. “you made me believe that there could be something here, that this wasn’t just... whatever this is. and stupidly, i let myself hope for more. but clearly, i was wrong.”

the raw vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache, and for a moment, you can’t find the words to respond.

“cheol,” you say finally, stepping closer. “i didn’t mean it like that. i just... i didn’t know you felt this way.” guilt, heartache and panic sizzles in your blood.

he looks up at you, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “how could i not? do you have any idea how much you mean to me? how much i care about you? and yet, i’ve been sitting here, pretending like this is enough when it’s not. it’s not enough for me anymore.”

your breath catches in your throat, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

he shakes his head, his lips curling into a sad smile. “maybe i should’ve said something sooner. but now... i don’t know. maybe this was a mistake. i shouldnt—.... maybe i shouldnt have fallen in love.”

for a moment, you’re both frozen in place, the weight of his confession settling over you. has he always felt this way? were you too busy keeping your feelings at bay that you failed to notice his feelings?

you don’t know what to say, every thought in your head scattering as his confession hangs in the air. seungcheol runs a hand down his face, taking a shaky breath as he steps away from you, heading toward the door.

“i’m going to stay at jeonghan’s tonight,” he mutters, his voice strained & cracks. “i can’t do this right now.”

“wait,” you call out, panic rising in your chest. you grab his arm before he can leave, holding on tightly. "don't go, cheol, please."

he turns to look at you, his eyes glassy and filled with pain. “why? so i can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt? so i can keep playing this game where i feel like i mean something to you when i don’t?”

“you do,” you blurt out, your voice trembling as your chest tightens, “you mean everything to me, cheol.”

his breath hitches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to figure out if you really mean it.

before you can lose your nerve, you step closer, cupping his face in your hands. “i don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “i cant—... just, i can't lose you.”

the tension between you snaps like a rubber band, and suddenly, you’re pulling him down into a kiss. it’s desperate and messy, filled with all the emotions you’ve been holding back for so long.

seungcheol freezes for a split second before he melts into you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you back just as fervently.

when you finally pull away, both of you are breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“do you mean it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “are you really saying you want this—want us?”

you nod, tears streaming down your face. you don't know how else to reassure seungcheol that you feel the same, that you want the same, that you want him, all of him. your voice; still shaking, still trembling with nerves over all your unsaid feelings; you say the one thing you're sure will get him to finally understand, "I love you, cheol, i love you, i love you so please,"

the sound of your sniffling and light hiccups fills in the gentle, comforting silence that settles over the both of you as seungcheol's eyes searched yours. then, a shaky laugh finally escapes him when he sees it, when he sees the fondness in your eyes. his hand reaches up to wipe your tears away and he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a deep breath. “god, you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting to hear that.”

you cling to him, your heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. “i’m sorry it took me so long.” you mumbled through your tears.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “you’re worth the wait,” he says, as he leans down to kiss your forehead. his voice filled with so much love it makes your chest ache.

you smile, your tears finally slowing as you lean into his touch. “so... does this mean you’re staying?”

he chuckles, nodding as he kisses you again, this time slow and sweet. “i’m not going anywhere, pretty."

[babyleostuff]

SHADOW

・❥・ for the 2k followers event

summary: you don't know when the universe factory had become your safe place, but woozi always made sure to comfort you in every way he could - even if it meant he had to spoil his new song

pairing: idol!woozi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, a bit of angst, comfort | word count: 2k

To say that you had a bad day would be an understatement. The morning was actually perfect - you woke up next to your boyfriend, as he didn’t have to rush to the studio early in the morning (finally), you ate breakfast together, you even managed to make him some snacks for work.

But as the day passed, it seemed like the universe wanted you to fail on every step that you made. Nothing major really happened, it was just a series of unfortunate events, but it was enough to make you cry out of frustration in the middle of the street on your way home.

It didn’t help that it was pouring, and you couldn’t see two metres in front of you, let alone the bus that drove over the puddle, drenching you in the dirty water. 

“It’s time to use my girlfriend privilege card,” you thought, as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself (not that it helped much). You knew Woozi was still at the Universe Factory, because let’s be real - when was he not, especially now as he and the boys were preparing for a comeback. The problem was you didn’t want to be too clingy, you knew he had work to do, songs to record, lyrics to write, and the last thing you wanted was to burden him with your silly little problems. 

As if your boyfriend could read your mind, you heard a ping coming from your phone a second later. 

WOOZI 🍚 are you home? 

You sighed, rain drenching your screen, because… Should you lie to him? You didn’t want to make him worry, but then again - lying wasn’t the smartest option. 

YOU 💎 not exactly  WOOZI 🍚 ??? YOU 💎 can i come over?  YOU 💎 if you’re busy it’s okay! WOOZI 🍚 stop being dramatic, you know you’re always welcome here  WOOZI 🍚 now get your ass over here 

You smiled at your phone. You could practically hear your boyfriend’s scolding voice and see the roll of his eyes. He was always like that when you tried to reassure him that you were okay, when in fact you were not. 

That was just one of the many things you loved about him. 

[...]

knock knock knock 

You swiped your wet hair strands off your forehead, droplets of water running down your cheeks, and under the collar of your coat. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d end up with a cold tomorrow, but hey - at least you’d get to stay home. 

The music behind the door was playing loud enough that Woozi probably didn't hear you knocking. He probably had his earphones on too, so you slowly opened the door, letting yourself in. A wave of warm air hit you as soon as you entered the room and you sighed in relief because you’d get to take off your soaked clothes. Maybe you could even convince Woozi to give you his hoodie, which would be perfect. 

Quickly taking off your shoes and hanging up your jacket, you pulled the sleeves of your shirt over your hands to warm up a bit, and went to look around the studio for your boyfriend. To no surprise, Woozi was sitting in front of his computer, papers scattered around him, making a mess on the desk, earphones on his head, while he was clearly occupied with something on the screen. 

You smiled and pulled out your phone, sending him a quick message “I’m here”. The second his phone lit up with a notification, your boyfriend picked it up and pulled the headphones off his head, and you just knew his brows were furrowed in confusion.  

“Turn around,” you giggled, crossing your arms over your chest. His head snapped towards you in surprise. You weren't planning on scaring him, but maybe you should do it more often because he looked adorable with his wide eyes and a slight pout. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he sighed and shook his head in disapproval, his long hair falling over his forehead. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, although both of you knew you weren’t. 

For a moment, you just stared at each other as if you hadn't seen each other in a week, absorbing each other's presence as the music continued to play from his speakers. Woozi, however, quickly noticed how you were shaking, and his face immediately turned slightly worried.

"Everything's okay?" He asked. “Not really,” you shook your head, as all of the bad memories and frustrations of that day suddenly came back to you. 

“C’mere, let me hold you,” he extended his hand to you, putting the headphones down on the desk. You padded over to him, grabbing him tightly.

That was almost like a little routine in your relationship - when you needed something to hold onto during difficult days, you could always count on Woozi to be your pillar, making sure you never fell, no matter how hard it was. 

And that was exactly what you needed right now, to cling to him and trust that he would help you get rid of the terrible thoughts.

He moved the chair further away from the desk so you could sit on his lap, your back against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “Tsk, I think I need to buy you some kind of raincoat if you like walking in the rain so much,” he scolded you, feeling your wet clothes.

“Honestly, I don’t care anymore. I just want this day to end,” you muttered, grabbing his hand that was holding your waist.

“You want to talk about it?” Woozi asked, settling his chin on your shoulder. That was another thing you loved about him. He never made you talk about your problems, never tried to find a solution just to make you feel better, never pushed you to do anything - he always let you take your time and decide on your own if you needed his advice or just a hug. 

You shook your head. There was no point in dwelling on the past. 

“What are you working on?” You looked at the screen filled with different music softwares. You’d never fathom how he was able to switch between them so easily, knowing exactly what each and every of them did. “Nothing much. We needed to change one of the lyrics for the album, but I got stuck, so,” he sighed, from what you gathered he really was struggling with it. “I just started making a beat and recorded some lyrics to pass some time.” 

“Can I listen to it?” 

He hesitated for a second, before clicking on one of the open windows on his screen, rewinding the song to the beginning. “It’s nothing much, I made it in like an hour so don’t get your hopes up.” 

“You know I love all of your songs, honey,” you turned your head to place a kiss on his cheek, but that was the truth. Even if he insisted he made a song just for “fun”, you loved each and every single one of them.

From the first seconds you knew you’d absolutely adore the song. You could feel it was going to be some kind of ballad, which had to be your favourite genre of songs that your boyfriend made. He had this ability to make every sentence meaningful and so deep that you could feel it move your heart, no matter how good you were at hiding your emotions. 

I didn't want the hot sun to rise too far away  I hate everything in the shade on the other side of the light  He follows me every step, my eyes are always there I hated seeing myself run away

You closed your eyes, melting into Woozi’s embrace. The lyrics were already so painfully beautiful, and it just showed how great of a writer your boyfriend was.

​​Shadow, my shadow, my shadow I don't want others to see you Shadow, my shadow, my shadow I hated you and hurt you

Woozi was a master of making songs that most people could relate to, and sometimes you hated him so much for it, because most of the time you just wanted to bawl your eyes out. You almost had a fight when you heard For you for the first time. 

I ran to run away from you I hid in a place where was no light

Sensing how stiff he was behind you, you pulled his arm tighter around your waist, rubbing your thumb over his hand. Woozi could insist as much as he wanted that he made this just because he was bored, but you knew the lyrics meant a lot to him. You could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and in the lyrics. 

Stay with me, no matter in what moment Let's become the same light, the same shadow In whatever place, I'll hold you

You smiled at how the lyrics seemed to get more hopeful as the song was nearing its end. You weren’t sure if it was because you had this awful day, but hearing that brought you some sense of comfort.

Because even my darkness will shine brightly Baby I'm a shadow of you

As the song finished, and the studio went silent except for the pouring rain, you took a second to collect your thoughts, your brain blown at how your boyfriend could make something that beautiful in just an hour.  

“As I said,” Woozi murmured, his breath tickling your neck. “It’s not that good.” 

His brows furrowed as you pulled away from him, standing up, just to straddle him a second later. “Listen to me you little shit,” you took his face in your hands, as you had to suppress a giggle because of his offended expression. “That song was a fucking masterpiece, and I know I say that everytime, but I mean it,” you looked at him, your tone serious. “Do you have any idea how amazing it was?” 

Your boyfriend had a sceptic look on his face, it didn’t seem that he believed you. “You might not realise this, but the lyrics, the way you wrote about hiding your emotions and insecurities from the world, and how everything reminds us of the struggles, but that at the end of the day we learn and accept them, learning how to live with them…” you sighed, you eyes teary. “It means so much to me, and I’m sure it’d mean a lot to other people too. Sometimes we just need to be reminded that it’s okay to be scared of our feelings, but that they shouldn’t stop us from living our lives.” 

With every word you could see Woozi’s face softening, as if he started to understand how much it actually meant to you. “You got all of that from just listening to it once?” 

“Lee Jihoon, I’m being serious here,” you smacked his shoulder, although you were sure he didn’t even feel it. “Show this to the boys, baby. It’s too good to be hidden on your computer forever.” 

He nodded, running his hand through your hair. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” You tilted your head, looking at him in surprise. You should be the one thanking him for letting you come here and interrupt his work and for letting you listen to his song. “For being here with me. For always believing in me.” 

You felt tears forming in your eyes because it wasn’t often that Woozi was so open with you about his feelings. He always expressed them through actions, or songs, and hearing those words moved you more than they should have. 

You sniffled, bringing his face closer to yours, and pecked his lips sweetly. “I will always believe in you. No matter what.” He smiled against your lips, kissing you again, as he held your face between his hands, like you were the most precious thing in the world. 

And just like that you forgot about all of the bad things that happened earlier. 

Now it was only you, Woozi, and your shadows.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag @jeonghansshitester @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @soul-is-a-strange-kid @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @daegutowns

[huggingkoalas]

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | natasha romanoff

pairing — ‧₊˚ avenger!natasha romanoff x fem!retiredavenger!reader

summary — ‧₊˚ natasha loses you three times in the worst way possible

word count — ‧₊˚ 6.6k

warning(s) — ‧₊˚ angst, no happy ending, mentions of alcohol consumption, breaking up, cursing, mentions of cheating, pet names, car accident, panic attacks, jealousy, medical rooms, amnesia, mentions of therapy

authors note — ‧₊˚ yes, this was a series. i’ve decided this multi-chapter into a oneshot instead because of how much this fic has emotionally affected me :’) this fic means a lot to me but it’s also a reminder of someone really dear to me that i lost recently. i’ve lost count of how many times i cried while writing the ending, and i’m so sorry if the ending seems rushed </3

Natasha was always full of confidence, loyalty and fierceness. She never backed down from a fight, especially excelling in close hand-to-hand combat where her ability was intimidating. Ruthless and exceptionally efficient and skilled at her job, she struck fear into anyone who had the misfortune to cross the Black Widow’s path.

But that was at work. And at home? There was a big difference. While her enemies were always on their knees at the end of a fight, begging her for mercy to spare their lives, she was on her knees this time. Natasha Romanoff — one of the founding members of the Avengers, an agent of S.H.I.E.LD., a professional assassin and your wife — was currently on her knees, begging for your forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, moya lyubov’ (my love). Forgive me, please.” She begged, tears gathering in her eyes. 

Your shadow loomed over the kneeling redhead. Holding your breath and trying to keep your tears at bay, you pursed your lips together, not trusting yourself to speak in a steady voice.

“Please, I’ll do anything.” With trembling hands on her lap, Natasha glanced up at your face. She couldn’t control a sob breaking out from her throat as she saw the saddened expression on your face. 

“Am I… not important to you anymore?” You spoke in a quiet voice.

“I…-” With eyes filled with tears, she struggled to find the right words to explain herself. Despite her strength and confidence, Natasha looked vulnerable, almost broken, before you. 

“Where were you tonight? Drinking with Bruce and Thor again?” You asked with a shaky breath.

The answer was already clear before Natasha even spoke. There was a faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air, a reminder of her downward spiral in recent months. It pained you to witness the transformation, to see the woman you loved slipping further and further away with each passing day. She had been arriving home late consistently, often in an intoxicated state. Her presence during evenings became a rarity, and you would find yourself sleeping alone in the shared bed at night, longing for the warmth of her presence. You didn’t get to see her in the mornings, too — despite consuming a large amount of alcohol the night prior, Natasha would, without fail, rise early for work the next day before you woke up.

Two months. Two months of Natasha repeating the same apologies. Two months of you backing down every single time and forgiving her when you saw her vulnerable expression. The redhead was truly your weakness, your Achilles heel. Even after she would pour her heart out to you, the same phrases ‘I promise I won’t drink again’ and ‘this is the last time, I swear’, she’d just return to the bar the next day, drinking to her heart’s content. It was as if she’d forgotten her promises to change. As if she had no remorse for her actions, or care for your feelings.

You missed snuggling up beside her after a long day, your head in the crook of her neck as you smelled the familiar vanilla shampoo in her hair. You missed the feeling of her heartbeat against your chest and the softness of her breath against your skin. These days, the smell of alcohol replaced the comforting and soothing scent you were used to. 

While Natasha’s current vulnerability displayed her remorse and pain you’d never seen before, you wanted another kind of vulnerability — one where she was there for you and prioritised you first. You longed for her comfort, her reassurance as she held you close and whispered words of love in your ear. 

With an exhausted sigh, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of even more disappointment at the sight of the two untouched plates of home-cooked beef stroganoff on the dining table. The tantalising aroma of the beef stroganoff now made you nauseous. It bitterly reminded and mocked you of your meticulous efforts to please your wife. The once-warm meal lay cold since you plated them up three hours ago while you waited for Natasha to return home. Accompanying the two plates were two empty wine glasses, a softly lit candle, and an unopened bottle of red wine. And in the refrigerator sat a baking tray of lemon meringue pie from Natasha’s favourite bakery.

Today held a significant meaning — It marked the second wedding anniversary with the love of your life, Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Throughout the day, you spent hours pouring your heart and soul into preparing each slice of tenderloins as you made the beef stroganoff. Cooking wasn’t your forte, you had to learn how to cook it from websites.

And to add salt to the injury, she never even bothered to return home early, preferring to drown herself in alcohol at the bar with Bruce and Thor.

You thought that if you cooked her favourite dish and bought her favourite dessert, Natasha would come home instead of getting wasted at the bar, right? You were sorely mistaken. You had even persistently messaged her all day, excitedly telling her about the candlelit dinner you had carefully planned for the evening. However, all of your texts went unanswered.

You almost found amusement and humour in your naïvety.

“Y/N/N?” Natasha barely whispered. Her vulnerability differed from the loving and confident person you fell in love with.

“I need some time apart to figure things out, Natasha.” It had been some time since you uttered her full name, always preferring to call her ‘Natty’ or, your personal favourite, ‘sunshine’. 

A pang of sorrow tugged at your heart, for Natasha had truly been your sunshine once upon a time. In the beginning, she had truly been like a ray of sunlight, her sweet smile had the power to brighten even the gloomiest of days, her laughter your favourite melody. And now, as you stood before her, the Natasha you once knew and loved had become a distant memory. She was a shadow of her former self, almost unrecognisable to you. She was no longer your sunshine, but a raincloud that drenched you in loneliness and despair.

Your fingers instinctively played with the wedding ring adorning your left hand, tracing its edges and rolling it around your finger to alleviate your anxiety as you awaited her next words. You expected her to refuse and deny your words, to tell you that she needed you in her life, but all you got from her was a single word — “okay.”

Her answer made you scoff.

“That’s it? All I get is an ‘okay’?” You seethed, your hands clenched into tight fists as you let anger consume your words. It was as if your weight of frustration, loneliness and insecurities exploded, the pent-up emotions finally erupting into words. “Did you ever take this relationship seriously, Natasha? Was I nothing more to you than a warm body when you had nightmares and decent fuck when you were horny?” 

“I-I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way.” Natasha’s voice wavered as she struggled to find the right words.

“I can’t take this anymore.” You declared, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Fuck you, Natasha, I’m leaving. Forget taking a break — I never want to see your face again. I wish I had never met you.”

The hurt and shock in her eyes were unmistakable, but you did not regret your harsh words. You’d finally had enough. Enough of her unkept promises, her lies. Her actions spoke louder than words. The silence that followed afterwards was deafening. Natasha looked down, avoiding eye contact with you.

You slid your wedding ring off your finger, using more force than usual as you placed it on the coffee table. The sound of it hitting the table echoed loudly throughout the room. Instead of feeling a weight off your shoulders, a gnawing sense of anxiety and disappointment bubbled in your stomach. 

Is this the end of your marriage?

You love, no, loved Natasha, and the weight of the one-sided relationship had become too much for you to bear alone. You wondered if she ever truly cared about you in the first place, or if you were only a distraction from her busy life as an Avenger. You had a nagging feeling that, maybe, she was unsatisfied with being in love with an Avenger-turned-housewife. Maybe she preferred someone like Bruce? You shook your head as the image of Bruce surfaced in your mind. Aware of his crush on your wife, you could not help but wonder if Natasha, had developed feelings for him and hesitated to break your heart with the truth.

Maybe that’s why she’s been spending time with Bruce at the bar.

Was her love ever real then?

And with that, you turned away. You stood before the door, your hand hesitating over the doorknob. You expected Natasha to intervene and stop you from leaving. With a hesitant glance back at her, you observed her entire frame convulsing with sobs, making it even harder to walk away.

You stepped out the door as you couldn’t bear to witness the pain in your favourite green eyes any longer. You knew leaving was the right thing to do, even if it tore you apart inside. As you settled into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the familiar driveway, the haunting image of Natasha’s tear-streaked face lingered in your mind

You had to get far, far away from Natasha. The only other person you could trust is Wanda, your ex-girlfriend and another Avenger. She would be able to comfort you with her soothing presence and words. Tears welled in your eyes and streamed down your cheeks as you navigated the familiar streets to Wanda’s house. The turn of events weighed heavily on your mind, and millions of questions ran through your head.

Lost in your thoughts, you failed to notice the traffic light blaring red ahead. A car from the opposite direction ran right towards you, its glaring light blinding your vision with its intensity. With a sharp breath intake, the tyres’ screeching sound filled the air as you braced yourself for impact.

It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours that Natasha knelt on the wooden floor after you left the house. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was that her heart ached. It was as if someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart, and thrown it across the room without any care.

She felt overwhelmed. The air felt thick and made it hard for her to breathe as waves of panic coursed through her. She lay in a fetal position, her knees to her chest and her forehead on the floor. Her trembling hands clutched at her chest, desperately trying to calm the racing beats of her heart. Her body could not stop convulsing as tears streamed down her face, blurring the surroundings around her. 

Every shallow breath she expelled felt painful, and she felt like she was anchored to the cold ground beneath her. It was as if the room was spinning, and the walls were closing in, trapping her in endless suffering. The ache in her chest mirrored the shattering of her heart.

The events that happened after she came home drunk had sobered her up quickly, and all she felt now was a hollow emptiness. Natasha felt like a complete asshole. She had taken advantage of your kindness and patience and trampled all over it. She took you for granted, and now she was alone in the place she called home.

Home. It was merely a house, but the treasured memories the two of you shared with love and affection made it a home.

Once the waves of a panic attack passed, she craned her neck up to glance around her surroundings. The singular candle you prepared for the candlelit dinner was still burning on the dining table, illuminating the dimly lit living room. Even with the blinds drawn over the windows, she could see outside enough to gauge that sunrise was coming soon.

Unexpectedly, the voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. shattered the silence as it echoed through the house. “Agent Natasha Romanoff, please come to the Avengers Compound as quickly as possible.” 

Natasha groaned softly in response, slowly getting on her feet cautiously. Her knees and arms ached as she got her balance, a painful reminder of how she spent the night in an uncomfortable position.

Even when she chose to live separately from the Avengers, Tony insisted he installed F.R.I.D.A.Y. into the home for ‘extra’ security. A sense of unease gnawed at her. She rarely got an announcement from the A.I. unless necessary, such as an emergency or a last-minute mission.

“Did something happen?” She called out to the A.I., her voice cracking and hoarse from the crying.

“Y/N Romanoff is in the hospital wing, she has suffered critical injuries from a car accident,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied promptly.

Panic surged through her body as she quickly shed last night’s attire. With each distressed movement, thoughts of how badly hurt you were raced through her mind. 

Shit. What has she done?

Natasha barged through the doors of the infirmary in the Avengers Compound, her eyes surveying the all-too-familiar place. There were countless times when she had to prioritise tending to her wounds in the infirmary after missions instead of debriefing. The place buzzed with the hum of fluorescent lights, and the antiseptic smell in the air nauseated her. She approached the first medical professional in her sightline, a male nurse.

“Bring me to Y/N Romanoff’s room, now.” She ordered, grabbing the nurse’s uniform collar in a tight fist.

The nurse’s hands struggled under her grasp, choking out. “Y-Yes, Agent Romanoff. This way.” 

Letting go of his collar, the male nurse quickly led her down the hallways to your room in fear of angering the assassin further. Her heart raced as she followed behind him, not prepared for how wounded you would look after the car accident. As Natasha entered the room, her fears were confirmed as she saw you. You were lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile, while hooked up to multiple wires and machines that monitored your every heartbeat and breathing. Your whole body was covered with bandages and bruises, and the sight of your unconscious body supplemented the guilt in her gut.

“Agent Romanoff, we’ve done X-rays, CT scans and an MRI of her body. She has multiple transverse fractures on her clavicle and pelvic bone. She’s suffered a traumatic brain injury from the car accident, and she’s been comatose ever since.”

Before she could question him further, the nurse quickly left the room. She huffed in annoyance. Shrugging off the encounter with the medical professional, she approached your bedside hesitantly, sitting on the chair beside the bed. Taking your cold hand in hers, her index and middle fingers quickly found the pulse point on your wrist. 

Your pulse was weak. 

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes, threatening to spill as she whispered through choked sobs, her voice trembling with emotion “It’s all my fault, I-I’m so sorry. Please, wake up.”

Natasha needed you alive and conscious. Without you, she felt lost, like she was swimming adrift in an endless sea. Her thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind. She felt like her world had become even greyer. She traced the contours of your face with her eyes as if trying to memorise every detail that made you uniquely you. All she could do was hope and pray that you would wake up soon to forgive her and give her one last chance to fix everything.

Days turned into weeks into months. It’d been two months since you got into a coma. Two months since she’d heard her favourite voice. Two months of replaying the same scene the day she lost you.

The indifference in your voice. Your disappointed expression. The smell of beef stroganoff. The sound of your wedding ring placed on the coffee table. The sound of the door clicking behind you as you left the house.

Two months felt like two years to Natasha. With each passing moment, the vital signs monitor played the steady rhythm of your heartbeat in the medical room. Natasha refused to leave your side for even a moment. She was scared that you would flatline if she tore her eyes away from your body. She was like a bodyguard around you — keeping her eyes on your body even when her body was begging for sleep.

After Nick Fury heard about your current condition, he immediately gave Natasha time off from missions to allow her to prioritise your well-being. She was thankful for Nick Fury’s understanding.

Everyone in the Avengers recognised the toll it was taking on Natasha’s well-being. Wanda took it upon herself to bring the redhead meals and encourage her to shower and step outside for fresh air. Wanda would remind her that you wouldn’t want her to neglect her own needs. Despite being curious about what had happened that night, the brunette never pressed her for answers. It was obvious that the wounds were still fresh. Natasha always looked miserable whenever Wanda entered the medical room every day. The both of them would take turns taking care of you. Even when Natasha knew about your past romantic relationship with Wanda, she trusted her the most amongst all the other Avengers to take care of you when she had other matters to attend to.

Natasha felt a deep loneliness she couldn’t shake off that only your awakening could dispel. She clung to the glimmer of hope that each passing moment brought you closer to waking up. With every conversation with Dr. Cho telling her that your body was recovering well, her heart swelled with optimism. She would find a twinge of happiness in the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of your chest.

When alone with you, Natasha would mindlessly talk to you, sharing stories of her day and reminding you that she loved you. Even when you were unconscious, she never failed to greet you every day with an ‘I love you’. She read your favourite books, played your favourite songs and whispered words of love, hoping you could somehow hear her. She’d stopped going to the bar and getting herself intoxicated, she knew that she had to be there for you.

Night after night, when Natasha’s body was too exhausted to stand vigil, she would drift off to sleep with her head resting on the edge of your bed. The position was far from comfortable, but the discomfort mattered little to her. All that mattered was being near you and being the first person you see when you wake up, even if it meant sacrificing her comfort.

And then, one day, as the first rays of dawn bathed the room in a warm glow, you woke up. Natasha was asleep when you aroused from your coma, and she stirred awake by the twitch from your hand intertwined with hers.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, a soft whine leaving your throat as you met her tear-filled gaze. A wave of relief washed over Natasha, but your eyes widened in panic and alarm as you saw the redhead in front of you.

“W-Who the fuck are you?”

Natasha swore she could hear a pin drop from the silence in the room. The green eyes, previously full of hope, reflected a mixture of disappointment and pain. Speechless, Natasha met your stunned gaze as she took her time to process your words.

“W-Where am I?” You mumbled in a hoarse voice. 

Your eyes tried to adjust to the blinding light of the overhead lights as your consciousness slowly reawakened. A frown formed on your face as your eyes scanned every corner of the medical room. One of the surrounding machines beeped steadily, indicating that your vital signs were stable. You scratched your head and tried to remember how you ended up in the hospital, but you can’t.

Natasha picked up the glass of water from the nightstand and offered it to you with trembling hands. You drank the water thirstily, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you tried to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s me, Natasha, your wife. Don’t you remember?” She began, moving her chair closer to your bed. “You’re at the Avengers Compound. You’ve been in a coma for a while.”

“I... Have a wife?” Aside from the fact that you were in an infirmary, the fact that you were married to someone surprised you more. You studied the features of the redhead sitting in front of you — the sense of familiarity tugged at the edges of your consciousness. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we got married two years ago,” Natasha explained, her tone as soothing as possible.

“But... my girlfriend, Wanda.” You said, tilting your head to the side. “Where is she?”

Natasha’s hands shot up to cover her mouth as her eyes watered. She rose from the chair and stepped away from her bed. The room felt like it was closing in on her. Her hands became clammy, and each breath was laboured as her heart raced. A relentless drumbeat echoed in Natasha’s ears.

Was this a nightmare? 

The impulse to reach out and grab your hand, a source of comfort that calmed her down, surged within her. Yet, she hesitated.

You appeared as the body of the person Natasha had fallen in love with years ago when you were just eighteen and freshly recruited into the Avengers team. The both of you had a rocky start — she was your enemy first before she became your friend and eventually your lover. However, that chapter was a long time ago as you had retired from the front lines upon marrying her.

As Natasha observed you, a sense of unease settled within her. There wasn’t the same warmth she once found in your eyes. Instead, an unfamiliar emptiness stared back at her. The very gaze that used to ignite with love and affection now held an empty void — The same expression as the day when you broke up with her. Natasha clung to the hope that your memory would somehow seamlessly reweave themselves back into your consciousness, dispelling the thoughts that she was staring at a stranger disguised as her wife.

You wrinkled your nose as you awaited her response. You tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but your muscles weakened from inactivity and failed you. You winced as you felt a sharp pain in your chest.

“Don’t strain yourself.” Natasha’s voice was laced with concern. She gently guided you to remain lying down. “I should get Dr. Cho. Stay here, don’t move.”

Before you could formulate a response, she hurried out of the room. As Natasha disappeared from your view, her heart sank as she realised the extent of your memory loss. She should have expected this — Dr. Cho did briefly inform her about how you might experience a few symptoms of memory loss due to the brain injury.

But damn, did your words hit hard.

As Natasha hurried down the corridor, a nagging sense of guilt held her down. Was your memory loss a form of karma for her past actions? Or perhaps a second chance to rebuild things with you? Even though you had effectively cut ties with her moments before the accident, she wanted to be there for you every step of the way. Was she going to tell you what had happened mere minutes before your car accident? No, not yet. Her focus had to be on providing support during your rehabilitation.

She couldn’t bear to lose you again.

The intensity of her emotions became even more palpable as Natasha approached the nurses’ station. Two familiar figures gradually became apparent in the distance, Dr. Cho and Wanda. Both of them were engaged in an animated conversation, but they stopped when they saw the dread on Natasha’s face.

“Y/N’s awake.” Natasha relayed.

Entering the hospital room as a trio, your eyes ignited with a mix of relief and recognition as you saw Wanda.

“Hey there, sweetheart. I missed you.” You greeted Wanda with a wide grin.

As those words slipped from your lips, Natasha’s heart tightened in response. It was a term you had reserved only for her before the accident. On the other hand, Wanda could only manage a warm smile, waving at you. Wanda was unsure of how to respond to the term you used to call her when the both of you were dating.

“Y/N, it’s great to see you awake.” Dr. Cho chimed in, trying to ease the atmosphere. With a clipboard in hand, she flipped through your medical records. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… confused. What happened to me?” You asked.

Natasha quickly jumped in. “You were in a car accident two months ago.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Car accident? But I don’t remember anything.” 

Wanda, sensing the discomfort in the room, stepped forward. “It’s okay, Y/N. The important thing is that you’re awake now. Natasha and I are here for you.”

In response, you graced Wanda with an endearing smile. Your hand extended, seeking and finding Wanda’s. You seemed to be reassured by her presence and physical touch. Natasha, observing the scene, couldn’t help but feel a subtle pang of jealousy. She pushed it aside, reminding herself that you were only acting this way because of the memory loss.

“We’re all here to help you remember,” Natasha spoke softly. 

As your eyes flickered between the two women, there was a spark of love in your eyes as you glanced at Wanda. However, when your gaze turned toward Natasha, the same reserved void of distance was in your eyes.

“Do you remember anything else before the car accident?” Dr. Cho inquired, her pen poised over the pages as she wrote down your responses.

“No…?” You responded tentatively, a furrow forming on your forehead.

“Alright. Firstly, what’s your current profession?” Dr. Cho probed.

“I’m a retired Avenger.” You uttered, unconsciously tightening your grip on Wanda’s hand.

“Your age?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Do you remember these two?” Dr. Cho redirected your attention, pointing to Natasha and Wanda.

“Wanda’s my girlfriend. I don’t remember who the other person is.” You confessed, looking at Natasha with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha crossed her arms, feeling uncomfortable under your gaze.

“Very well. Your cooperation is appreciated, Y/N.” Dr. Cho acknowledged you with a nod, turning her attention to the two other women. “Agent Romanoff and Agent Maximoff, may I talk to the both of you in my office for a few minutes?”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged an apprehensive glance before nodding in unison, accompanying the doctor out of the room. In Dr. Cho’s office, both women settled into chairs opposite her desk, their postures stiff. Dr. Cho wasted no time, closing the door to her office with a decisive click before taking her seat behind the desk.

“I’ll need to ask Y/N more questions later to confirm the type of amnesia she’s experiencing. Based on the questions earlier, there’s a high chance she’s experiencing systematized amnesia.” Leaning forward, Dr. Cho rested her elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “It’s a type of amnesia that happens when an individual experiences long-term stress or trauma. It can be from experiencing physical, sexual or emotional neglect and abuse. In response, the brain blocks out all memories about that one specific person from their past.”

Dr. Cho’s statement made Natasha’s mind spin. Wanda gripped the armrests tightly, her eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. “Is that why she remembers me, and not Natasha?”

“Exactly.” She paused, turning her attention to Natasha. “Agent Romanoff, have you ever… hit your wife?”

“What? No, of course not.” Natasha replied with an exasperated shake of her head. “But… We did argue before the car accident. I haven’t been spending time with her and I was too busy drinking at the bar to spend time with her on the day of our second anniversary. She broke up with me before she got into the car accident.”

Wanda’s anger flared, her fists clenched by her sides as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “So the reason she got into a car accident is because of you?” She accused. “What the fuck, Natasha.” 

Natasha drew in a deep breath. “I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t know that she’d get into a car accident. I messed up.”

Dr. Cho stepped in. “Emotions run high in situations like these, but our focus should be on helping Y/N recover and helping her navigate through her memory loss. We can’t change the past, but we can make choices to change the future.”

Wanda, her jaw clenched in frustration, couldn’t contain the bitterness in her retort. “Fine, but regret doesn’t undo the damage you’ve done, Natasha. Y/N trusted and loved you, and you let her down. She doesn’t deserve this, and she certainly doesn’t deserve you.” 

Natasha’s lips trembled slightly, struggling to hold back tears.

Wanda, unable to contain her frustration, abruptly pushed her chair back. “I can’t deal with this right now.” 

She stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Dr. Cho winced at the resounding sound before sighing. “Let’s regroup later. Wanda needs some time, and we’ll address these issues when everyone’s ready.”

Wanda burst into your medical room, her brows furrowed in deep frustration and a scowl etched across her face. Startled by her sudden entrance, you jumped slightly in your bed, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw her expression.

“Wands?” You whispered. “What’s wrong?”

As you whispered her name, Wanda’s tense expression softened. She approached your bed with slow steps, her hands reaching out to hold yours.

“It’s... It’s nothing, Y/N.” Wanda replied, her voice tight with emotion. 

Despite Wanda’s attempt to dismiss her agitation, you could sense the remaining anger beneath her facade. You furrowed your brow, concern etching your features. 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” You insisted gently, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “You stormed in here looking like you were ready to take on an army.”

Wanda’s lips twitched with a hint of amusement, but the weight of her distress remained evident in her features. She hesitated for a moment, exhaling a breath before finally speaking.

“It’s Natasha,” Wanda admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I just… I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

As much as Wanda wanted to tell you the reason you fell into a coma, she knew that it wasn’t her place to reveal the information without Natasha’s consent. She had to choose her words carefully.

You listened intently, your heart sinking at the mention of Natasha’s name. The complexity of your relationship with her made you feel uncertain and overwhelmed.

How could you be married to someone you couldn’t remember?

“Is Natasha really my wife?” You asked.

You closed your eyes, trying to find any memory that you shared with the woman who was supposedly your wife. But try as you might, your mind remained blank, empty of any intimate or shared memories with the redhead.

Wanda’s expression softened with empathy. “Yes.” She affirmed gently. “Natasha’s your wife.”

“That means you and I… we broke up?” You pressed your lips together, trying not to frown.

“Yeah.” Wanda began, her voice soft but tinged with sadness. "We broke up because I wasn’t ready to become something more. You love Natasha a lot, more than you ever loved me. Even a blind man could see it.”

“Oh.” You sighed, rubbing your thumb over Wanda’s hands. “But… are you sure? Did past me have feelings for you still?”

“Not anymore, Y/N. Your future’s with Natasha now. She loves you a lot and she’s been miserable ever since you got into a coma, so go easy on her, alright?”

Your heart sank at Wanda’s words.

“Alright.” You offered her a bittersweet smile.

A week after waking up, Dr. Cho officially diagnosed you with systematic amnesia. Once you had healed under her careful observation, you were discharged and allowed to return to the home you shared with Natasha. Despite your reluctance to burden her with your care, she was the only one you could depend on. Wanda and the other Avengers had their responsibilities, leaving Natasha as your primary caretaker.

You were still bruising and aching all over, so Natasha assisted you with various miscellaneous tasks, such as managing your medication intake and helping you with showering. Physically, you were improving, but you still couldn’t remember Natasha.

Gradually, you treated her as if she were a stranger. She understood that it wasn’t intentional, but it still tugged at her heartstrings.

The way you flinched whenever she touched you, because she was used to doing it back then when the both of you were together. It pained her deeply. You kept your thoughts and feelings to yourself, not trusting her enough to talk about your feelings. Despite this, outwardly, your interactions with her seemed relatively ‘normal’. The both of you never argued, never fought, and you’d spent time together.

But it still wasn’t the same as it used to be.

Back then, when Natasha would return home from her missions, you’d eagerly rush to her, enveloping her in the tightest hug imaginable and peppering her face with kisses. Now, you greeted her with a tight-lipped smile and a small wave.

In the past, you would cuddle together while watching late-night movies, holding her hand and resting your head on her shoulder. Now, there was a noticeable distance between you, an emotional and physical space that seemed to widen with each passing day.

Natasha tried bringing you to a coffee place — the one she brought you on your first date. You were intrigued, but you still couldn’t remember anything.

Natasha was genuinely happy to see you making progress in your recovery. Yet, beneath that happiness, she was beginning to grow impatient. Your health was improving, but the state of your marriage seemed to deteriorate because you were unable to remember anything about her.

And, one day, Natasha finally reached her breaking point. She had prepared dinner for you, setting the table and waiting patiently on the couch for your return. But you didn’t arrive until three hours later, long after the food had grown cold.

“Where were you?” Natasha’s voice held a sharp edge as she crossed her arms.

You hadn’t mentioned going out, let alone with whom.

“I went out with Wanda for dinner.” You responded casually.

“And you couldn’t text me to let me know?” Natasha’s tone grew more aggressive.

Not only had you essentially stood her up, but you had also gone out with your ex-girlfriend — the same ex-girlfriend you might still harbour feelings for. It was ironic. It felt like the tables had turned. She was the one feeling hurt and frustrated this time.

“My phone was dead. Why are you so angry?” Your voice rose, becoming defensive as you retrieved your phone from your jacket pocket and tossed it onto the dining table.

“Because I made dinner for you.” 

“So what? I can have it for lunch tomorrow.” 

“That’s not the point. I was waiting for you.” Natasha insisted, her tone laced with frustration.

“And I promise I’ll eat it tomorrow. I’m tired, Natasha. I’m going to bed.” You said dismissively, turning away and walking towards the master bedroom.

There was something else changed, too. Natasha took it upon herself to occupy the guest bedroom while you resided in the master bedroom. It felt like there was a mental and physical separation between the both of you.

It continued for months. Natasha almost wanted to give up, contemplating whether to raise the white flag and accept the bitter truth that you would never remember her at all. The constant arguments between you never seemed to resolve. Instead, they ended with either Natasha or you walking away when things got too heated. With time, Natasha felt like the distance between you grew even more larger. You started coming home late, leaving Natasha disappointed as she waited for you to return. Every dinner she prepared for you went unnoticed, adding to her sense of loneliness and frustration. 

Natasha felt as though you had undergone a complete transformation, like someone similar to you but not really, well, you. She was a stranger to you just as you were to her.

You were sitting on a plush chair, engrossed in the pages of a book when she finally accepted defeat. She observed you quietly for a moment, the way you were oblivious to her presence behind her.

“Are we still together?” Natasha asked, her voice breaking the silence.

You looked up to find her standing before you, a mixture of longing and sadness in her gaze. 

You closed the book slowly, placing it on the coffee table.

You chuckled bitterly, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words. “Well, legally, I suppose we are.”

Natasha’s heart sank at your response. She had hoped for affection, but instead, she was met with indifference.

“Do you even want us to be together?” Her voice quivered as she spoke. 

You studied her momentarily, leaning your head back against the headrest as you looked her up and down. Natasha looked miserable, her cheeks caked with dried tears and dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights. 

“I’m sorry, Natasha.” You murmured, sighing. “I just… I don’t think we’re working out.”

Natasha felt her heart drop at your words. She had feared this moment, dreaded the possibility of hearing those words from you. Yet, the reality of it hit her like a sudden blow.

Your voice cracked as you spoke, barely on the verge of tears. “I tried. I really did try to remember you. Remember I came home late because I told you I was spending time with Wanda? I was walking around the places you brought me to, hoping that I’d remember something, anything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asked. Her heart clenched at your words and her tears spill over her cheeks.

“Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I didn’t want to disappoint you at the end of the day.” You whispered, standing up from the plush chair and walking over to her. You raised your hand to Natasha’s cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. “I want you, but I don’t think I’m in love with you. You deserve better than this, Natasha. You deserve better than me. You’re not in love with me — You were in love with the me before the accident.”

Natasha closed her eyes, leaning into your touch, a silent plea for reassurance. But as you withdrew your hand, the ache of longing remained. 

Just like how your love was out of touch.

“We can’t keep pretending, Natasha.” You said softly, your voice tinged with regret. “Maybe it’s time we accept that things have changed.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned away, unable to bear the pain of seeing her heartbreak. It pained you to hurt her, but you knew that prolonging the inevitable would only cause more suffering for both of you.

This time Natasha knew that she had to stop you from leaving somehow. She couldn’t make the same mistake twice. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, not again. Not for the third time. 

As you headed towards the door, Natasha’s voice trembled as she spoke. “Y/N, please... don’t go.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to stay. Not when the love you’ve heard from Natasha felt fake. Like it never happened.

You paused for a moment, your hand on the doorknob, before offering a final, pained glance back at Natasha. “I’m sorry, Natasha. Goodbye.”

And with that, you stepped out the door, leaving behind a redhead with a shattered heart.

Maybe in an alternate universe, you could remember her and love her eternally.

[webslingingslasher]

happy (early? belated?) bday bestie!! if you’re cranking out some more writing i just beg for angst angst to fluff. peter getting overstimulated and lashing out at yn?? sensitive reader’s sensitivity being her saboteur in her relationship w peter?? literally any type of fight dialogue??

MY BIRTHDAY IS TODAY!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH I DID THIS FOR YOU!!!!

“Get the fuck away from me!” 

Peter’s breath raced, his eyes pinched shut, hands were pressed tight against his ears, he could hear everything right now. People screaming, crying, praying. Trains rattling, his blood rushing, your blood rushing, your heart racing, or was it his? 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“Stop! I need you to stop!” 

You would be upset that he’s yelling, but he’s never once raised his voice at you and all you hear is pure panic. You don’t think you’ve seen him like this before, at least not this bad. It’s overstimulation, sometimes it get’s really bad, and usually you can help calm him down, for the first time you’re making it worse. 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

It was such a quiet whisper half of it didn’t escape your mouth, it didn’t matter, he still winced. 

Knowing you couldn’t help hurt more than anything, trying your best you crossed the room to him. His eyes still shut tight, a grit in his teeth, he looked so painful. You put your hands on his, pressing in tighter the best you could to help block out the noise. You knew it wouldn’t do much but you were trying, it’s all you could do. 

The moment your hands touched him he lost it, breaking down into tears. Like a toddler with too much emotion and nowhere to keep it, it poured out, everything was too much and that was how it came out. 

Your hands grabbed his shoulders, his chest rattled with sobs. 

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he stuttered through sobs, you shushed him. 

“What do you need from me?” 

Peter gasped for air, everything was too much. He needs you, you can ground him. He pushed you away but he needs you now more than ever. 

“You. I need you, please.” 

“Pressure?” 

“Please, I need… please.” 

You know what he needs, you straddle his waist. Pressed tight against him, as close as you could get, wrapped around him. He held you close, it almost hurt to breathe, his gasping breaths tucked into your shirt. 

You weighed him down and he finally felt like he could get a fresh breath in. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re okay.” 

Peter breathed in, for the first time all day it’s an even breath. 

“I’m okay.” He doesn’t believe it yet but he knows he will be. 

[milunalupin]

Hi!

If your not to busy could you possibly write a George x reader angst one shot with a fluff ending

You can can choose the plot cause I know what ever you do will be AMAZINGGG

thank youuu

sorry that this took me so long, thank you so much for your request and patience lovely !!

— more than this

george weasley x reader ★ 983 words

Shadows stretched across the grass as you stood near the edge of the Black Lake, struggling with a storm of emotions. What had started as a casual arrangement with your dear friend had spiraled into a chaotic mess that threatened to unravel everything. You liked him, a lot. Sometime it felt like he liked you too, when he walked you to class after kissing you silly in a broom closet. Or after having his way with you in the dorms he... oh who were you kidding. George Weasley would never like you the way you have always like him.

“Hey! You look like you’ve seen a Boggart,” George called, approaching with that familiar carefree grin. Today, however, it grated on your nerves.

“Maybe I have,” you replied sharply, not bothering to hide your irritation.

He frowned, concern flickering in his eyes. “You’re acting strange. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you snapped, turning your gaze away. The truth was, you were trying to process feelings you had buried deep. The more time you spent with him, the harder it became to ignore how much you cared. "I'm just thinking."

“Thinking about what? Quidditch? Seamus' latest disaster?” He leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his smile fading.

“About us,” you finally admitted, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Us?” he echoed, panic creeping into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this arrangement,” you muttered, crouching down to take a seat on the grass. He pushed himself off the tree and slowly made his way to join you on the ground, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“It’s not just physical for me anymore, George.” you said, frustration bubbling over.

He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “But we agreed it was just for fun, right? That’s all it ever was.”

“Was it?” you pressed, turning to look at him, your heart racing. “Because it feels more complicated than that. Do you even feel anything?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, eyes darting away. “It’s just a bit of fun. We’re friends. It’s easy.”

“Easy?” You scoffed, disbelief pouring from you. “Is that all you wanted? Something easy?"

He flinched at your words, anger flashing in his eyes. “It’s not like that. We can’t just throw everything away because of some—some feelings!”

“Feelings? You think my feelings are trivial?” you shot back, your heart racing with frustration. “I didn’t ask to care about you, you know!”

“Then maybe it’s just a phase,” he said, almost dismissively. “You’re caught up in the moment. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Your heart sank, despair creeping in. “You’re really going to deny what’s happening between us?”

“Maybe it’s just the thrill of sneaking around,” he countered, crossing his arms, shutting you out. “You’re just imagining something more.”

“Imagining?” You frowned, shaking your head as desperation flooded your voice. “I want this to be real! I want you, George. Not just in the middle of the night or hidden away from our friends. And I think you feel the same.”

He looked away, conflicted. “But what if this ruins everything? What if it stops being fun? What if it gets messy?”

“Maybe we’ll figure it out!” you cried, your voice rising with frustration. “I’m tired of pretending! I’m tired of hiding because you can’t face what’s right in front of you!”

He hesitated, the cracks in his facade deepening. “I don’t know how to handle this. I’ve never cared about anyone like this before.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t keep doing this,” you said, your heart heavy. “If you can’t be honest with yourself, maybe it’s best we end it.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. George’s expression shifted, a mix of shock and hurt flashing in his eyes. “You want to end it?”

“I don’t want to be just a fling,” you replied, your voice trembling. “If you can’t see what’s happening, maybe it’s time to walk away.”

His gaze dropped, the weight of your words sinking in. “You really think I don’t care?”

“I think you’re scared,” you shot back, “And that fear is driving you away.”

The red-haired boy sighed, wrestling with his thoughts. “I thought I could keep things light. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?” you asked, the desperation in your voice rising. “If you care, then say it!”

George looked torn, wrestling with his emotions. “Because it’s terrifying! I don’t know how to do this.”

“Then figure it out,” you said, voice steady despite the chaos inside. “Or we really are done here.”

He took a deep breath, finally meeting your gaze. “Alright. You want the truth? I’m scared to admit it, but I like you. I really do. I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s nothing, but it’s not. I don’t want to lose you, but I didn’t know how to say it.”

“Then let’s stop pretending,” you urged, your heart pounding. “Let’s see where this goes, but we have to be honest with each other.”

George nodded, a weight lifting from his shoulders. “Alright. I’m ready, I want to try.”

With that, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tentative and electrifying. His lips felt warmer than they have before, lovelier. His hands came up to gently cradle you face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. As you pulled away, the air felt charged with possibility, the uncertainty still lingering, but now accompanied by a flicker of hope.

“So, what now?” he asked, a mix of seriousness and relief in his eyes.

“Now, we figure it out,” you replied, heart racing but steadier than before. “No more hiding.”

“No more hiding.” he agreed, a small smile breaking through the tension. And in that moment, you both knew you were ready to confront whatever lay ahead, together.

[creedslove]

BETRAYED - PART TWO

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, Pedro being a dick

A/N: I'm so sorry but I can't manually tag anyone on the post, the app won't just let me do it!

1.6k words

PART ONE

When Pedro woke up in the next morning he knew he had screwed up. He knew he had screwed up bad. Though he barely remembered what had happened, he just had a gut feeling he'd screwed up. His head was pounding from his excessive drinking the night before and his back was sore, he groaned in pain as he shifted in bed and flashes of what happened the night before crossed his mind.

Clothes flying around the room, scattered on the floor, sloppy kisses, dirty touches, he had no idea how he'd look at you and tell you your night together didn't mean what you probably thought it meant. He swore to himself he wouldn't touch you, no matter how bad either of you might want, he knew he couldn't lead you into thinking you had a chance of anything romantically happening between you both. He sighed heavily before turning in bed and being shocked to see you were not the woman who was lying next to him.

If he hadn't slept with you, then, who did he sleep with? What was her name? He had no idea. The man cursed under his breath as the stranger slept deeply in his bed and grabbed his phone. He felt his heart pounding with anxiety, worried he'd done something embarrassing in public, but luckily, he hadn't. He was still the internet's sweetheart.

He let out a sigh of relief and managed to get out of bed, stumbling towards the bathroom and getting under the shower so he would clear his mind. The cold water poured over his naked body as he rested his forehead against the wall tile, he was definitely too old for that routine or partying, drinking, fucking. He shook his head as he replayed everything that happened the night before, from getting styled, to taking you to the gala, dancing with you, having a few drinks and then leaving with another woman. She got him horny, he was a man after all, he was single and he was free to be with whoever he wanted, so he decided to end his night with some female company. What was so bad about that?

But Pedro knew what was that bad about that. He simply ditched you for someone else, he already knew about your feelings and even if the two of you pretended it didn't exist, he was conscious enough to know it wasn't polite to make you go back home on your own because he'd found something better to do. As his towel hung wrapped around his waist, he checked his phone again, it explained why you hadn't replied to any of his drunk texts. He knew he'd play it cool and let you take your time.

Exiting the shower, he found the naked stranger in his bed, and god, she was gorgeous. She smiled at him, noticing how his gaze burned her skin. Pedro knew there was nothing he could do for Y/N at that moment, so he just shrugged and jumped into bed again, letting the woman tangle her legs around his body.

•••

You had a rough day as everything that happened insisted on being on your mind. No matter how much you tried to forget it or let it go, you were brought back to that night every time you closed your eyes. Your face still burned with the shame and humiliation you felt. Even if no one seemed to have noticed, you never felt so exposed to Pedro before. And you also couldn't believe the nerve he had to drunk text you during the night, he repeatedly asked if you'd arrived home safely, as if he cared about it at all. If he did, he wouldn't have told you to take an Uber home while he drove that skank back to his house, undressed her and fucked her all night long. You honestly felt sick to your stomach just to imagine him grabbing his phone to send you a text while she probably had her mouth or other holes busy with him. At that moment, you wanted to erase Pedro from your existence, and hoped he would give you a break, not wanting to face him at all.

However, it took him a week before he was again after you, he texted you at random hours during the day, always asking you if you wanted to facetime or hangout. It baffled you how he simply acted as if nothing happened and was unable to give you space when you clearly didn't want to be social. You always declined his invitations and though you still replied to his messages, anyone who had access to them could tell you were being nothing but polite and distant from him, because that's exactly what you wanted: distance.

Pedro on the other hand, just couldn't accept that, you out of every single person in the world would never do that, I mean, stay away from him? Not a chance. He knew you'd rather be by his side as a friend than be without him, and he wasn't afraid to admit he was that selfish. He didn't want you out of his life, even if he couldn't give you what you wanted, but at the same time, he couldn't sacrifice his freedom like meeting women because of you. So once again, he told himself he would accept your decision of having a break for him, but he wasn't going down without a fight.

Showing up at your job at the end of your shift was the solution he came up with. In his mind, it was the perfect plan. There were enough people so you'd be too shy to tell him off, but not crowded enough to drag everyone's attention.

You were just finishing your tasks with some of your co-workers when you saw him standing there. He was in his regular sweater, glasses on and a messy hair that showed he'd been out in the wind. He smiled sweetly, his warm brown eyes scanning the tight jeans you were and the high knee boots had on.

"Hey Y/N, can we talk?" He asked as if nothing had happened, he stared into your eyes with his puppy ones and slowly took both hands to your face, cupping your cheeks and stroking them gently.

"I missed you, mi cariño" he mixed the two languages knowing damn well how that made you weak at the knees.

You're heart raced and your breathing wasn't steady anymore, the butterflies got all agitated and you bit your lips, before reminding you it wasn't real, it was just one of his tricks, how Pedro learned to read you over time and used this on his favor.

You gently held his hands and took them away from your face "I'm sorry, I was busy" you gave him a lame excuse and he knew it was bullshit, but still, didn't care at all.

"It's okay, princesa, I wanted to see you… wanna go for a coffee?" He asked sweetly and frowned softly at your refusal. You had never said no to going out with him.

"I really can't, Pedro, I'm still in the middle of tasks here and I can't leave early" you half lied as you were indeed very busy but if it was any other occasion, you would always make time to him.

He sighed and took a step back "alright hermosa, just… stop by Saturday night, I'll have some friends over, it's our group and I'd really like to see you there, you know it is never the same without you" he said in a sweet way and said goodbye, leaning towards you and pecking your cheeks, dangerously close to your lips.

•••

Saturday arrived faster than you could tell, if you were excited about the dinner party the week would've probably dragged itself, but as you were still feeling awkward, in a blink of an eye, you found yourself checking your makeup in front of the mirror. You didn't take long to get dressed and knew you should get going, so you wouldn't be too late. You decided to take an Uber instead of driving, unsure of how much you'd drink. When your screen lit up, the first thing that drew your attention was the headline to some high profile gossip website that said

'Pedro Pascal seen with mysterious beauty blonde as he's out'

You felt your hand shake lightly and your whole body heat up again, clicking on the link and being redirected to the article that said he was spotted a couple of weeks ago walking down the street with the woman whom you immediately recognized as the skank from the party. The text said some fan recognized him and snapped a picture of the two while out for lunch but it only went viral on TikTok two weeks later.

You could see she was still wearing the same dress she did at the party which was an obvious proof they'd slept together and she didn't have spare clothes to change while he took her out for lunch.

He took her out for lunch. The son of a bitch had told you to go home by Uber late at night knowing you had drunk considerably and that could make you an easy target in case the driver or anyone else had bad intentions. And yet, he made sure to take her out for lunch and drive her home like a real gentleman.

You couldn't believe what you were reading, as angry tears blurred your eyes, you threw your phone onto the bed and began taking off your clothes. To hell with Pedro and his dinner party. Judging by his behavior in the last few weeks, there was a huge chance the skank would be there as well, and you would not humiliate yourself like that, not for him, not for anybody.

"Fuck you Pascal" you mumbled under your breath as you removed your makeup and turned off your phone.

-----

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed it!!! Part 3 is coming soon!

[galazry]

Finally... a glance...

pairing: best friend!scaramouche x gn!reader genre: modern au; friends to lovers; unfortunately, this is not angst; semi-crack? tbh i threw away all my logic while writing this. content: he finally confessed his feelings... at the worst possible way. before you could even answer, scaramouche had already run away. now you're left alone to wonder... how much of an idiot are you? cw: you get to learn how stupid both scaramouche and the reader are, also kazuha is here and is so tired with how his friends are acting. word count: 2K (I had a bit too much fun while writing this haha...) a/n: sequel to "Look at Me!". tbh i was planning to make a sequel that leads to an angsty ending. Don't worry, I'm not bamboozeling you guys this time 🫶 ALSO I'M SORRY THIS TOOK A LONG TIME I WAS SO BUSY 😭😭😭

It's been a week since Scaramouche confessed his feelings for you. Your aloof best friend for 5 years confessed that he had been harboring affection for you for the longest time. To be honest, you were quite baffled once those words poured out of his lips. Never had a single thought of him being infatuated with you crossed your mind. Hell, you even thought that if you were the last person on earth, he wouldn't even catch any feelings for you.

Oh, how you were proven wrong.

It's been too long since you've seen his figure. Seven days too long. None of the messages you've sent had been read, nor did he pick up any of your calls. His classmates knew nothing of his whereabouts, nor did he attend any of his classes. You even tried to go over to his apartment as you were sure he would be in there, but your knocks were met with silence.

The rest of your friends and classmates noticed how the usually lively atmosphere around you had gone gloomy. Currently, you were in the cafeteria, twiddling with your spoon, food untouched. You didn't really have an appetite as a heavy sigh left your lips. A week had pass and you were still trying to process everything that he had said; how Scaramouche had done everything to gain your attention, but all his efforts didn't bear fruit. You thought that all the things he had done were normal since you both had been best friends for a long time. Maybe it was why you didn't suspect him harboring feelings for you–

"Hey, [Y/N]. May I sit here?"

You begrudgingly lifted your head to the source of the familiar sound that had interrupted your thoughts. Kazuha. You nodded and your friend sat across from you.

"You seemed down in the dumps lately. Not only that, Scaramouche is nowhere to be found. Did you both had an argument of the sort?"

Leave it to Kazuha to sense the change in the atmosphere around you. You let out a sigh as you kept poking at your food. Not wanting to tell him the full truth, you only answered him briefly.

"No... No, we didn't."

"Ah, I see.”

You both continue to eat your food in silence – well, specifically, it was Kazuha who was eating his food, while you kept twiddling with your utensils. After a bit, you decided to break the silence. After all, this was Kazuha, one of your closer friends who, more you would sometimes confide in. Not as much as you did with Scaramouche, though.

“Actually… I guess we kind of did…? Scara kind of…” You take a deep breath, before muttering, “confessed to me…”

“Oh? Congrats to you both then. He finally had the courage to confess to you after harboring his feelings for you for so long. I don't see the reasoning for you to be so down in the dumps.”

Kazuha smiled, as if the words you said wasn’t a surprise to him. You, however, had your eyes as wide as saucers with the reaction he had given you. How did the platinum-blonde knew that Scaramouche liked you? The look on your face tells him that he was missing a big chunk of the story. Putting down his spoon, he leaned closer towards you and asked, “[Y/N], you did accept his feelings… right? This is what you have always wanted, no?” You slowly glanced away, not wanting to answer his question. Suddenly, to you, the trees outside looked that much more interesting as it swayed with the wind.

“[Y/N].”

“Look, I was shocked, alright?! The fact that the feeling was mutual was a complete shocker to me! And before I could process everything and answered him, he bolted right off!" You groaned, finally starting to spill the beans towards your friend, who suddenly felt his shoulders getting heavy.

“Oh dear…” Kazuha sighed as everything finally clicked into place. Even without you telling him the full details, he could already guess what had transpired between the two of you. He had always thought you both were a pair match in heaven and the event that had transpire prior really sealed said fact.

“This is why I told you to stop discussing your so-called ‘crushes’ in front of him.”

“Well…” After telling him the full story of what had happened that day, your friend could only let out a long and tired sigh as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt—the way you kept talking about the people, he knows you don’t have crush on in front of Scaramouche, and the way the indigo-haired confessed to you—he could only form a rueful frown on his face. “You know I’m stupid with these kinds of things and I thought if… you know…”

Kazuha knows. He knows how you thought that if you discuss your so-called 'crushes' with Scaramouche, you could discern if he has feelings for you as well. In addition to that, you also thought by making him jealous enough, your best friend would confess to you — which he did, though it didn't really end like how you wanted it.

"[Y/N]... Why couldn't you just be straightforward and confess your feelings for him...?"

"And look like a fool and possibly ruin our 5 years of friendship if the feeling wasn't mutual?!"

Kazuha massages his forehead as he remembers the conversation he had with Scaramouche weeks prior before the incident. He too had asked the indigo-haired why he didn't went up and be straightforward with his feelings. Scaramouche was, after all, infamous for speaking what's on his mind. In spite of that, Kazuha got the same answer like the one you gave him...

"There's no way I'm ruining my friendship with [Y/N] if the feeling wasn't mutual! Only an idiot would do that!"

To concur, you both really were a match in heaven— being total idiots oblivious to each others feelings and poor Kazuha was stuck in the middle. With a sigh, ruby orbs looked at you.

"So... What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know... Scara wouldn't even open the door for me-"

You stopped mid-sentence and stared at Kazuha. Before he could get a word out, you leaned towards him with a glint he knows so well. This can't be good...

"Kazuha... Your apartment is next to Scara's... right?"

A week.

A week long he had taken absence from attensing any of his classes. Scaramouche felt like his world crashed into him the minute he ran away from you. That wasn't how he wanted the confesion for you to go... There should have been flowers, or homemade cookies, anything.

The indigo-haired layed on his unmade head, constantly and silently cursing himself for his cowardly actions. He was about to mope some more when he heard a faint knock. At first, he ignored it, thinking that it was either you or Kazuha. Although, the knocks grew louder and louder, and even more desperate that, with a sigh, he got out of bed and walked towards the door.

Peering through the peephole he saw no one, yet the knocks kept coming. There was even a voice that kept calling out his name where was—

Indigo orbs dilated when they say your figure, on his balcony, pounding on the glass door, calling out his name. Without missing a beat, he immediately pulled you into his apartment. "Are you crazy?! How did you get into my balcony?!"

"From Kazuha's balcon-"

"FROM KAZUHA'S BALCONY?!?!"

He didn't gave you any time to reply as he began to check for any bruises or injury you may have suffered as you did your irresponsible stunt. All the while, he kept running his mouth, saying how you could have gotten hurt, and that he would have a talk with Kazuha for letting you do said stunt. Once he was sure that you did not suffer any injury, his hand immediately pinched your cheek. "[Y/N] [L/N]... What gave you the right idea to jump from his balcony to mine, hm?" Scaramouche asked with a smile, effectively sending chills down your spine. With a gulp, you answered him with as much confidence as you could muster.

"You kept avoiding me. My text, my calls, my knocks. Every time I try so hard to reach out to you, you constantly block out my efforts. So I had to do what I had to do. Even if the risk was great, as long as I get to talk to you that's all that matters." It was his turn to advert your gaze. Dropping his hands from your cheek, he then rubbed the back of his neck. Was it from shame? Or was the fear of you rejecting him now back to gnaw at his heart? The indigo-haired didn't know.

"Look, I know what you're going to say; That you have no feelings for me, I get it. No need for this whole stunt just to reject me," He let out a sigh, still holding onto the illusion that you never once hold any feelings for him. It was now your turn to prove him wrong, and to apologize for the misunderstanding that almost rift your friendship and potential relationship apart.

His eyes went as wide as saucers when your lips brushed against his. Soft. That was the only think he could think off once you pull away, the smile he had always adored and cherish now on your face. "I have feelings for you too, Scara." Suddenly, the dullness of the world around him became vibrant and colourful. The fluttering of the butterflies in his stomach could definitely cause a storm. This must be a dream, there's no way, in his mind, that this was all real. Or maybe it was some sort of cruel joke the heavens is playing on him.

Seeing the confusion reflected in his eyes, you explained to your best friend — how you actually had fallen head over heels for him; how you faked all your crushes to instigate a reaction from him; how you wonder if his aloofness was a sign that your feelings weren't reciprocated, but never did you once gave up. You wrapped everything up with an apology, that you could have done things better, and that you were ready to face a rejection from him. "After all," your hand cups his cheek, caressing it gently with your thumb, "this whole thing started because I wanted to make sure that you did have feelings for me. So, if your feelings for me have faded away, I would understa-"

"Idiot." He intercepts you mid-sentence, pulling you in for a hug. "You're stupid... Can't believe that you are a total idiot... Maybe this is the reason why you could never beat my scores... Always taking the most difficult and strangest route of them all." You were about to complain and ask about the correlation about academic scores and your current situation. However, the rare smile on his face as he looked at you as if you're his entire world completely shuts you up.

"But... I guess you're my idiot now, huh?"

.

.

.

You finally finished telling the story of how both you and Scaramouche started dating. The children, that you both were babysitting, had happy smiles on their face as your lover groans in embarrassment at the story. To the man, it was a cringey story, yet he never did once try to stop you from telling the kids about how your relationship with him started. He loved seeing the smile on your face, and if he had to endure hearing the same story over and over again, so be it.

Scaramouche wouldn't admit that he too, at that time, had been an idiot, for causing such a scene. Well, in the end, you both still got together and that's all that matters. Not to mention, you both have a fun story to tell to everyone as an added bonus.

Once the children's parents picked them all up, you both then snuggled on the couch. A soft humming filled the room as you gave Scaramouche a quick peck. "Hey," you started off and he immediately knows where this conversation is going. "One day, love. Right now, I want to savour these quiet and tranquil moments with you before this home of ours becomes lively and we have little spawns running around." He let out a small chuckle, holding your hand as his thumb traced the ring on your finger.

[iinsertblognamee]

motherhood?

summary ― sam and you have a fight, this wasn't how this was meant to go.

pairing ― sam kerr x reader

warning/s ― angst, mentions of IVF

based off this request

You were worried. Sam was missing. You knew she liked to go for morning runs - that was completely fine - but Sam hadn’t come to bed last night and when you came downstairs this morning her keys were missing from the bowl. 

You convinced yourself that she would be back soon enough, as you prepared tea for both of you - ensuring to grab her favourite mug. The silence throughout the house keeps you on edge, it was never quiet in your house. Sam wasn’t a quiet person - she was loud, always moving, always making noise. You grab the tv remote and chuck it on, just to break the tension in the air. 

You sighed, as you rubbed your face with your palms. 

You knew you were both at fault. You shouldn’t have pushed the conversation last night but you were so tired of trying to be patient. And yes, you had been patient. You had waited years for this moment, the appointment had been booked in both your calendars for months. You’re excitement growing day by day as you got closer and closer. You walked into that appointment yesterday and waited and waited until both you and the poor lady sitting there realised Sam wasn’t showing. You hated the way she looked at you with pity - asking if you would possibly want to reschedule for a better time for you and your partner. 

Your partner who couldn’t even bother to send a sorry message that she couldn't come. 

It hurt even more when she looked over both your and Sam’s information (that you had to fill out by yourself) and asked if you were absolutely sure this was a path you wanted to go down. Like she was questioning how stable your relationship was. Although at that moment you questioned yourself too, was this the right thing to be doing? 

So yeah, you blew up at Sam when she walked through the front door later that night, a smile on her face as she waved goodbye to whoever had dropped her off. 

Pouring hot water into both cups, adding a splash of milk to yours before making your way over to the table. It was a sunny enough day, practically perfect and yet you felt like absolute crap. 

You miss the first call on your phone, but hear it the second time it rings. Not bothering to check who could be calling you as you answered. 

“Hello?” you know you sound like crap, the screaming from last night left your throat tender and sore. 

“Y/N hey” Millie. You pick up her voice instantly, she knows what happened yesterday - last night too probably. “I thought I’d let you know that Sam just left my place. She stayed the night after…” 

You both don’t try to finish her sentence, nodding your head before remembering she can’t see you. 

“Uh, thanks, Mills. I hope she wasn’t too much of a hassle last night” You hear something moving in the background before she replies “No, no. She was - She was okay.” she pauses for a second, “It’s gonna be okay Y/N” 

You both say your goodbyes and turn your attention back to the window, as you continued to sip your tea. The conversation from last night ran over and over in your head like a broken record. 

She had practically stumbled in, a grin on her face as she chucked her house keys into the bowl next to the front door. You were already standing there waiting, your arms crossed in a defensive stance. 

“Where were you?” 

You both knew the answer, but you needed to hear it from her lips. You needed to hear her confess that she fucked up on this, not you. 

“Out” she starts, you see her start to get defensive, the way she slowed herself down so she didn’t have to touch you as she walked past you. 

“Funny enough I gathered that already - where’d you go?” 

She gives out a scoff, opening the fridge and looking for something to eat. 

“I just went out with some of the girls, there’s no harm in that is there?” the tone in her voice is enough to send you off. You knew the moment you started yelling she would too but you honestly couldn’t care less at that moment.  

“God Sam! You decided that going out to get DRUNK was more important than coming with your wife to OUR IVF appointment. You are so unbelievable!” 

“I didn’t get drunk for godsakes, we have like two drinks - if that” You shake your head, disbelief towards the woman in front of you. 

“That’s what you defend? How much alcohol you drank, instead of coming up with some lame-ass excuse as to why you didn’t come to the appointment?” 

You wait for it, for the obvious fake excuse she was going to pull out of her ass ‘I forget’ was better than nothing at this point. You didn’t point out that you had sent her multiple text messages during the day asking her if you two wanted to carpool it to the appointment. 

Instead, she just stands there, a bottle of water in her hand.

“If you didn’t want to be there if you’re not ready, you should have told me!” you knew you were yelling, you could feel the strain in your voice, your hands going up in the air. She shakes her head, her arms now crossed across her body. 

“It's not that, Y/N.” you see her frown deepen but you pay no attention to it. 

“Well that’s what it fucking looks like to me” you fight back, your hands running through your hair as you try to calm yourself. This was getting ridiculous. 

“Look, just because YOU might be ready doesn’t automatically mean I am.” 

“You told me you were ready when we booked that appointment months ago, or don’t you remember that either?” 

“God leave it alone. I hate when you do this” 

“Do what?” 

“Act all high and mighty. It was one appointment Y/N!” 

You step back as if you had been slapped. She knew how important this meeting was for you, for both of you. 

“I-” your voice cracks before you can add anything else. You shake your head, trying to grab control of the situation once again. “It was an important appointment, Sam, you knew that. You knew how important this was for us, for me.” you practically whisper out. 

She doesn't go to agree with you and that was the final nail in the coffin for you, 

“I thought we both wanted this, I guess I was the only one” 

“God! I hate yo-” rang through the air, everything standing still in an instant. “-This!” she tries to change but the sentence has already been spoken. 

“Go to hell, Sam.” You don’t know how you managed to say it with your voice cracking, but you don’t for a response as you run up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. The door slams behind you as the tears start to fall. 

It takes about half an hour for you to hear the front door open, although you don’t attempt to look over to see her walk in. The sound of the kegs hitting the bowl, her steps coming closer and closer. You hear the sharp breath she takes in, as she finds you at the table. Your mug in your hand - filled with cold tea. 

You notice the big bouquet of flowers in her hands, your favourite flowers from your favourite place that was ten minutes in the opposite direction of your house. Looking up from the flowers, taking a glimpse at Sam’s face. You notice the bags under her eyes straight away - her hair is a mess as well as her clothes. 

“Hi,” she spoke softly, not moving from her spot. Almost to say ‘your move’. You tilt your head, trying to grasp how this conversation was going to go.

“Hey,” It seemed to be enough for Sam as she took a step closer to you, bringing the flowers out for you to grab. 

“I picked these up on the way home” You give a small hm,  as you take them off her. Your hands touching for the first time in almost 24 hours. “Thank you” you add, taking in a sniff. 

The silence engulfs the two of you once again. 

“I fucked up” She doesn’t try to move closer to you this time. She claps her hands together, you take note of her white knuckles. “Yesterday, I fucked up and then I came home and fucked it up all over again” 

You gave a small sigh, turning your attention to the wall behind her shoulder, the artwork now very interesting. “If you don’t want to do it, Sammy, you should have just said. I wouldn’t have pushed.” As much as it broke your heart to say it - you meant it wholeheartedly. Sam was it for you, you knew that. 

“I want everything with you Y/N” your gaze snapping right back to your wife’s face. 

“Sam…” you start, trying to gather all your thoughts moving at a hundred beats per second. 

“Please, let me. Just let me explain” She sounded so sad, so lost. You nodded your head, knowing that she needed this right now. 

“I want everything with you, Y/N, everything, and I mean that. I’m just scared because I know how much I can fuck this up” You try to cut her off, but she raises her hand to stop you before you can start. “I know how important this is to you - to us and I'm terrified because what if I'm a shit mother. What if I can’t do it? I know I’m too careless, and sometimes forgetful but it's okay cause we’re both adults and we can look after ourselves but a child - a baby relies on me, on us. But then I think about you, as a mother and my heart beats just that little bit faster because I know how great of a mother you will be. You are so kind and caring and you put up with my shit even when lord knows you shouldn’t. You love me unconditionally and make me the best possible version of myself and how am I to deny our children from having that? And I know that when I fuck up, and we both know that I will, you’ll be there ready to take over. So yes, I freaked out yesterday - all my fears bubbling up but I’ve realised now matter how much I don’t trust myself, I trust you even more. Because I know you are going to make the best mother our kids could ever ask for”. 

Tears had started to stream down both your faces, Sam’s chest rising and falling after her speech. It takes you no more than two seconds to launch from the chair and into her embrace. 

“I don’t want it if you don’t-” you start to mumble into her shoulder, she cuts you off by cupping under your chin and moving your face so you were both looking at each other. “-Y/N. I’m trying to tell you that I want this. I want children with you and all the chaos that comes with it.” 

You nod your head, before bringing your lips onto hers. A sigh leaves both your lips. 

“We can wait,” you say weakly, giving her another kiss. She shakes her head, looking up from your lips to your eyes. “How long have we waited, Y/N?” 

Too fucking long. 

She grins once again, before bringing your lips back onto hers. 

“I can’t wait for this next chapter of our lives baby” she mumbles on your lips and you couldn’t agree more. 

[ctrldoll]

Perfect Home

Wife!Reader/Husband!Miguel O'Hara

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Genre: Angst (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)

4.5k words.

Arguments are so tasking to write! They're supposed to be illogical, anyway. :⁠'⁠(

This has been in my drafts for a month! Ideas were not idea-ing! (′д｀σ)σ

Listening to a The Weekend playlist while editing was such a vibe!!! (∩^o^)⊃━☆

Warnings: Cheating, Pressure From Parents, Society’s Marital Standards, Desire To Have A Child, Cursing, Envy, Suggestive & Homely Vibes Are Non-Existent.

Peace and blessings to you, My Love!!!

𖤐⭒๋࣭⭑ [𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐏] ➜ He cheated, you found out. You don't know whether to leave him or not. Now what?

The egg in the pan let out a bitter scent before you firmly flipped it. “Ugh.” You let out as you looked at it from your sunken and puffed-out eyes, breathing in mucus as you struggled not to sob once more. “Over an egg? Over an egg, [Name]?!” You thought and picked up a tissue to brush your tears and stray drops of slick over.

Just yesterday, you found out about your beloved husband's cheating with his ex for two months.

You should have caught on to the signs during your parents’ gala that took place two months ago. Dana’s excitement led her to firmly hold on to Miguel's firm arm as Miguel discussed the success of a deal with Stark Industries with the both of you, which should have been a warning sight. It irked you slightly, but you didn't view it as enough to suggest anything. Maybe how Miguel didn't depart from her hand for minutes on end should have done it.

You've always been a bit credulous. Always having one too many friends who didn't really care about your well-being from the beginning, desiring all that your younger self, who faked sickening sweet kindness, had. The public loved every bit of it, as did your parents. You noticed the subtle hints of disrespect and commented on them much later. Far too late.

You made sure your presented nature wouldn't crawl into adulthood, but it spread itself into your relationship.

Miguel was a quiet nerd when you first got to know him. Never the hot topic, he stuck to himself the majority of the time.

You bonded with him while you visited your friend in the institution, watching as she obviously flirted with Miguel's friend while they walked with one another. Surprisingly, you bonded over an idle conversation about cake.

“Tres leches is fantastic! Dios mío, there's no arguing with that!”

“Yes, Tres leches may be fantastic to you, but [ — ] definitely crosses that!”

You both didn't catch the side-eye both friends gave one another.

The next week, a double date was set.

It was the perfect TV show grounding for marriage. It all feels like a waste now that you look back on it with low eyes.

“Mi Alma.” You rolled your eyes as your husband walked into the kitchen in sweats with a water bottle in hand. You felt the chill of the Five AM air for a moment before you turned to place the egg on your plate and turned off the stove.

The crinkle of the wrapper as you pulled out the loaves of bread constantly broke the silence in the room as you looked away from him.

“Were those four years we spent with one another a waste?” You asked after a moment, then opened your mouth to chew on a loaf. A tear poured down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away.

“No, no, they were not, Cariño. They were the most amazing years of my life.” Miguel sadly sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I'm so sorry, Mi Amor. I promise I'll be better. For you, for us.” 

“You don't get to call me that. How am I your love when you cheat on me?” You barked, glaring at him. Your fork clinked when it reached the floor. You sighed in exhaustion and picked it up. You tossed it into the pile of dishes in the sink. “Fuck, I feel done.”

“Can’t we just get past this? We've been through so much for something like this to tear us apart. Miguel tsked and shook his head as he rolled his eyes. Nervousness ran through them, but he wouldn't show it. “Are you fucking serious right now, Miguel?! I should get over it?! Is that what you're saying?!” You yelled, frustrated, and you took deep breaths to calm down. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Miguel.”

“What about you, [Name]?! You're so damn ungrateful! I’m there for you! I support you, but you never support your husband! You barely do anything useful; you're always so caught up in your work that we can't even spend time together!” Miguel yelled, drawing closer to you.

“I have to work, Miguel! What part of that don't you understand?! I don't do anything useful?! Who's the one who does nearly everything in this household?! Me! You aren't even around for us to spend time together! If you aren't working late into the night, you're fucking patrolling! Do you want me to just sit down and wait for you?! I have other things to do!” You couldn't be more thankful in the moment that the room was soundproof. You could let out more than you would have in other spaces.

“You are so damn stubborn! Fuck! We can't even have a conversation without you trying to form an argument!” Miguel yelled, standing at arm's length as he pointed at you.

“Don’t point at me, Miguel.” You demanded and backed away from him to grab your purse. “If you honestly think that this isn't overdue, you're ridiculous. Stop victimising yourself. I’m the one who was cheated on. Go be with Dana, who probably won't piss you off as much as I do.” You said it with a crack at the end of your words as you struggled not to break down.

“[Name], I-” Miguel pushed his hand forward to grab your arm, but you pushed it closer to your form as you quickly left the hotel room. “Read the letter on the kitchen table. Or don’t. I don't really care.” You closed the door and walked away.

On the kitchen table, a letter in cotton paper was laid on it with your mother’s formal handwriting, inviting the both of you for lunch before your departure. Miguel cursed as he read it, the stress already getting to him as he envisioned how it would be.

Meanwhile, you headed to the café, reassuring yourself to calm down as you walked the longer route to it, hoping to have felt better when you reached there.

What you didn't notice was your mother’s gaze upon you from her balcony as she let out another puff from her cigarette while in her white silk nightgown, a black coat with a fluffy neck covering her as she cocked her eyebrows. Her eyes squinted at the moment you paused to quickly rub your eyes. She let out a hum, watching your figure disappear from her sight.

“These crumpets are quite fantastic.” Your father smiled, spreading another with blackberry jam as he chewed the spongy and soft treat. “We should wait for a few moments before requesting lunch, no? It will only take them a few more moments to arrive.” Your mother smiled at the both of you, a glass of water in hand, before taking in a long sip, bothered.

“So, Miguel, how have you been? Is there any success in the partnership with Calahan Tech? I've heard much about it in the Nueva York Times. Business moguls are just as excited about it as I am.” Your father's eyes twinkled in excitement as he imagined the size of the funding he would receive and the amount of votes the results of the collaboration would bring him in the next election as he snacked on a pig in the blanket.

“I’ve been well, Joseph. The agreement to partner has been a bit tough because we've been trying to convince the funders to work with us, but I’m sure we're about to reach a breakthrough.” Miguel responded, proud, as a smile appeared on his face. His hand shifted to your thigh under the table, alerting you as you took a quick look around before shoving it off of you. You were still bothered; he could tell by the way you struggled not to furrow your brows and the quick way your heart beat at his gesture, which reverberated in his ears as you gracefully downed a glass of water to calm your nerves.

“If you ever need some extra help, you know who to call. I can convince those hotshots to remove the sticks up their asses and agree.” “Joseph!” Mary whispered with a hiss, patting his arm as the man chuckled. “No one heard me, Darling. I whispered.” Your father said it with a wink, placed his hand over his wife's, and squeezed it. Her shoulders slouched, pleased even if she didn't verbally express it, at her husband's gesture, and she looked at their intertwined selves, then went back to her drink.

Joseph winked at the both of you once more and separated his hold from hers for the appetisers.

Your heart squeezed with want as you watched them. It was a moment of love, but also a reminder that you couldn't have that anymore. You looked away with a smile, not wanting to endure the feelings of sadness that weighted your heart.

“Hello, Mary. Hello, Joseph”. You heard in the background but were unable to focus on the two new voices in the background as you focused on calming yourself down.

“Cariño, I-” Miguel whispered in your ear, catching onto your feelings, but a sharp noise broke the moment.

“[Name]! Look at you! You're getting more and more gorgeous by the day! My gosh, you're glowing!” Elle, your sister-in-law, beamed and hugged you from your seat. You stood up quickly to hug her and beamed when you saw your brother walking up to the table.

“Aww, you're so adorable! Gosh, we haven't seen you in a bit.” “We apologise for that, by the way.” Micah shook your hand and led Elle to their seats. He smiled at the stink eye your mother threw at the both of them and rolled his eyes once he looked away from her.

“We apologise for arriving so late. Some business had to be taken care of just at the moment I was to leave the office.” Micah said with an apologetic look on his face. “We wish that we could have arrived on your anniversary as well, [Name] and Miguel. Work, once again, occupied us. Happy belated fourth anniversary to the both of you.” Elle congratulated him with a smile and thanked the waiter when he brought their wine.

You internally giggled at her personality change. Elle was always so casual around you but had to become formal when the fact that she's in public sets in. It wouldn't be good for a model to appear improper.

“How are you, Miguel?” Elle was greeted as Micah nodded. “We haven't seen each other in a while, man.”

“I’m doing well, thank you. I’m just taking care of the missus.” Miguel responded to Micah’s approval and your resistance to roll your eyes. “It’s been four years. I still can't believe that [Name] managed to tie someone down. She's so difficult.” Micah chuckled as you glared at him. “Speak for yourself. I still can't believe Elle wanted you. She could have done so much better.” You giggled and dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“Don’t you remember when you..." Micah began, but Mary interrupted him. "Children, there is no need to complain about one another. To be quite honest, I didn't expect either of you to get married so soon. I thought that you'd both get married after building up your characters.” Your mother giggled, much to both of your dismay.

“Mum? You're cracking a joke? Are you sure you're alright?” Micah questioned, raising a brow that quickly came down when you kicked him underneath the table. “What was that for?” “What are you talking about?” You evaded his glare with a smile.

“I’m just glad to finally see my children and their spouses in the same spot.” Your mother had a gentle smile as she looked at the both of you as your partners looked elsewhere for a moment. She didn't approve of Elle either.

In her view, her children were supposed to marry someone of their status. Someone who is highly regarded. Not anything but that.

However, she regarded your brother in a higher manner when it came down to who he chose to marry.

Elle was a ‘blantant gold digger’ in her words, ‘a model who just wanted someone to raise her higher in the industry’. Micah was a highly praised film director and writer. Who better to expose her to the world of the rich and famous than him?

“Before we continue, Micah and I have an announcement to make.” Elle announced and stood up along with her husband. Your heart dropped as the next sentence echoed in your brain.

“We're pregnant!” They both grinned and hugged one another while grins appeared on your parents' faces. “Congratulations!” Mary cheered and eagerly stood up to hug the couple. “Congratulations. My boy, you've done it again!” Joseph grinned, to which Micah flustered.

“Congratulations!” You finally joined in, grinning as you hugged them both, a bit too tightly. You wanted the moment to feel real. You weren't upset. You couldn't be. You shouldn't be.

“That's a bit tight.” Elle said, causing you to break it. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm already excited to see your little one or ones.” You grinned. “Congratulations, you two. We can't wait to see the little one.” Miguel smiled next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

You could feel the sharp looks from your parents, Micah and Miguel. Elle paused to look at you, and her brows furrowed in worry. "I hope this wasn't inappropriate." She whispered in your ear, looking at Miguel for a moment, holding your hand, to which you tightened the hold. "Elle, are you excited for this new part of your life? I'm so happy for the both of you." You shook your head to hint, and a relieved smile appeared on her face. "Yes, yes, I am." She responded and hugged Micah. He hugged back and smiled at you as a form of assurance and sternly looked at Miguel, to which he looked away.

“I can't wait to find out the gender of your little one. Searching for outfits will be pleasant.” Mary said once you all sat down, smiling at the couple who were in their own moment of adoration as food was brought on the table. Your heart broke as you watched Micah caress Elle’s stomach lovingly, and her hand lifted to squeeze his as they smiled at one another.

You looked at Miguel, whose eyes remained trained on yours, and softly sighed when his hand held yours in assurance, wanting the hurt to end when yours squeezed his. Clinging onto his attention, you hoped that it would rub off the pain you felt, but guilt and shame crawled onto you. You drew your hand from his and onto your fork.

“I just know they'll be spoiled rotten.” Ella giggled as Micah let out a chuckle. “Definately. We'll have to watch out for that.” “I can't wait to meet my first grandchild.” Your mother’s gaze fell on you for a moment, emitting her disappointment in you before having it on the couple as she grinned more.

Much was discussed around the table. The women's attention remained trained mainly on the little one and topics that interested them, as the men were cooped up in their own little world. Soon, it was near the hour of your departure. 

“[Name]. Let's chat for a moment in private.” Your mother said once Micah and Elle left to arrange their hotel room. The frown on her features became more evident the more you both drew away from the public eye. You both stepped into an empty break room. Once the click of a lock was heard, you sighed.

“Do you even realise just how disappointed I am in you, [Name]?” Your mother started. “Micah has a child before you. He hasn't even crossed two years with that girl, and he's made so much progress compared to you. You should be ashamed, [Name].” Anger flared in you as the words sunk in. You had already been through so much in such little time. Why did life’s cards decide to add more to your plate?

“Why does it bother you so damn much? I’ll have children when I want to. What part of that don't you understand?” You responded, glaring at the older woman. “You’ve always regarded Micah highly in comparison to me when it comes to marriage.” You rolled your eyes at her glare.

“[Name], Micah’s a man. Whether or not he has children early, he's alright. If he were to even leave Elle, he'd find someone new. He’d be able to have children, regardless. Men get better with age, unfortunately, unlike us. Your clock is ticking, [Name]. You need to progress into the next step of your life before it's too late.” Mary shook her head and sighed at what she believed was your foolishness.

You drifted into lassitude, it clinging to you like glue, with the realisation that she would never be satisfied with you until you did what pleased her. “I can just imagine how the public will react to this. You've set yourself up for failure.”

“I need to go.” You said, looking at the keys in her hand. “[Name]. Why can't you just listen to me? Did I raise such an impudent child? I’m just looking out for you, [Name]. I don't want you to experience regret. It'll never stop. I’m guiding you towards the right path.”

“Open the door.” You said once more, refraining yourself. “Why do you act so childish? I’m trying to help you.” Mary insisted, only further pushing your buttons. “Open the door.” You repeated it and headed towards it. You hand motioned at it. “You’re going to regret it if you continue with what you're doing.” Mary said, placed the key inside the keyhole, and turned it. “Maybe I will; maybe I won't. I respect you so much, Mum. Let's end this.” You said, then opened the door. “This will only end if you do what is right.” Was all you heard her softly say. You left.

“They offered only sixteen million dollars to help fund the project?” Your father questioned Miguel as he puffed the cigar on his lips and blew it out. The smoke waved in the air, and Miguel glanced at it for a moment as he drank his glass of beer. “Yes, they did. They didn't believe in the project’s potential until recently, when testing made a lot of progress.” Miguel responded, then drank the rest of his drink.

“Your drinking tolerance must be high. You've drank four beers since you arrived, and you're still standing straight. You'd do amazing in the drinking competitions that go on in the basement on Saturdays. Don't tell Mary; she wouldn't be pleased to know about them.” Joseph winked, to which Miguel chuckled as he shook his head. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Miguel, why won't you have children?” Your father broke the silence and looked at him, somewhat disappointed. “I’m a man as well, Miguel. It's not hard to conclude the possibilities.” The cigar was nearing its last draw.

“My career. I don't think it would let me enjoy the simple pleasures of family life. I do my research late into the night. [Name] does so much to accommodate that. I don't think it would be right of me to bring children into that.” Miguel confessed with a sad gaze as he thought back to your heartbroken expression when you found out about his involvement with Dana.

It hunted him throughout the missions he did that night, rage and shame filling his form, and anyone around him sensed it. Many in the Spider-HQ avoided him in the brief night he was there. Jessica and Peter avoided him as well, aside from brief interactions. They knew he'd pour out his feelings to them eventually. 

“As much as using work as an excuse gratifies you, it's a poor choice, Miguel. You'll regret it if you decide to let it linger.” Your father looked at him from the side of his eye and rubbed his moustache.

“My work was easier in my younger days, but I found it just as challenging as I find it now. I was just an assistant to the previous politician at the time, too. You understand what I’m hinting at when I say that, right?” Miguel nodded, to which the older man smiled. 

“I had my children either way. It was a struggle to tackle the task of raising them and working. I had days where I thought I didn't do enough for them and that I found my work to be more important. Mary had her own career to focus on. She would work late into the night. I’m assuming that [Name] does the same thing since she chose to be a designer just like her mother. Do I need to be corrected?” “No, you don't. You're right.”

“We still did the best we could, regardless. We could have done some things better, yes. But we can't go back in time to correct ourselves. We can only give advice to those who seem to be going astray.” Joseph hinted, looking at Miguel, who looked back at him.

Joseph knew; he could tell by the way he looked at him, disappointed and angry, but chose to contain himself.

“I only hope you won't regret your decision, Miguel. Just know that I will be alongside my daughter when she decides to tell us.” Your father took in one last puff and let it out. Miguel and Joseph gazed at the smoke one last time until it disappeared into the clear, blue sky over the beautiful atmosphere.

Joseph's cigar remained in its ashtray, the soft red of it fading with each passing moment. Both men took in the peacefulness of the atmosphere with sombre spirits.

Moments after you freshened up, you headed to your husband. “We should head out in a bit.” You said, then placed your head on his shoulder and laid your hand on his chest. He noticed how drained you felt. He sensed the irregularity in your hormones. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you wrapped yours around his. You made your decision at that moment.

“Cariño, I am so sorry. I'll be better. I'll never hurt you again.” He whispered in your ear, his soft tone and the warmness of his breath in your ear making you melt in his arms as you tightened your hold on him.

“We will see each other once more.” Mary stated, across both of you with her husband. She hugged you, then Miguel. Her hands held the sides of both your shoulders and shook them. “Drive safe, alright?” Joseph said, then hugged you and shook Miguel's hand. “Yes, sir. We'll be alright.” Miguel responded and shook the keys with a grin.

“We hope to hear some good news soon.” Your mother commented, smiling as she directly looked at you. “We will soon, won't we, Miguel?” Joseph said, looking at Miguel with a grin. “Hopefully.” Miguel responded and straightened himself. You could tell that something happened between them. “Don’t worry, you will soon.” You responded with a smile and left hand in hand with your beloved.

The strawberry air freshener, coffee, Miguel's spicy cologne, and your sweet perfume lingered in the air of your home when you both stepped in. The cosiness hugged your form, and you took it all in, craving the warmth you desperately needed in the last two days.

“Miel, it feels good to be back, doesn't it?” Miguel placed your luggage on the side and hugged your waist, savouring the comfort of the air before him. You squeezed into his warmth, cherishing it as a longing emotion overcame you. You turned to face him, and before anything could pour from his plump lips, you locked them with your own.

He lifted you, soft lips still entangled, his stamina much greater than your own, to the wall, willing to do all the work as you squirmed in eagerness across him. “Let me help you.” You said, in between gasps, need flaring all over your body as he kissed your neck, nearing your collarbone as kisses and tiny licks trailed towards it.

You could feel the slight sting of a canine; the sensation became foreign as it had been a long time since you embraced in hazy lust. Your body missed it—the curl of your back as you felt it draw a messy line down your collarbone.

“Mikey, please-” You drew out a sharp breath, your eyes hinting towards the stairs that led up to your bedroom, then shut tight when he pressed his hips closer to your own, evidently just as excited as you were. He lifted you in a hug, and your legs immediately clung on to his waist as he tightly held on to you, almost as though you'd disappear right there and then.

“Mi Vida, I promise I will never hurt you again. Te quiero tanto. Te quiero, te necesito tanto, Mi Vida, Mi Todo. Por favor, por favor, déjame tenerte.”

[“I love you so much. I love you, I need you so much, My Life, My All. Please, please let me have you.”] 

“You can have me, Mikey. Please.” You dragged on, clinging more to him as want consumed your forms.

The sensual fog filled the house as carnal desire mixed between your bodies late into the night. You finalised your decision as sweat stuck to your body, your gaze on Miguel as he slept soundly. You hadn't seen him like this in such a long time. Your fingers moved to separate a stray lock that stuck to his cheekbone. Pain struck your heart when you thought about how Dana must have seen him this intimately. You wouldn't blame her if she did the same thing you had just done. You just hated that she got to.

The never-ending bustle of Nueva York in the distance was all you drifted off to sleep once more with. You had a fleeting thought of what went on in his mind when he watched you drift off to sleep first. You knew he must have loved it; he must have gazed at you with the same adoration during your first moments together. You missed it all.

“I want a divorce, Miguel.” You calmly let out, scrambled eggs on your plate and his as you ate breakfast with one another, spirits low. He sighed, an indication that he expected this, then looked at you, searching for a sign that you would consider any plea that fell from his lips. He didn't find any. “I’m sorry, Mi Amor.” He apologised, then drank coffee. The cup was placed on the counter a bit loudly for comfort. He looked towards you in apology. You nodded, then turned to eat.

“I know.” You responded, looking out the window at the eggs that softly lay on the nest on top of the tree next to the household, wondering if, by leaving him, you'd unlock the path towards that. The mother bird’s eyes lingered on her eggs for a moment. Maybe it was in adoration.

You let out a hum, making Miguel shift his low eyes towards your own in questioning, and you shook your head, then turned back to your plate.

I’m done!!! Yessssss!!! I don't know whether to continue with this or not. If I do, it'll take a bit to get chapters. This took a bit out of my lifespan but I’m so happy that I wrote this! ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡