#she apologized for ''hurting my feelings'' but i refuse to give an apology because i have nothing to apologize for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweetiechenle · 26 days ago

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reading between the lines ✦ jeno

pairing: collegestudent!literatureprodigy!jeno x afab!collegestudent!scienceandmathgenius!reader

summary: jeno was the biggest problem you've ever had to solve, but for him you weren't quite an open book either.

w.c: 9.4k

warnings: mdni 18+, MATH, i did so much research i feel like i need to cite my sources, thank you quizlet, angst, hurt and comfort, frenemies to lovers, fluff, jeno and y/n argue a lot and yell at each other, teasing, misunderstandings, YEARNING, kissing, make-ups and confessions, plot WITH porn, love making very intimate, hard with feelings and refuse to listen to each other, unprotected sex (i better not catch y'all doing this), praising, crying, begging, groveling, pet names (baby), oral (f receiving), creampie (YUM), softdomtop!jeno (just as god intended), crack/humor, scientific talk because smart (i never took bio in college), if i forgot anything pls lmk. reblogs and feedback appreciated ♡ fiction ≠ reality. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENO!!!

‘WHAT’ you gasped, not noticing you had barked it out until everyone turned around and glared at you.

‘i’m sorry?...’ your professor had stopped everyone to bring attention back, she gave you a quizzical look, ‘is there a problem?’

you shook your head, still surprised by your sudden outburst, ‘n-no, i apologize’ you hung your head in shame, red blooming on your cheeks from embarrassment. you had been dreading today, your world literature 1 professor had told you all a week ago that you would be paired up with a partner for your first project. your major in biology and minor in actuarial mathematics required some literature classes to help with ‘scientific writing and understanding’ as your advisor put it. so you figured world literature 1 was the easiest choice, it turned out to actually be hell on earth. your weakest subject was english and literature, you were never a reader growing up unless it was about different sciences, but you always opted for documentaries and videos than reading. growing up, you’d always dread english class, anxiously waiting for whatever science and math class you could have next.

when you tell people that your favorite subject is math and then science they would laugh and usually end it with an ‘i wish’, that was your english and history, you wish you could understand it better, but it always seemed impossible. what you were least expecting was getting paired with the best literature student you knew, jeno. he annoyed you at times, acting like a pretentious asshole going around and quoting shakespeare and some other century-dead author. when you went and quoted pythagroas near him it was now apparently a problem, you two bickered back and forth in class during group introductions about greek philosophers for almost an hour, debating if aristotle was more of a math genius or a linguistics expert.

after the heated discussion, jeno told you ‘i love a good debate, you have some crazy opinions though’ he ended up giving you his phone number. it was only the first week of classes, your first ‘friend’(?), you texted him that night, but no response came. the next week you were struggling with questions your professor had given you all to go with a reading.

you texted jeno:

‘hey is this correct? *PICTURE ATTACHED*

his response chimed on your phone five minutes later:

‘no’

and that was the only response you got, no help, no explanation, you didn’t even know what was wrong with your answer to begin with. fuck this, you ended up calling him, to your surprise he answered with a ‘what?’

you didn’t mean to blow up on him, but it just came out, ‘why can’t you be nice to me for one second and help me with this student homework?’

he sighed, making your ear vibrate with the sound, ‘take back what you said and i’ll help you’

you grumbled but obliged, ‘this homework and reading is not stupid, now please help me’

you guys ended up talking on the phone for almost two hours, discussing different themes from the reading, mostly arguing about who was right, but in the end jeno helped you get answers that were good enough. he talked you through the questions and the actual themes of the reading, the elements, and showed you how to better analysis pieces of literature. you were eternally grateful but absolutely mortified at the same time.

after that phone call, you were psyched, finally finding someone that could help you pass. you were always the person in math classes that everyone went to, you didn’t have to be that person for others anymore. although you remember all the emotional baggage and difficulty when trying to help others study and understand formulas, you wouldn’t ask much of jeno, only when you really needed it.

two weeks ago you found him in the library, doing homework with books scattered around him. the first thing you noticed were glasses that he had never worn before, big frames making his eyes look much bigger in such a cute way. you figured if you asked he wouldn’t mind if you joined him, and you figured that if you asked in an even nicer way, he could help you with the literature homework.

‘hey jeno!’ you greeted him, walking up to his table, he looked up, pink lips still in a straight line, ‘would you mind if i joined you?’

‘i guess not’ he shrugged and moved some of his books out of the way for you, now sitting across from him you smiled slightly and got out your own homework. abstract algebra was your favorite class so far this semester, you never thought getting homework would make you so giddy. you couldn’t believe some people found it excruciating, while it was just a ‘fun activity’ for you. you and jeno continue work in silence, you would steal glances every once in a while, his eyes scanning over the paper as he scribbled down notes and highlight sentences. eyebrows knitting together and whispering out words in order to analyze everything perfectly. you thought it was cute, his lips would curl up into a smile after every question got answered. sitting in front of him, you could see the perfect slope of his nose, his broad shoulders slouched as he leaned into the desk, his large hand brushing his black hair back sporadically. the golden ratio had nothing on him.

not long after the trance jeno left you in, you finished your math homework and now it was time for your enemy: literature. you looked up and glanced at jeno who was writing notes down, ‘hey’ he lifted his head, ‘do you think you could help me with this?’ you motioned down to the paper in front of you, he followed and noticed your blank page compared to his one that was filled.

‘did you even try?’ he questioned, ‘it looks like you haven’t even started’

‘well’ you started with a sheepish smile, ‘i did do the reading, but i could barely understand any of it’

he sighed, his hands reaching under his glasses so he could rub his eyes, ‘okay, and what part did you not understand?’

you grabbed your packet of papers and flipped until you found the sentence, reading out loud, ‘his sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit’, you looked up at him, offering the best pleading eyes you could muster.

he slightly rolled his eyes, ‘so, basically darcy should put away his pride of being in a higher ranking than elizabeth, but he cares more about her status than love. even while he is proposing, he still looks down on elizabeth and wants her to feel grateful that he is even considering her as a wife’

‘oh, i never thought of it that way’ you mumbled, looking down at your paper again.

‘don’t they teach you stuff like this in high school? god, i fear for your grade when we actually have to read and analyze a whole book and not just passages for exercises’

the sentence was a stab to the heart, taken aback you said nothing as shame burned through your body. growing up you’d have teachers, friends, and your parents comment on your lack of understanding for english and literature, but you’ve never heard a remark like this. it cut deep, you opened and closed your mouth, unable to give an actual response, incapable of making any snide comeback, you gathered your things, got up and walked away from him. before he started to see the tears that made its way down your face.

you avoided jeno as much as you could, you sat nowhere near him in your shared class, never looked in his direction in the courtyard and started taking different routes to other classes. it was working out great for the most part, that was until he had transferred into your biology ‘unity of life’ class three weeks into the semester, at the very last minute of course. rumors were going around that a lot of students had transferred out of his previous one due to it ‘being too hard’ and that the professor ‘was a nightmare’ and he needed a natural science requirement for his major, secondary education if you could remember correctly.

seeing him walk through the door of one of your favorite classes was a different type of personal hell, and you were having a great day so far. you softly groaned, trying to resist the urge to roll your eyes in annoyance. your desk partner seemed to catch on, jaemin turned to you, ‘whats wrong? forgot to do last nights homework?’

you turned towards him, ‘never, i was so excited for this assignment, i finished all the questions as soon as i got home… it’s just… that guy, the one who just walked in’ you glanced back to his lab table, jaemin followed with his eyes, ‘i’m in his literature class and he’s nothing but an egomaniac, basically called me dumb for not understand some passage from a book’

the blond haired boy frowned, ‘he might know some books, but wait until he gets a taste of a real challenge, he transferred too late into the semester, he’s fucked’. your lips twitched up into a smile. you met jaemin the first day of class, introducing himself as a veterinarian science major with a minor in biology. you two became quick friends after you got him coffee one morning, you ended up with two cups after the cafe got your first order wrong. he was nothing but thankful, long discussions in class that lead to topics that never related to science. you got to know him pretty well, often texting and meeting up for study groups with other students from class, you both always paired up in class whenever prompted.

‘that’s fair, would be satisfying to watch him struggle’ you whispered.

he giggled, ‘god you sound like such a sadist’

the professor pulled up his notes as he prepared for the beginning of class, ‘takes one to know one’

you opened your notebook to the current lesson: the cytoskeleton. the professor went through the slideshow while you happily took notes on cells and its structure and stabilities within the cytoplasm. once the professor was done with the lecture, he started asking students questions, seeing if they were paying attention.

‘okay, now what is a delicate coil held together by hydrogen bonding between every fourth amino acid?’ he looks over his roster of students, ‘jeno! why don’t you answer this for us’

on cue, everyone turned to watch him, his head shot up from his notebook in surprise. he obviously looked unprepared, hands nervously pushing his bangs back. ‘oh… um, i don’t know i’m sorry professor, i transferred late into this class and still need to catch up’ his hair looked wild as the tips of his ears shone a bright red.

the poor professor sighed, ‘does anyone want to help jeno out?’

you immediately shot up your hand, ‘y/n?’

you smiled dramaticly, before another breathe you answered, ‘alpha helix’

‘yes, thats correct! great job y/n… now you all need to pay attention, this will be on our first exam coming up in two weeks’ he went on about amino acids and different elements. jaemin leaned into you, ‘nice’ he whispered, a smile on his face. yeah, that would show jeno what you could do.

you peeked back at jeno who whispered ‘two weeks!?’ to himself looking distressed, you felt a pang in your heart. perhaps it wasn’t fair, stuff like this was never taught in secondary school science classes, obviously he was going to struggle. you weren’t going to seek him out and offer help though, he knew science and arithmetic were your strong suits, it was his turn to come running, beg for forgiveness and ask for help.

speak of the asshole, and it shall fart, jeno texted you later that night.

‘hey…’ you scoffed, the audacity of this guy, you resisted the urge to text him back a ‘you should know this already right?’

you texted back a simple ‘what?’

he immediately answered, ‘do you think you could help me with this bio homework and maybe study together for the exam ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡’. shameless.

giving him the benefit of the doubt, you relented. maybe it was an off day for him, ‘i guess, meet me in the library tomorrow, and we’ll start’ he hearted the message and that was the end of the conversation.

you woke up early the next day, grabbing every notebook you had kept over the years that could help jeno. you texted him right after noon, ‘this is an all day affair, meet me in an hour and bring me a caramel macchiato. don’t be late, pride & prejudice wasn’t written in a day’ he liked the message as a response. you left your dorm and headed to the library, setting up a space for a long study session. jeno comes right on time, with two coffees in his hand.

he places the bigger cup down in front of you, ‘large caramel macchiato, with extra caramel, extra vanilla, and extra drizzle’

you look up at him and give him a modest smile, grabbing the drink and taking a sip from the straw and swirling the ice around the cup, ‘thank you, lets get started’ he nodded and pulled out the chair next to you and sat down.

you got out all your notebooks, his eyes widened making you giggle, ‘jesus christ dude, how many notebooks do you have for this class?’

‘well, not all of them are from this class, i brought some from previous classes that i think could help you’ you handed over a stack of notes, which he begrudgingly took. ‘okay, now lets get started…’

you two had spent hours discussing carbohydrates, cellulose, and enzymes. sometimes arguing back and forth about answers, ‘okay so, a system of membranes that modifies and packages proteins for export by the cell?’ you asked jeno as he flipped through his notes.

‘um… integrins?’ he answered, totally unsure of himself in the process.

you smiled, ‘not quite, its the golgi apparatus, integrins are cell-surface receptor proteins… crazy how you don’t remember this from basic biology classes…’ you mumbled the last part.

but of course he still caught it, ‘what was that?’

you shrugged your shoulders, ‘i mean we learn about cells and stuff in secondary school… everyone knows that the golgi apparatus is the packaging and distribution center of the cells, i mean everyone talks about how the mitochondria is the power house of the cell, is that the only thing you remember from biology?’

his eyebrows shot up in surprise, ‘oh? so that's what this is about?’ he smirked, ‘you’re still upset about what i said last week aren’t you?’

your gaze diverted from his line of sight, thankful you wore your hair down this morning so he wouldn’t see the pink burning on the tips of your ears. ‘no… i’m just saying’

‘...saying almost the same exact thing i said?’ jeno smiled, and his eyes turned into crescent moons, happy that he caught you in the act, ‘understandable… well, uh, if you help me, i’ll help you’

you crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him, ‘not until you apologize, not everyone can be as good as you in literature’

‘okay, i’m sorry, you are a genius in math and science, now please agree’ jeno pleaded.

‘fine’ you answered.

another week passed and jeno finally felt comfortable taking the exam, on the other hand your literature professor started talking about a project for that class. jeno reassured you that he would help you in the best way he could, he helped you with literary analysis, notations, and rhetoric. you ended up getting an 85% percent on the most recent homework, excited to show jeno you made your way to the classroom.

‘so, jeno, i’ve been seeing you hanging out with that y/n person in our class’ you stopped before the entrance to the classroom, ‘they literally know nothing about literature and refuse to learn, how could you put yourself through that?’

‘oh, well, um, i don’t know, i’m just helping them with some stuff’ jeno answered. you peeked inside, he was with two other students, a girl and a boy, sitting together in a group.

‘must be pretty frustrating, i don’t know why they are even in this class, fucking moron, am i right?’ the girl responded and you could hear the others, but jeno, laugh.

you could feel your heart break as your mind begin to buzz. eyes watered, and you thought back to your discussion with jaemin, of course you guys were poking fun at jeno too, but nothing this extreme. ‘i mean, i guess one could think that, but everything about th-’ you couldn’t listen anymore, turned your heels and stormed off. stopping at the end of the hallway to through your graded paper away in anger and humiliation. after everything you both did for each other, it made your blood boil in anger and betrayal, you had to get back home. you paced to your dorm, keeping your head down so no one would notice you and your state of mind right now. skipping one literature class wouldn’t hurt.

so it did, and now here you are, sitting in your literature class with the professor reading out the pairings for the first project. for the rest of the week and over the weekend, you had ignored jeno’s texts and calls, you decided you were finally done with his games. ‘y/n and jeno’ the professor read out to the class.

‘WHAT’ you gasped, not noticing you had barked it out until everyone turned around and glared at you.

‘i’m sorry?...’ your professor had stopped everyone to bring attention back, she gave you a quizzical look, ‘is there a problem?’

you shook your head, still surprised by your sudden outburst, ‘n-no, i apologize’ you hung your head in shame, red blooming on your cheeks from embarrassment.

your professor nodded and resumed her list of partners, after she announced to the class, ‘now sit with your partners and discuss what you all want to do for your projects for the rest of class’

you groaned, you weren’t ready to face jeno yet, you probably never would be. you never wanted to see or speak to him ever again, you shuffled to his seat, taking your time to get over to him and sit down.

‘hey’ he said, ‘you’ve been ignoring me this whole week, whats up?’

fake ass bitch, you thought, he didn’t care, ‘nothing, just not a good week i guess’

he frowned, ‘damn, well, if it makes you feel better, i got a 90% on my first bio exam!’ he beamed, ‘so at least now you know your hard work is paying off’

‘that’s great, glad you’ve been getting at least something out of this’ you deadpanned.

he gave you a quizzical look, but decided to drop the subject, ‘so, for the project i was thinking about covering the tenant of wildfell hall’

you literally didn’t care and let him pick whatever, ‘yeah that’s fine’

his eyes narrowed, giving you a weird look again, ‘okay… so, the book has themes of double standards, religion, morality, and love. i can send you passages that we can cover for our project…’. jeno went on for the next thirty minutes with only little nods and comments from you, agreeing to anything he had to suggest. all you wanted to do was leave, once the professor dismissed class that's what you did, picking up your backpack and storming off with jeno still talking.

you rushed down the hallway, ignoring the calls coming from jeno behind you. with his crazy athletic built he eventually caught up to you, grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. you gazed up at him, he stared down at you, looking for any answer he could find. ‘what is your problem? i thought you’d be happy we were paired up?’ he started interrogating you.

you sighed, almost giving up, ‘jeno, can we just meet up later and talk about it? i’m exhausted right now’

he sighed and his hands fell from your shoulders, ‘i’ll text you’ he nodded, and you turned around and left. once at your dorm you threw your backpack to the side and climbed into your bed, taking a well needed nap. a few hours later, your phone vibrating next to you pulled you out of dream land.

3 missed texts from jeno:

‘y/n, are you able to come over to my apartment soon?’

‘plz stop being so stubborn its annoying plz just talk to me’

‘here’s the address lmk when ur on the way’

you texted him back:

‘sorry i was taking a nap’

‘i can be there in a bit’

you got up and got ready, grabbed your backpack and left for jeno’s. once you got there it took you a good five minutes to have the courage to knock on his door. hesitant you tenderly knocked on the door, after a second he opened up the door and let you inside without another word. he was in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt and smelled immaculate, you gulped, raking your eyes over his body, strong arms and long legs, a face without imperfections. your heart burned in anger and panic, angry that he was so gorgeous it pissed you off, panic because all you could think was what the fuck am i doing right now? ‘do you want to sit down? i saw you brought your backpack, we can work on some stuff if you want?’

you nodded, walked over to the couch and plopped down, grabbing your backpack you opened it and got your laptop out, pulling up the notes from your calculus 2 class. jeno joined you on the couch, sitting a little bit to close for comfort, but you said nothing. his bare leg brushed against your clothed one, sending a buzzing sensation all throughout your body, trying your best to ignore him you stayed focused on your screen.

question 1: x³ + 2x² - 6z = 4 - 2y²

without a second thought you typed in the answer:

r³cos³0 + 2r² - 6z = 4

submitting it you smiled as the green checkmark popped up, correct on the first try. ‘damn, that’s crazy’ jeno broke the silence, you glanced over at him.

‘what?’ you said turned back to your laptop.

‘i literally understood none of that and you got it on the first try!? that’s literally fucking insane’

you laughed at his outburst, ‘it’s nothing really, it was kind of easy, just plug in the following x and y polar conversion formulas into the equation where possible, then you just rewrite everything and use the formulas to convert the equation into cylindrical coordinates’

jeno howled in laughter, which was contagious enough to make you laugh, ‘that’s insane, you’re amazing’

you cocked your head to the side, intrigued by his word choice, ‘oh? am i?’

his demeanor changed, the air felt heavy as he calmed down and moved closer to you. he leaned in, and you panicked, he glanced down at your lips and back up to your eyes. his long eyelashes met his cheeks, you followed suit and closed your eyes, ignoring the way your mind is screaming at you not to do this. heart says otherwise, as you could hear it beat in your ears, whole body buzzing as his pink, soft lips brushed against yours.

jeno moved in deeper, teeth clinking together as you ravaged your mouth, he was a starved man, and you were the last meal he would ever receive. it was warm and sensual, he reached around your waist and roughly pulled your torso into his. his nose bumped into yours as he moved his head slightly for better access, laptop completely abandoned to the side your arms lifted to his biceps, squeezing hard as you let out a soft moan. you broke the kiss as you pressed against his arms, your forehead leaned on his as you both caught your breath, between pants he smiled and laughed, you did not. anxiety ran your blood cold as now all you could think of was what he had said in the classroom about you. was this all a joke?

‘jeno…’ you started, and his smile faltered, ‘i can’t do this’ you stood up and grabbed your laptop and shoved it haphazardly into your backpack, heatedly rushing out of his apartment and down the hall to the entrance. again you ignored jeno as he called after you, his footsteps echoing behind you. you pushed the heavy door open and the air hit you with the wind flying through your hair. continuing down the lamp-lighted street, the boy was still trying to catch up to you.

‘y/n please, we forgot to talk about it’ he addressed your almost non-existent figure fading into the darkness.

he was hopeless by now, but still refused to give up, he moved again, ‘y/n!’

you stopped and turned around, walking up to him his build now growing hazy as water pooled in your eyes. ‘you wanna talk about it? you WANT to talk about it? FINE, you are such a stuck-up asshole, thinking i’m so stupid because i don’t have the best grade in our lit class. laughing about it with your friends when they call me a moron! you think you’re so great you didn’t even know what the chemical symbol was for sulfur, FUCKING SULFUR JENO’ you were yelling at this point, jabbing your finger into his chest with every emphasis in your anger. ‘you think you can play me in some fucked up game you have going on in your head, keeping me around so you can feel better about yourself and use me for help so you could pass an exam, i know i’ve asked you for help before, but at the end of it, all i wanted to do was be your friend, you could’ve said no, but i couldn’t. you gave me no choice but to give in with the deal that you’d help me in return, and you know what? i needed the help, badly. and you knew that and used it in a discussion with your friends that laughed at me because of it, you know how that made me feel? like absolute shit, i wanted to be your friend but all you have ever done was use me and hurt me, and guess what? you don’t have to fear for’ fingers motioning air quotations, ‘my grade because i got a good grade on my homework thanks to you, so thank you jeno! i really appreciate the help, i hope it really boosted your ego, maybe you can go fucking write a book about it or something, i don’t know and i don’t care, but i’m done’ your face was probably beet red at this point, while angry tear's avalanche down your face, you hastily whipped your face and snot that escaped during your outburst. his face focused into view, he was so pretty, and that made you tear up all over again, he could have been different.

he looked defeated, frustrated as his fists clenched into balls and relax over and over, ‘y/n, please let me explain, i di-’ you stopped him, placing your hand in front of his face.

‘do the math jeno, the probability that i would ever hear you out is slim…’ you turned and started walking away, briefly glancing back, he was still in the same spot. ‘it’s S by the way, the symbol for sulfur, maybe now you’ll remember it when you think back on this night… not so proud after all’ your voice cracked at the last sentence as your heart wrenched and stomach mangled, tears breaking through yet again.

you left him there.

you decided not to tell jaemin about what happened, but jeno’s absence was evident. you couldn’t sleep, all that replayed in your nightmare was his soft lips brushing against yours, and you swore you could still feel his strong arms pulling you forward, into him. the feeling that gave you clawed at your heart, beating you down every single time you closed your eyes and pictured his face smiling at you, laughing at you, annoyed at you. anything he gave you, you would take, no matter how much it broke you down. you liked him, no, you like him. even after everything he’s done, you still held a soft spot for him in your fractured heart. all the phone calls that turned into facetime when he would ask for help with math, and you had to show him the steps of a problem. laughing every time you would shake trying to hold your phone steady as he jokingly squawked, ‘keep still!’ when he would read passages to you over the phone late at night, and you’d have fallen asleep to his tender voice before he could even explain the motif. it had only been 5 weeks of class, but it felt like you had known him longer, despite your differences in subjects you both eventually subsided the arguments with long discussions and debates on why one answer was right and how the other was wrong. revelations that came to light after hours of going back and forth.

you stood in the shower, blankly staring at the white ceramic wall in front of you as droplets rained down. you thought about the day you and jeno were studying in the library, renting a study room within because you figured the discussion would be heated. it ended up in a feverish battle between the differences of cell adhesion and cell migration. by the end of it you were standing up, hands pulling at your roots in irritation trying to explain it to the boy sat down in front of you with a shit-eating grin adorning his face. ‘y/n, y/n, stop, stop, please, i can’t take it anymore’ he laughed, clutching his stomach, ‘i got it, while they are tightly associated, cell adhesion provides structural support and stability to tissues, while cell migration is the directed movement of cells from one location to another’

your arms dramatically dropped to your sides, ‘YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME’ pointing, you accused him.

he laughed again at your reaction, ‘i just love seeing you like that, it’s cute, you know i just love a challenge’ he exclaimed going back to his notes.

you laughed to yourself, recalling the moment of the playful banter and subtle flirting that slipped out on occasion. you giggled, howled, and snorted a little too much at the memory, which silently followed into your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach, the shower masking the uncontrollable sobs that carried through every limb, appendage, and bone.

jaemin went on and on about some story about his roommates, you paid barely any attention, eyes glued to the door as you waited to see if he would show up. the blond boy slurred his words, leaning into you now, trying to get you to look at him. you turned your body, he was giving you a pouty face with big, shining eyes, ‘i asked you a question y/nnie. were you even listening to me?’ he tugged on the sleeve of your hoodie, his strength made you feel like a rag doll.

‘i was… and the answer is yes?’ you said, unsure about whatever he was yapping about.

he beamed and clapped playfully, ‘yippie! i knew you could use a pick-me-up, i promise it’ll be fun, the party is saturday so clear your schedule, i’ll pick you up’

your shoulder shook as you lightly laughed at his theatrics, rubbing your temple in exasperation as to what you just got yourself into, ‘sounds like fun’. you barely noticed jeno walking in out of the corner of your eye. he looked worse than you did, a hoodie with a stain, sweats that looked they were able to fall apart, mis-matched socks and unkempt hair. he kept pushing his glasses up his nose and rubbing his tired eyes. your heart skipped a beat when you noticed his dark circles that almost matched yours, his being a little worse for wear. before he could catch you staring, you quickly focused your attention to the professor starting class, going through the roaster and continuing the lecture on cells.

‘can anyone tell me the variations in cell types? jeno, got an answer?’ the professor smiled at him, everyone turned to spectate and wait for him to answer, except you.

‘um, prokaryotic and eukaryotic’ he dragged, sounding uninterested despite getting the question right.

‘yes! very good jeno’ the professor praised, moving on to the next question. you started to sweat, angry that he got it right and yet you were now holding on your high c- in literature class. how come he could now catch onto science but yet, you were still unable to grapple with the concepts of a victorian classic novel? or maybe it was the fact you had skipped every class this week, refusing to work with jeno on anything, you noticed the text and calls from him were dwindling three days after the confrontation, however everyday he sent pictures of his notes and analysis on the reading and how the project was going. as pathetic as it was, you continue to lay awake in bed nearly every night rereading his text from that night:

i know you are angry and probably hate me right now and that’s understandable, but i don’t want to give up on you, on us. do you think newton gave up on the laws of motion after he failed on the first or second try? you aren’t getting the whole picture, plz give me a chance to explain, i don’t even know if you are reading this, but if you are, plz hear me out you got it all wrong about that day in the classroom, and if it felt like i was using you, i’m sorry. that was never my intention, i just like being around you, you are always quick-witted and i was just trying to taunt you so you’d pay attention to me because i really like you, ig that backfired badly lol. anyway, i hope this will change your mind, and you’ll reach out, i’ll give you time.

followed by a very unserious message that you couldn’t help but smile at:

oh, i almost forgot, don’t worry about the project, but you could come to class, i’m starting to fear for your grade again (,,>﹏<,,) (only kidding!)

another biology class and 2 skipped lit classes pass and the weekend was finally brought upon the world. you held the pleasure of assisting jaemin to a party hosted by someone he knew from one of his health classes. it took forever for you to pick out a cute outfit, but opted for a sleeveless shirt and basic jean shorts and a pair of white sneakers you found buried in the back of your small closet. you carefully did your makeup, usually not taking it too far, but this was special, and you needed to feel like a bad bitch tonight.

jaemin showed up an hour later, deciding to walk to the house 4 blocks down, saying he wanted ‘to get turnt with you’ and that he refused to drink and drive. you agreed, walking sounded better than looking for a driver or someone having to stay sober throughout the night. you exited your building and found jaemin’s car in the lot, he climbed out to greet you and whistled, eyes eating up your form, ‘damn, you look hot’

you smiled bashfully, ‘thanks jaemin, even nerds can be hot you know?’

he turned to lock his car, ‘i mean, yes, but like, you always look cute, but this is like the freaky side of you, it’s different… it’s nice’

you cackled, ‘please never call me freaky ever again, i’m going to revoke your brain rot privileges’

he admitted defeat and dropped the conversation, you both now walked down the sidewalk in perfect silence with the sun now set, surveying the rows of houses in different stages of life in the moon glow. ‘it’s this one’ jaemin nudged you, stopping, he pointed to the house on the corner, you nodded and wrapped your arm around his, linking together so you immediately wouldn’t get lost in the sea of a potential crowd. he opened the old, green door, and you followed, as expected there was a good amount of people attending and as the night worn on you figured more would pile in.

jaemin turned to you, ‘do you wanna go find some drinks?’

‘yes, please’ you quickly nodded as he pulled you through the throng of people, trying to find the kitchen.

once you were there, the host of the party seemed to also be there, ‘jaemin! glad you could make it man’ they dabbed each other up and touched shoulders embracing in a ‘bro hug’.

‘hell yeah, no way i’d not come for the first party of the semester, i brought my friend along with me!’ he pulled you closer to him, now giving you the floor as all attention was pulled towards you, wincing as jaemin jabbed at your side, urging you to get closer to his friend.

‘hi, i’m y/n’ you said giving him a genuine smile, holding out your hand.

‘oh my, you are gorgeous, and you came with this sleaze bag’ he nodded towards jaemin who just playfully hit his friends shoulder, ‘i’m donghyuck, but everyone calls me haechan, its a pleasure to meet you’ he softly took a hold of your hand and bent down to give it a little peck, you giggled at the eccentric greeting.

jaemin tore haechan away, ‘alright, not too much now’ he joked, ‘it’s time for shots’ haechan clapped and guided you both to the kitchen island that was filled with different alcohol, he picked out a clear liquid and poured them into plastic shot cups he grabbed from a neat stack. jaemin lifted up his cup, ‘fuck pharmacology’ you snickered at his comment and raised your cup along with haechan who nodded in agreement. on cue, you threw back the cup and shuddered as the sweet nectar burned your throat. ‘hell yeah! another! at the end of the night i want to be able to forget about fucking blood urea nitrogen and blood glucose’ haechan laughed and poured another in all 3 cups. after that it was another, and then another, and after about 6 shots you tapped out and opted for a gin and coke that haechan was more than happy to make for you.

more time had passed than you thought as more people flooded the kitchen, wrecking havoc on the choices of liquor, haechan handed you your cup and jaemin motioned for you both to move to the living room. people were dancing, some were playing beer pong off in the corner, and others were chatting on various furniture. ‘want to dance a bit?’ he whispered in your ear because of the loud music that made the floor vibrate under your seat, you could feel it rattling your brain. giving him a silent nod he grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd, finding a spot and finding the rhythm of the song. you bobbed your head to the beat and moved back and forth with jaemin in front of you, you always thought he was attractive, but you saw him nothing more than a friend, you felt comfortable around him. you nursed your drink slowly, already somewhat tipsy from the shots, you didn’t want to get drunk too fast or blackout. jaemin grabbed your free hand and twirled you around, dramatically moved your joined hands with fever. you laughed along with him, indulging him in an embarrassing, yet fun dance that probably made you both look wasted to others.

his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close much to your surprise, pleasanton’tkissmepleasedon’tkissmepleasedon’tkissme ran rampant in your mind as he leaned towards your ear ‘don’t look now, but a certain someone is staring at you from across the room, you let out a strangled breath.

‘do you know who it is?’ you whispered back.

‘jeno’ he mused and your lively spirited fell.

‘whats up? something go down with him?’ he pestered.

‘um, kinda, its a long story’ you faltered and jaemin frowned.

‘damn, that serious? his loss, he can look all he wants’ jaemin wanted to be lighthearted, make you smile again and keep jeno out of your mind. you were grateful as he pulled you into another whimsical dance, the joyful nature of his was infectious.

after a couple more songs had passed, you had downed your whole drink and let go of jaemin’s hand, ‘i’m gonna go find haechan and have him make me another drink, it was surprisingly superb’ jaemin nodded and said he would stay in the same spot for your return.

you hastily made your way to the kitchen, apologizing to others you had to push through. the small room was almost empty, haechan was nowhere in sight so you looked for a different drink. ‘having fun with jaemin?’ a voice boomed from behind you, one that you knew all too well. you slowly turned to find jeno smirking at you, leaning against the fridge adorned in a tight white shirt and ripped jeans, oh fuck this stupid earth, he just had to follow you here looking like that.

‘yes i am, actually’ you stated matter-of-factly.

his lips twitched up in amusement, ‘is that so?’ he moved in closer, eventually trapping you between him and the liquor table. jeno’s soft brown eyes met yours, searching for something inside, however, his eyes told you everything, hope, they screamed. his hand lifted towards your face, slowly brushed against the skin lighter than a feather, taking a piece of your hair and pushing it behind your ear, ‘so he wouldn’t mind this?’. his eyes fluttered closed as he bowed towards you.

before he could seal the deal, ‘jeno’ you stopped him.

he sighed, defeated, ‘just please talk to me, you said the probability was slim, but not zero, let me explain’ jeno begged, his large hands caressed your cheeks tenderly, they were soft and warm.

you could blame the alcohol as you finally let him speak his case, ‘fine, we can find somewhere private’

he smiled, eyes disappearing in relief. he grabbed your hand, leading upstairs and into an empty room, he closed the door behind him as you took a seat on the bed, ‘alright, grovel and explain’ you lifted your phone up to check the time ‘you have 10 minutes’

he gave you a smug smile, ‘that’s all i need baby, you know i love a challenge’ you rolled your eyes at his attempt to uplift the tension fogging the air. ‘that day in the classroom, you obviously didn’t stay long enough to hear what i had to say about you, at first i didn’t know how to respond being put into that position was hard, you didn’t ‘put me through anything’ though, i had nothing but fun with you, even if it was frustrating at times. we always figured it out. but when i heard what she said after i wasn’t just going to allow it, i said ‘yeah i guess one could say that’ because these people literally do not know you like i do, i finished with ‘but everything about that is completely untrue, they are willing to learn, but it's just taking longer than some of us who take a bunch of english and literature classes. if you got to actually know her you’d see how bright they actually are. a literal math genius and a real mastermind of science, could answer any question from the top of their head, it’s insane. so while we are strong in this subject, they are just stronger in other fields’ he explained, watching you intently. you wiggled under his gaze, making you feel same, but itched for him to go on, ‘i then told her that she should not speak on things she knows nothing about and left because i will not associate myself with someone who talks like that about people i care about’ he emphasized the last words carefully, grabbing hold of your hand and lifting you from the bed, ‘y/n, i’m so sorry, it was never my intention to hurt you, ever. i care about you so deeply, you show up in every romance novel i read, every poem i skim, the stories i write… it’s all you’ jeno gazed down at you, his eyes now searching for an answer, hope, and panic could only be found in his as you studied his features in the warm glow of the moon peaking through the window.

‘you really said that? you defended me?’ you questioned him quietly.

‘yes y/n, i would never let anyone hurt you, even if you aren’t in the room, because in that case, they hurt me too’

you hummed, the haze of your brain clouded any judgment you held, he was something different, the greatest math problem that needed to be solved. ‘thank you jeno, i guess it’s now my turn to apologize’

he chuckled at you, ‘no need baby’ you laughed softly, ‘now, can we pick up where we left off? you know, someone once told me that pride and prejudice wasn’t written in a day’ he wagged his eyebrows at you, moving you into an embrace as he kissed the top of your head. you held on tightly, holding him as you buried your face into his chest swallowing his scent so you could save it for later.

the hug ended, but he still held you close in his arms, ‘i guess i could pick up another chapter or two’ he laughed at your poor pun and drooped down, so his lips could meet yours. it was messier than the first kissed you shared with him, wet and heated as you could taste the soju on his tongue. he moved at a faster pace, devouring you like an animal, jeno walked you towards the bed, you gave in falling down with him, with him climbing on top of you, never breaking away. teeth on teeth echoed throughout the room as you moaned, his hands exploring every part of your body, making your core burn more and more.

jeno dipped down to attack your neck in kisses and sucking at the exposed skin, hands finding a way to his hair and tugging slightly at the intimate feeling of him being closer than ever. ‘please, tell me you’re mine, please want me’ he breathed out, the air softly hitting your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. he was desperate, kissing you anywhere he could and waited for you to answer.

‘y-yes jeno, i’m yours’ you choked out, ‘i want you in every way’ satisfied with your response he growled and his mouth met yours once more, ‘p-please touch me’ you begged frantically, needing anything to ease the sensation that pooled in the pits of your stomach.

jeno hummed, fingers brushing up and down your exposed stomach, ‘where baby? use your words, remember what i taught you?’ it was your turn to make demands now, wasting no time you grabbed his hand and brought it down between your legs, he cupped your vagina. you groaned, you needed more. jeno grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down and threw them behind him, the cool air hit your core making you rub your thighs together in order to find little warmth.

he carefully pulled your underwear down, wanting to savor the moment of finally seeing you bare, he gulped, ‘god, you have such a pretty pussy’ he took his hand and rubbed the sensitive skin, ‘so wet. just for me, right? all for me baby’ you cried out at his words. he inserted a finger into your weeping hole, making you gasp out in surprise at the feeling of just one finger filling you up dangerously. as he pushed back and forth your legs trembled, he added another finger and brought his head down to your core, ‘i bet you taste amazing’ was all he said before he dove in deep, his tongue against your clit as he drank up your juices and sucked on the flesh.

‘f-fuck’ you mewled, grabbed a hold of his soft, black hair in order to keep you grounded, with every thrust he made as he fucked with his mouth you tugged on his hair, pulling when you would feel the band about to snap, jeno groaned, loving the way you’d use him for stability.

he stopped and removed his face, you whined from the loss of contact as his fingers also found their way outside of you, he smiled ‘don’t worry, my pretty baby, i’ll take care of you’. he threw off his shirt nearly getting drunker with the way you were taking him in, he loved being adored by you, in such a calculated way that made sense in every story. you followed suit and removed your top and bra, baring naked in front of him and laid back on the bed as he admired you from afar, ‘you’re so beautiful’ he breathed, discarding his pants and underwear he crawled back on top of you, whispering sweet nothing's as he peppered your collarbone and breasts with kisses.

‘are you sure you want this? it might hurt a little at first, but i promise i’ll go slow until you tell me otherwise’ he towered over you.

your glassy eyes met his in reassurance, ‘yes, jeno i want this’ you confirmed everything for him. he quickly lined up his cock with your cunt and gently pushed inside, his eyes never leaving yours. your hands grasped around his muscled biceps, digging your nails into them when the pain was strong. once he bottomed out he stopped to let you get used to his size, you shared sensual kisses and sweet touches, jeno doing everything in his power to make you feel loved and safe at that moment going forward, that’s all he ever wanted to do. for weeks, he had been beating himself up for taking the teasing comments way too far at times, poking fun at something you were obviously insecure about, but you did the same, he figured it was kind of the thing you two had. in reality, he wanted to push you to do better, making comments like that so you’d work harder and prove everyone wrong. no one could work with you better than him, so he had gone out of his way to ask the pressor to pair you up on the project, also making the forced proximity making you talk to him after you stopped answering his calls and messages. he should have gone a better way about motivating you, but now that he had your forgiveness, he could work on better strategies.

‘jeno, you can move now’ you rasped out, still holding on his arms like an anchor with a boat. he pulled out and pushed back in, taking it slow as you moaned at the feeling of him filling you up to the brim, jeno picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm as skin clapping together filled the room, ‘oh fuck, just like that’ your chest heaving up and down.

he slammed into with vigor, bitting your bottom lip as you opened your mouth to let out a breathless moan, ‘yeah? you like that? fuck, you’re so tight, literally sucking me in, i never want to leave this pretty fucking pussy’ he husked, he licked your lips and kissed your jaw as he grunted, setting a faster pace, making you cry out in pleasure. he grabbed your legs and opened them wider, giving him better access to go deeper into your abused cunt. you cried as the flame in your belly raged with a thousand fires, ‘keep your eyes on me baby’ jeno demanded, automatically making you swallow as you moved your eyes to meet his, blown out pupils filled with lust as your vision of him became blurry as blissful tears threaten to fall with every snap on his hips digging into you. you’ve had flings and hook-ups before, but nothing as profound as this, the eye contact, togetherness of him never backing too far away from your hold, you were being wholly consumed by jeno. everything right down to your core, he was all you could feel, taste, see, and think about.

‘o-oh my god’ you sobbed, hips jerking up at the feeling of the ripples burning through you, the coil in your stomach tightening, craving to break open, ‘m gonna cum’ you clenched around him, making jeno hiss above you at the feeling of tightness around his throbbing dick.

‘go on baby, cum for me,’ he whimpered as the feeling for him also grew intense, the way your cunt hugged his dick was making his mind spin. jeno mumbled incoherently ‘i’m so close baby, let go, you can let go, i got you’ from his words and the way he pounded into you made you snap, legs trembling as liquid gushed from your core and past his cock and dripped onto the sheets. light-headed and dizzy you cried out for jeno as your orgasm burst over you.

you clenched again, feeling overwhelmed by the euphoric feeling, ‘oh, fuck’ jeno cursed as he stilled inside of you, painting your insides with his seed, he groaned at the sensation of finally filling you up and properly claiming you as his and his alone. he stayed there for a couple of minutes inside of you. savoring the static of the overstimulation and pleasure of release. you winced as the hot liquid poured out of you when he pulled out, the emptiness of it all. jeno watched as his cum slide down your hole and onto the sheet, he scooped up the remaining liquid that rushed out of you and shoved it back into your clit with two fingers, making you cry at the sensitivity. ‘fuck that was… one of the best experiences of my life’ he caught his breath and plopped down facing you, he gently caressed your chin, bringing your head to his as he softly left kisses on your lips, ‘let me get you cleaned up baby’

‘m tired’ you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open.

‘i know, but let me take care of you and get you dressed, i know theres extra clothes somewhere around here’ he started rummaging around the wardrobes, digging into them in order to find anything adequate. ‘aha!’ he put on a clean pair of underwear and sweats, ‘i’ll be right back baby’ he left the room and came back after for what felt like an eternity with a warm wash cloth and clean clothes, ‘these are mark’s girlfriends pj’s i’m sure she won’t mind,’ he hummed, wiping you clean, and dressing you in the soft, clean clothes. he picked you up so he could throw the covers back, tucking you in with a kiss on the nose, ‘you’re so cute’

you lazily smiled at him, settling into the sheets as you clung onto his warm frame, ‘who’s room is this by the way?’ you whispered as jeno shut his eyes.

‘mark’s. doesn’t matter. you’re my girlfriend now right?’ he leaned his head on yours.

‘mmm girlfriend yes. mark who?’ words fell from your mouth as you yawned, sleeping coming to find you soon.

‘mark, shark.’ he dismissed you, ‘just be ready for a stern talk when we wake up from the man himself.’ he kissed your head as you drifted off to sleep, the morning was the least of your worries now, you finally figured out the solution, the obvious answer being: jeno.

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loganlermanstanaccount · 2 years ago

Text

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker. I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you.

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point.

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it.

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow.

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.."

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here."

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?"

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?"

"I don't have time for this-"

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?"

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans.

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks."

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now."

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching.

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-"

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!"

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall.

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly?

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out.

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big.

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing.

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm.

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain.

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies.

"What happened?" He strains.

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-"

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye.

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-"

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple.

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile.

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you.

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?"

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does.

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now.

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan.

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-"

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-"

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-"

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?"

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?"

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to.

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts."

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears.

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down.

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning.

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before.

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now.

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home.

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time.

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear.

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?"

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?"

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?"

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me."

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me."

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard.

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes…

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate.

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you.

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding.

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?"

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?"

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?"

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?"

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?"

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters."

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word.

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface.

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head.

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla."

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?"

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this."

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you."

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼#this gif is fucking crazy btw

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months ago

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i saw you were taking requests and so i got inspired: aegon x sister!wife in which they have a complicated relationship (not as terrible as his and helaena’s) but she gets all protective over aegon when he’s burned because she saw what aemond did and because she’s with child but no one knows so she blurts it out while arguing with aemond after confronting him in aegon’s chambers so aegon wakes up to her being all wild for him and instead of him saying “mummy” he says “i’m sorry” or anything that’s going to make us tear up!

Request: Since you’re open to requests (I don’t know if you write for Aegon), would you consider doing an Aegon one where it’s hurt/comfort after the battle/burns with his recovery. Maybe with some angst? 👀

Request: Otto demands more babies from you but Aegon says no because he loves you in his own way and doesn’t want to love you. One of the pregnancies left you in bad shape and Aegon got scared

Warnings: mention of misscariage, incest, forced marriage, mention of attempted murder (Aegon), choking

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

At three and ten, you woke up to a red stain in your bed — you flowered. According to your Septa, it meant that you were a woman. According to your parents, it meant that you were ready to marry your brother, Aegon, and give him children.

You always dreamed of marrying a Dornish prince. When you were little, your father had taken you with him to visit the Martells. You'll never forget the beauty of the water gardens and the feeling of the warm sun on your skin.

Unfortunately, you were the eldest daughter of Queen Alicent. Your hand was promised to Aegon since you came out of your mother's cunt.

There were no smiles on any of your faces when you married in the Great Sept of Baelor. Aegon kept sighing during the ceremony, disinterested and wishing for it to end, and you were picking at your fingers until drawing blood, terrified of the moment he would take you to bed.

You did your duty as husband and wife. You gave him a child — an heir. Your father was smiling wide at the beautiful silver haired babe in your arms, proud of his daughter, while your mother had tears in her eyes and called you her brave girl, having gone through the same thing when she was a girl. As for Aegon, he was in a brothel, getting drunk and wetting his cock.

‘’Where is the babe?’’ he asked when he returned in the morning, the sun rising outside the Keep.

You were exhausted from giving birth, and sore in places you didn’t think you would ever be. You were not in the mood for conversing with your unfaithful husband.

‘’She is sleeping,’’ you replied.

‘’She?’’ Aegon frowned. ‘’It’s a…girl?’’

The disappointment in his voice didn’t go unnoticed. ‘’I apologize for not giving you a boy.’’

After that moment, Aegon became kinder to you.

He didn’t know how to be a father, but he knew that he didn’t want to be like his father; a man who pressured his first wife to give him a boy — an heir —, and drove her to her death from trying.

A daughter was good, it was great.

She quickly became his whole world. He took her on Sunfyre — against your approval —, read her stories at bedtime, and let her put flowers in his hair when they played outside. Your heart was fond every time you saw them together.

‘’I want another,’’ Aegon said to you in the quiet of your bedchamber one night, his hand covering your flat stomach. ‘’Our daughter needs a brother…or a sister to play with.’’

You were seven and ten when you almost died during a miscarriage. Pregnancies were known to come with complications amongst the Targaryen women — miscarriages, stillborns, abnormalities —, and yours had been no different.

Aegon had woken in the middle of the night to blood soaking the sheets. He shouted for the maester, dread filling his whole body at the thought of losing you. You were asleep for three days, which made the maester nervous.

‘’No more,’’ he promised when you opened your eyes, refusing to put you through the risks of another pregnancy. He would not know what to do without you.

When King Viserys fell and Aegon ascended the throne, a war ensued and Aegon ended up badly injured. Burns and broken bones.

It was now your turn to stay by his side and pray the gods for his recovery.

You had left shortly for the maesters to change his bandages, and found Aemond looming over the end of Aegon’s bed when you returned.

‘’Was it worth the price?’’

Your brother’s head snapped in your direction in the doorway at the sound of your voice, but he ignored your question.

You closed the door and stepped closer, eyes narrowing. ‘’You did this to him.’’

Aemond remained silent.

‘’I saw you, Aemond. At Rook’s Rest.’’ Your gaze shifted to Aegon, lying motionless with half his face and body burned. ‘’I wasn’t going to let him go to battle alone and drunk. We didn’t choose this marriage, but I care enough to follow him on dragonback when he’s being reckless. I stayed behind, hidden through the forest. I could see all.’’

The room fell silent, the only sound Aegon’s labored breathing echoing.

‘’You burned him.’’ Your voice quivered with anger and disgust. ‘’You burned him and let him fall to his death! How could you?” you demanded, your voice trembling with rage. “You’re his brother! You were supposed to protect him, not burn him alive!”

Aemond observed you, his face cold and detached. ‘’Sacrifices must be made in order to ascend to our victory, sister. Aegon has the fire but lacks the wisdom and knowledge to rule.’’

‘’And you think you would make a better king?’’ you shot back with a huf.

Aemond's eye darkened at your words. He stepped closer to you and grabbed your neck in a strong grip, but didn’t press. ‘’Watch your tongue, sister,’’ he warned in a low, menacing tone.

‘’Or what? You’re gonna burn me like you did Aegon?’’ you retorted, defiance in your violet eyes.

His grip on your neck tightened and the air was cut off instantly, your breath halting in your chest. Panic surged through you as you looked at him, your eyes wide with fear. His face was inches from yours, his grip unrelenting.

As if he had sensed your distress, Aegon spoke your name. It was more of a mumble, a weak wheeze, but you heard it. You both heard it.

Aemond released his grip, shocked and stoic, and watched as you hurried to Aegon's bedside. He was half comatose, his eyes closed as he let out a soft moan.

You gently caressed his cheek. ‘’I’m here, my love,’’ you said, bringing your other hand to your neck where Aemond had grabbed you.

He had always been gentle and kind compared to Aegon, especially toward you and Helaena. Never you would have imagined Aemond would put a hand on you. His behavior had changed since the death of your father. He became reckless and impulsive. Even your mother had been saying so.

You heard footsteps, telling you Aemond was leaving, and without raising your head you said: ‘’I will pray you cut yourself on the throne and decay like our father did.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale @mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden @memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08 @mymultiveres @secretsthathauntus @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit @blublock404 @Icefyre19 @paulilvsremus @mfedits @aemondwhoresworld @angrybirdxx @YarianyIrizarry @frutiloopslupin @minedofmoria @aleemendoza2425-blog @quinquinquincy @Rosey1981 @maria-reads-everything @eddieslut69 @barnes70stark @baybaybear @prettyduckling22 @Briefwinnerpersonaturtle @darlingcharling-blog @deliaseastar @Wolfgirl-205 @visenyareads @Nanaldy @Lovelywiseprincess @not-neverland06 @newtmyhusb @mikimimic

All and more taglist: @kenqki @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634 @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis @katherinejess @rafesgirlstuff @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x reader #king aegon #hotd

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sturnsmadl · 8 months ago

Text

bf!matt headcannons!

warnings!- swearing, angst (light ig), mostly fluff, some smut, not proof read, lover boy matt tbh, cuddling, kissing, idk what else :).

bf!matt who loves holding hands.

bf!matt who is possessive at parties.

"who's that?"

"some drunk guy. thought i was his girl."

"right.."

kisses you

bf!matt who refuses to let you do anything.

"the laundry.."

"nuh uh. move."

bf!matt who ties your shoelaces for you.

"i can do it matt."

"so can i."

bf!matt who keeps his hands warm in your jeans back pocket.

bf!matt who loves physical touch.

bf!matt who always drags you on late night walks during fall.

"we went last nightt!!"

"babe. fall doesn't last forever."

bf!matt who wipe your tears and hugs you when your upset.

"shh..your okay.."

bf!matt who adores carrying you.

"matt i can walk."

"i knowww. but carrying you is fun."

bf!matt who gets you a cat.

"its for you!"

"is it..?"

"i mean...mainly me..but yeah.."

bf!matt who can't stop touching you.

"matt its too hot. let go."

"your too hot."

"fuck off matt."

laughs

bf!matt who isn't massive on PDA but will do small touches.

bf!matt who loves hooking up in his car.

"fuck...yes baby.."

"matt! yes..fuck! yes!"

bf!matt who gets hard from you just sitting in his lap.

bf!matt who is definite that you're the mother of his children.

"we all have that phase matt."

"its not a phase. she's gonna be the mother of my kids chris."

"okay buddy.."

bf!matt who buys you a lot of makeup.

bf!matt who loves giving you hugs and cuddling.

"hi baby."

"oh hi. your back early huh?"

"yep..cuddles?"

bf!matt who made you your own drawer in his room.

bf!matt who always wants to be helping you.

"okay..lets wash this hair. huh?"

"i can wash it.."

"your tired and i love you so im gonna help."

bf!matt who needs to be near you at all times.

"where'd you go?!"

"to the bathroom.."

"jesus..could've told me.."

"wha- yeah..okay. go to sleep."

bf!matt who sits outside the shower door while you shower.

"and i was thinking. what if i just taught you to drive?"

"do we need to talk about this while im showering?"

bf!matt who loves filming sex tapes, especially backshots.

bf!matt who is extremely moody when you're gone.

"matt can you take the-"

"fuck off!"

"jesus..the fuck happened to you.."

bf!matt who hates arguing but you clearly pushed too far.

"probably my other man."

"what...?"

"what? i was kidding..matt.."

bf!matt who gives you silent treatment all day.

"can we talk..matt? come on.."

bf!matt who just cooks for himself he's so mad.

"you made my favourite? oh.."

walks away with a plate for himself

"fucking hell.."

bf!matt who doesn't pay attention to your apologies.

bf!matt who shoves past you, not realising how strong he is.

bf!matt who feels horrible when he accidentally hurts you.

"ow.."

"oh shit.. sorry baby. im so sorry okay? you're okay.."

bf!matt who finds you crying and is immediatley there.

"hey..is it still hurting? im so sorry.."

"no..im pregnant.."

bf!matt who attacks you with a hug when he finds out your pregnant.

"what?! oh my..oh my god! yes yes yes!"

bf!matt who is obsessed with your bump.

"so cute. a whole life's in there.."

"yep..you excited?"

"so."

bf!matt who is extremely overprotective while your pregnant.

"no!!"

"jesus..what?!"

"i can load the dishwasher. you sit."

"you made it sound like i was commiting a crime.."

bf!matt who always texts you while he's filming/streaming.

"can you put your phone down for 2 minutes??"

"yeah one second.."

"you said that 5 minutes ago!"

bf!matt who lets you force him into doing a tiktok dance with him.

bf!matt who freaks out at the birth.

bf!matt who takes the drive home a bit too carefully.

"babe, i know your nervous but we are barely moving."

"im not hurting the baby. im doing 20.."

"thats the problem."

a/n- this is just general bf matt unlike my others but yeah so this may push me back into my break because its absoulutely awful!! but im thinking of doing a halloween theme, doubt ill pull throught though! im so tired :)

taglist! @bellaonthelow @hrtsdollie @sturnclouds @christophersgf @ellizzyy @moonk1ss3d @phoenix062 @pixxiies @conspiracy-ash @blahbel668 @monroesturnns @gwennybenny @sturnobsessedwh0re @xoxo4chriss @pixie-sticks-are-good @wurlibydominicfike @anitahunt @ilusa @mattstrombolii @stvrlighht @asherrisrandom @amelia-sturniolo3 @lianomer

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jiminomenon · 3 months ago

Note

what is jimin’s reaction to assistant yn threatening to quit?

from my series: the devil wears prada

the penthouse was silent—eerily so, considering the shouting match that had just taken place. the air between them was thick, charged with lingering frustration and unspoken words. jimin stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, expression locked in a stubborn scowl. y/n was a few feet away, breathing heavily, fists clenched at her sides.

neither of them had meant for it to escalate like this. it started with something minor—an argument over jimin’s impossible demands, her bratty attitude, the way she acted like y/n was hers to boss around twenty-four-seven. but then, words were thrown like knives, sharp and cutting.

and then y/n snapped.

“maybe i should just quit, then!”

the words ripped through the space between them. jimin stiffened instantly, her brows drawing together.

“what?” her voice was dangerously quiet.

y/n exhaled sharply, still fueled by frustration. “if you’re just gonna keep treating me like this, maybe i should just leave, huh? find another job where i’m actually respected.”

jimin scoffed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “you wouldn’t dare.”

“why not?” y/n challenged, eyes blazing. “give me one good reason why i shouldn’t.”

jimin opened her mouth, but for once in her life, she had no comeback. no smug remarks, no bratty retorts. because the idea of y/n actually leaving—actually walking away—felt like a punch to the gut.

her jaw tightened. “you’re being dramatic.”

y/n let out a bitter laugh. “of course you’d say that.”

jimin hated this. hated the way y/n looked at her right now—like she was tired of her, like she was done.

“you’re not quitting,” jimin said firmly, like it was a fact, like she refused to acknowledge the possibility.

“and why not?”

“because—” jimin’s voice faltered. she wanted to say because i need you—because she couldn’t imagine her life without y/n constantly by her side, keeping her in check, understanding her in ways no one else did.

but that wasn’t how she worked. she didn’t admit things like that. she didn’t let people know how much they mattered.

“because i said so,” she settled on instead.

y/n’s expression darkened. “you don’t own me, jimin.”

“i never said i did.”

“but you act like it!”

the silence that followed was suffocating.

jimin hated the thought of y/n leaving, but she also hated feeling like this—out of control, vulnerable, on the verge of losing something she refused to name.

so she did what she did best.

she walked away.

but before she could fully disappear into her bedroom, y/n’s voice cut through the air.

“you don’t even care, do you?”

jimin froze.

“if i left, it wouldn’t even matter to you, right?” y/n’s voice was quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “you’d just find someone else to boss around.”

something snapped inside jimin. she turned around, storming back toward y/n, eyes burning with something unreadable.

“it would matter,” she said, voice low. “it would matter a lot.”

y/n blinked.

jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair, frustrated—at y/n, at herself, at the entire situation.

“you think i don’t care?” jimin continued, tone softer now but still firm. “you think i’d just let you go that easily?”

y/n didn’t respond.

jimin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i’m sorry, alright?”

y/n’s brows shot up. “what?”

jimin groaned. “don’t make me say it again.”

y/n stared at her, searching for any sign of insincerity—but, for once, jimin actually meant it.

a small smirk tugged at y/n’s lips. “wow. never thought i’d hear those words come out of your mouth.”

jimin rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “don’t get used to it.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. her frustration wasn’t completely gone, but… jimin had apologized. and for someone as stubborn as her, that was a huge deal.

“you’re impossible,” y/n muttered.

jimin smirked. “and yet, here you are. still not quitting.”

y/n sighed dramatically. “unfortunately.”

but there was a warmth in her eyes now, and jimin—though she’d never say it out loud—felt like she could finally breathe again.

#karina x reader #aespa karina #tdwp

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miserycanary · 1 year ago

Text

MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩

♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all

tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff

"Sir? Sir!”

Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”

You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).

It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him.

Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.

He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.

Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out.

One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.

You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.

“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again.

From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love.

| The letter:

‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go.

With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’

꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#simon ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost riley #simon riley #canary’s symphonies #canary’s melodies

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gaysindistress · 1 year ago

Text

What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man?

a/n: This is technically part two for this list. You could read them separately but I really think you should read them both so you can fully feel the angst.

non-mcu characters masterlist

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries this is one is for you girl

Price stalks over to him and grabs him by the front of his vest, not caring that everyone can see what’s going on. “You call and apologize to her right now, ya hear me? It’s unacceptable for you to lie to her like that and I should have your balls for it. You fix it before she does go off and find herself a better man.”

Now let’s say that when Simon got back, things were….different. You rarely fought but now you’re bickering about every little thing and having full on battles of the will that leave you crying in the bedroom while he’s storming out. The connection between you two feels strained and distant where’s before it was warm and comforting. You barely look at each other and sometimes you think he’s straight up ignoring you.

Even the dogs have started to notice that there’s something off about mom and dad. Most nights you’ll sleep alone with the dogs by your door while Simon is on the couch. It feels like they’re laying in wait, ready to spring into action if anything were to happen. They don’t go to him as much as they did before and your female dog, Echo, refuses to leave your side. She’s become glued to you while your other dog, Zade, keeps you within eyesight at all times. It really pisses Simon off because Zade is supposed to be his dog and the mutt won’t even look at him (Simon’s words, not yours).

It all comes to a head though one night when Simon is trying to get Zade to come with him on a walk and the dog just stares at him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. He just stares into Simon’s soul and judges him for how he’s been treating you.

“Zade! Come here now!” Simon grumbles in a half shout but the dog doesn’t move a muscle. You’re in the bedroom with Echo at your feet and she glances over at you with a look that says ‘let’s go’.

What happened next is a blur. Echo barely makes it into the living room before she’s growling and placing herself between you and Simon. Zade is up and stalking closer to his sister’s side while Simon is growing more and more angry. You don’t think you even had the time to say anything before Echo and Zade tackle Simon to the ground. You know they wouldn’t hurt him but it’s still a terrifying sight and you’re doing everything you can to get the dogs off of him. You manage to get them off but they refuse to go to their kennels and keep tucked behind you, still ready to protect you if needed.

“Simon, oh my god are you okay?” You ask him in a panicked and high pitched voice as you try to help him up. He shoves your hands off of him and accidentally uses too much force which sends you to stumbling into the dogs.

Everything is absolute chaos with his anger, the dogs trying to protect you, and now you’re crying while trying not to tell him off. At this point you grab the dogs by their collars and pull them away as tears are streaming down your face. When they hear your sniffles, they immediately give into you and let you pull them to the bedroom. You don’t hear Simon as you start to pack as much as you can. The weeks of being on edge have finally gotten to you and you’re done.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who isn’t willing to communicate with you.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who used to be the most loving and devoted man you’ve ever met but now he can’t acknowledge your presence.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s come so far and has forgiven himself for the things he’s done but now he’s slipping back into his old self destructive ways.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who can’t be honest with himself and admit that he’s wrong.

You refuse to be in a relationship with a man who’s become Ghost.

You’ve tried having faith in him after he broke up with you but it’s rotting you from the inside out. It’s eating away at your heart, gnawing at your ribs with your flesh stuck in its teeth. This faith is liquifying the kindness and patience you once had. It’s changing you into an anxious shell of a coward who can’t stand up for yourself. Change is alright but this is not. This change is making you cruel and hopeless while it waits for you to become a faithless savage who devours whatever light touches you.

It’s only when you come back into the living room with your bags packed and the dogs ready to go that Simon says something to you.

He questions what you’re doing.

He doesn’t apologize.

“I’m leaving. We’ll figure out everything tomorrow,” you tell him as you find your keys.

“What do you mean?”

You stop. You stare at the front door with completely blank eyes. They flicker to him over your shoulder.

“I’m leaving you. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can figure out how to make it a clean break then.”

He doesn’t say a word. Neither do you after that.

He lets you walk out the door. You don’t ask him to fight for you either.

He lets you leave him. You don’t turn back either.

You meant to drive to your friend’s place but somewhere on the way there you pull over and cry until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Zade and Echo watch from the backseat of your car with their heads on your center console. They want to comfort you but there’s not exactly room for two 100 pound dogs in the front seat so they stay put. Your friend calls you frantically because she’s not home but tells you that you should come meet her wherever she’s at. As nice as it might be to get away, it’s not appealing to you at the moment so you call the only other person you know you’d be comfortable with right now.

A part of you knows it’s a mistake to call him and if Simon finds out, he might very well almost kill his captain a third time. The other part of you knows that John would be understanding and the calm presence that you want right now. He already checks on you regularly so would it be a huge surprise if you showed up on his doorstep?

As if he’s been waiting for this moment, John already has a guest room for you and has the back door open for the dogs to run around outside. They’ve met him before so they feel more secure with leaving your side although they both give him a warning look.

Now it’s important to remember that the entire time you’ve known John, you’ve been with Simon. John thinks himself a gentleman, albeit a bit gruff, but a gentleman no less so you’ve been off limits. Obviously he can’t ignore the initial attraction he felt towards you because you are an utterly breathtaking person and it would be impossible to not notice that. He’s tried to lock away the yearning that tugs at the marrow in his bones when he sees you but it’s difficult. It’s like asking a dog to stop begging; they might listen for a moment but they go back to it within seconds. Also during the course of your friendship, he’s come to know the absolute amazing person that you are and seen that you have the kindness soul he’s ever known. It didn’t used to hurt when he saw you but after that night you texted him to keep Simon safe after he broke up with you, it’s damn near unbearable. Simon told you to find yourself a better man and John knows he could be that man. He wants to be that man but only if you come to him. He won’t approach you or even hint at it with you. It needs to be you who seeks him out. It needs to be you who wants him. It needs to be you who asks him to be that man otherwise John would never be able to forgive himself if it all went wrong.

Nothing happens that night or at all for that matter during your stay with John. It was meant to only be a few days but with losing your house so suddenly and trying to navigate a world Post Simon, it ends up being a few weeks. You feel awful about it and promise that you’ll be gone as soon as you can. John always laughs it off and tells you to stay as long as you need. Secretly he’s growing accustomed to your calming presence and gentle ways. He adores how thoughtful you are when you have to work early and barely make a sound. He appreciates how you make him a plate and leave it in the fridge if he comes home late. He’s thankful that you’re comfortable enough with him to tell him about everything that’s going on.

John made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t bring up anything unless you said something first. Even when he wants desperately to know why you’re crying when you came back from Simon’s tonight, he won’t. Instead he offers you a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and some space while he busies himself in his shop outside. It absolutely destroys him to even think about leaving you alone in the living room but it’s the right thing to do.

Just as he’s getting ready to leave, your small voice stops him.

“Can…can you stay?” It’s unusual for you to not be confident in your words. It causes him to freeze to hear the uncertainty. “If..if you want.”

He smiles at the ground before turning to look at you and nod. You’re curled into a ball on the couch with your dogs at your feet but there’s space for him next to you. You lean away from the arm of the couch and he takes the hint. Settling into the space between you and couch, he tosses his arm over the back and lets you decide how to proceed. Against your logical head, you tuck yourself into his side with yours pulled around yourself and your head on his shoulder. His fingers itch to play with the ends of your hair but they stay tightly closed around the couch cushion.

“Thank you…for everything.”

“No need for that.” He murmurs with bated breath. He knows you can feel the tension, how could you not when you’re practically laying on his chest?

“One day you’re going to accept my thanks. It might not be tomorrow or the day after, but you will,” you say with a snort. He says that every single time and you reply with the same phrase every time as well.

John’s hand betrays him and starts to play with the very ends of your hair. You feel it just like you felt his strained breathing. It’s strange to feel affection from anyone else but from him, it’s…. welcomed. You don’t acknowledge it and he knows that you’re doing that for his own sake.

“Maybe,” he tosses back and his breath catches when you move closer to him. Your arm moves to wrap around his waist and stills when he tenses. It’s your silent way of asking for consent to hold him. “Love,” he starts and moves his hand away from your hair.

You move to look at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. He’s looking at you with such tenderness and warmth it makes your stomach flip.

“Do you have feelings for me?” You ask him directly, unwilling to be tossed around again. It’s abrasive and you know there’s a better way to have asked but it gets straight to the point.

John looks sick and a tight lipped smile pulls across his face as he tries to come up with an answer. “I…love I think you need to rest. There’s been a…”

“No. Answer the question.”

He glances down at your lips and that’s telling enough.

“Now isn’t the right time,” he whispers more to himself than to you. “You’ve just gone through…”

Cutting him off, you say firmly, “and that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

He can only stare at you with half lidded eyes and pray that he doesn’t break in front of you. His resolve is crumbling and it’s only thanks to his military service that he’s not throwing himself at you.

“I told him it’s over.”

John tries to interrupt you but you silence him with a pointed look. “I told him that I will always love him but that doesn’t mean I want to be with him anymore. I won’t wait around for him to figure his life out. I don’t deserve that. I deserve a man who knows what he wants and will communicate with me.”

Honestly it feels like his world is crumbling around him. You’re here snuggled into his chest and saying all these things which he knows what they mean but he can’t believe that you know what they mean. He can’t trust his own understanding of you and believe that you’d mean that.

“I need you to tell me what you want…now.”

You.

He wants you. More than anything in the world, John Price wants you and you’re asking him to confess that secret.

#simon riley x female reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost call of duty #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #John price imagine #captain price x reader #price x reader #price #captain price #cod price

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bitteriekitten · 2 months ago

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fantastic use of free will.

synopsis — sylus finds your strap-on. he gets creative with it.

warnings — nsfw content mdni please or i will steal ur kneecaps, afab!reader so mentions of female genitalia (pussy, breasts, etc.), crack at the beginning, improper use of a strap-on (sylus is not the one getting plowed with the strap this time), a super bad attempt at dirty talk, switch!sylus (dom to sub then to dom again), sylus cumming in his pants like a highschooler, sylus being a lil shit, cursing... i might've missed smt lmk if i did

featuring — sylus

notes — thank u to all those who interacted with the initial post and the teaser !! i lowkey had some difficulty writing this bc (TMI LOL) i don't know what a dildo feels like lfmapaosdasdj so i apologize if the descriptions r inaccurate LMAO

Sylus laughed up a storm when he stumbled upon your bright red strap-on while he was going through your things at your apartment. He had been staying at your place in Linkon for two days after he got tangled up with some of his enemies near the no-hunt zones you frequented.

One thing led to another, where Sylus began snooping around your bedroom until he stumbled upon the discarded toy in a box underneath your bed. You'd completely forgotten about the toy, as it had been so long since you had received it as a joke.

Sylus held the toy by the base where it held the bright red dildo. He was wheezing with actual tears in his eyes. He was probably having difficulty breathing, making it all the more embarrassing.

"Kitten–"

"NO! Hear me out!" You, mortified out of your mind, stumbled out an excuse for having the strap, "I got that as a gag gift! Simone gave it to me because she pulled my name out for the Christmas gag gifts thing we did two years ago!"

Sylus continued laughing, his arm barely able to lift itself up as he dangles the toy in the air. "Oh, this is the highlight of my month. Or probably my whole year." he said, still wheezing in full amusement as he wiped away a tear with his knuckle.

You groaned and tried to snatch it from his grasp, to no avail. "Give it back!"

"Ah-ah, kitten," Sylus raised his arm higher, grinning widely at you. "I want to see you use this for me."

You blanched at his request, "What? I never pegged you to be into that." You snorted at your own joke, "Ha, see what I–"

"Oh, I'm not gonna do that, sweetie." Sylus cut you off, tilting his head to the side, his smirk just as lopsided and evil.

You were even more confused. "Wh– what do you mean..."

Sylus spread his legs on your bed slowly, snugly strapping the toy around the meat of his thigh. After tightening the last strap around his knee, he looked back up at you and patted the base of the toy. Your heart raced as his smirk grew more smug by the minute.

"Up for a joyride, sweetie?" he taunted.

You let out a pained whimper as you lowered yourself onto the strap, flinching at the cold lube that Sylus lathered onto the toy earlier. You gripped Sylus's shoulders hard as you slowly took in inch by inch.

"That's it, kitten..." Sylus whispered to you, his breath tickling your ear as his hands held your waist, guiding you down the length as gentle as he could. You could feel the quickening beat of his heart underneath your palms, your knee grazing his hard clothed bulge.

"Hhaaah... S-Sylus, please..." you whimpered, halting your movements. The toy was half-way into you, but you were already close to losing your mind. You buried your face onto his shoulder, trembling and refusing to lower yourself any further.

"Please what, kitten? Already had enough?" Sylus taunted into your ear with a smug grin. You gasped directly into his ear when he jerked his thigh upward, pushing the length further into you deliciously. Sylus moaned back at the sound of your voice.

"Fuck, don't do that!" you reprimanded him weakly, hitting his shoulder with a frail punch. Sylus chuckled in response, moving his hands down to your hips.

"Does it hurt?"

You hummed, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation of the rigid toy inside of your pussy. It was far from the real thing, that's for sure.

"You're doing great, kitten," Sylus praised you lowly, kissing your neck as he rubbed circle on your hips, "Just a bit more..."

Sylus slowly guided you down onto the strap, finally fitting all seven inches into you. You breathed shallowly, resting your head at the crook of his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck.

His fingers made work of unbuttoning your shirt, taking his time revealing the skin underneath. He kissed your exposed skin once he finally got the offending fabric off, his hands slowly kneading your breasts. You squirmed under his touch, moaning when the pads of his thumbs rubbed on your nipples.

Sylus kissed your temple, humming against your hairline, "Ready when you are." he purred.

You were soaking him by this point, the pain of the toy inside of you gradually subsiding. You grabbed Sylus's face with both of your hands and pulled him into a sloppy kiss, to which he returned with a surprised groan, his own hands traveling to the sides of your head to deepen the kiss. Your tongues locked onto one another, desperately moaning and whining into each other's mouths.

Forcibly pulling away from his lips with a whimper, you breathed in and out for a few seconds, bracing yourself for the ride. Sylus looked up to the ceiling to force himself to calm down, gulping hard as he gripped your hips once more.

You slowly lifted yourself up from the toy, wincing at the size. "Fuck, why is it so big..." you hissed. Sylus chuckled to himself, biting down on his lip as he watched you struggle on top of him.

You soon let out an unrestrained moan as you went back down on the fake cock, slowly finding your rhythm while riding the toy. The toy squelched inside of you with how wet you were from his touch, from his kisses. Sylus couldn't help but moan; you were a sight to behold, even at your messiest, most fucked out state.

"Fuck, kitten," Sylus sighed, looking up at you with his mouth hung open. He's trying to burn this image into his brain, you losing yourself as you grind on the plastic dick strapped around his thigh. His left hand lets go of your hips and grabs onto your sheets beside him to ground himself, flinching at the feeling of your knee bumping against his clothed bulge.

"Unh unh unh! Fuck, it feels so good Sy–aah!" you whined, your sultry sounds coinciding with your bouncing. Your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders, leaving behind red nail marks that stung. Sylus couldn't help but moan back as he watched you lose yourself to the pleasure.

"Kitten–fuck, s-slow down..." he admonished you faintly. He was honestly having second thoughts about having you ride a fake cock now; you could've been doing on his cock instead.

You did eventually slow down, your hips and legs burning from all the movement. You rested your forehead against Sylus's as you took a momentary break, your breath mixing with his. "A-ah... how the hell did you convince me to do this..." you whimpered, your pussy involuntarily squeezing around the dildo.

Sylus was wondering the same thing, cursing himself out in his thoughts for even proposing this idea to you. His resolve and control was breaking the more he stared at you, the more you sat on the fake cock tied around his thigh. He just wanted to mess with you for having such a ridiculous toy in your possession, but you really had the last laugh–and you didn't even know it.

You adjusted how you sat on his lap, your knee brushing against his neglected bulge for the millionth time. Sylus's breath hitched at the contact, which didn't go unnoticed.

"Oh?" You grinned and moved your knee again, deliberately moving it harshly against his clothed cock. Sylus gasped and swiftly moved one of his hands to grasp your knee, completely stopping you from moving. "Kitten," he warned you, but his voice trembled, his whole body trembled. Regret flashed across his eyes as he looked at you with a pleading face.

You let out a single laugh at his reaction, swatting away his hand from your knee and bringing it up to your hip. "Seems like I'm not the only one getting tortured here." you said, your words slurring together.

"Fuck..." Sylus muttered, his breath coming in short and quick. He looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes, to which you only smiled at. It was beautiful to see him like this, the powerful leader of Onychinus reduced to whimpers. You laughed at him as your hand slid down from his chest down to his happy trail, where he shuddered almost violently under your touch. Come to think of it, he set himself up for this anyway.

"Can't handle it, baby?" you teased, your hand finally grabbing his clothed length. You giggled as the man underneath you choked out a moan, his body straightening up as he shivered at the contact that was barely even there. "You asked for this, Sy..." you taunted.

"Kitten, I–" Sylus cut himself off with a whimper when your thumb somehow found the tip of his cock through the fabric of his jeans. He moaned as he encircled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. Your breath hitched as the movements caused the toy inside you to jerk around, but you paid it no mind, focusing more on Sylus's cock instead.

"Kitten, kitten please..." Sylus rasped out desperately, his teeth nipping carelessly across your body, "Keep– keep riding my thigh, keep riding that fake cock please..."

He pulled you to him by the back of your neck, your hot mouths connecting once more for another sloppy kiss. You continued riding the toy on his leg, just as he requested.

"You're fucking perfect..." Sylus sighed into your mouth.

Moans reverberated around your bedroom, the only sounds that you and Sylus can hear aside from your pussy jumping on the plastic toy, and the rapid beating of your hearts.

You finally unzipped Sylus's pants and shoved your hand inside, fondling his hard cock with your palm even as he flinched at your warm touch. "Look how the tables turned, hm?" you taunted, Sylus's eyes rolling to the back of his head with a loud groan at the feel of your bare skin against his length.

"T-tried to tease me, get me all embarrassed," you snarled into his ear, hissing when the toy drove into your sweet spot. Sylus couldn't reply back with anything witty in return, he was rendered utterly speechless. "Yet here you are, all bricked up and desperate for me just from me riding your thigh like you're some useless toy..."

"Fuck, your m-mouth..." Sylus moaned against the corner of your lips, his head reeling from your words. You wrapped your hand around his length and began steadily pumping it, earning another moan from him. Soon enough, he couldn't keep up with your kisses anymore, his lips constantly parted to make way for his uncontrolled moans.

"I'm close, kitten– fuck, why am I already so close–" he cut himself off once again with a cry.

You grabbed Sylus's jaw, forcing him to look at you in the eye. "You're gonna cum, baby?" you asked him mockingly, but you were just as close as he was. Sylus immediately nodded, his voice wrecked, "Yes. Yesyesyesyes–oh, I'm so–" He let out a drawn out moan, his eyes squeezed shut as you squeezed his cock.

Bouncing on the toy once more, you guided his other hand from your hip over to your clit, where Sylus immediately began rubbing it with his thumb. "Fuck, that's it, baby..." you sighed, feeling the hot white pleasure building up in you.

"C-cum– cum with me, kitten please." Sylus whispered, frantically rubbing your sensitive nub and kissing down your neck. He was holding himself back even though it was suffocating him, but his resolve was quickly breaking.

"Oh, Sy–aah!" You cum around the strap without warning, the pleasure suddenly washing all over you. You held onto Sylus with your face hidden in his neck. Sylus cried out in relief as he followed your orgasm, his thighs trembling as he pumped his cum all over your hand and into his pants.

You yelped as Sylus kept rubbing his thumb over your clit, yanking it away from you as you shivered in overstimulation. Sylus shuddered underneath you as his hips continued to hump into your hand that was still gripping his cock. Miraculously, he was still hard, even after cumming so hard.

You come to your sense a few moments later. With your breath still heaving, you take out your hand from under Sylus's pants, which were now sticky with his cum. Sylus, through shudders, grinned lazily at you, and you grinned back. "Regretting it now, Sy?"

Sylus scoffed, "Oh, I'm Sy now? What happened to baby?"

"Ha, I'm not the one who came so hard from making me ride a dildo for twenty minutes."

Sylus sneered at you and jolted his leg upward, thrusting the said dildo into you. You let out a loud moan at the surprise attack and slapped his chest. "Stop fucking doing that!"

Sylus ignored your warning, instead pulling you close for a deep kiss. You moaned into his mouth and gripped the sides of his head, your lips moving fluidly against one another.

You moaned weakly when he jerked his leg again, the toy somehow reaching deeper into you. Sylus pulled away from your lips, biting his bottom lip as he watched you slowly unravel for him again.

This was going to be a long night.

taglist– @syxlx @angelicspaceprince @almondtofuus @april-likes-smut @shinyfestmilkshake @aerivina @crowsandapples @lutang-medyo-delulu @fxirybubble @mysssticc @kuroyurishion @daddyslittlecrow @liliesoftherainmain @berrryparfait @atlasbreaks @goldenroses

#sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads smut #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace #lili writes 💋

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utahimeow · 1 year ago

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cw — reader and gojo have a daughter, established marriage, gojo is sad but reader comforts him

satoru gojo is not a man of many fears. heights, spiders, needles, death—fearing these is alien to a man who’s looked death itself in the eye and refused to let it touch him. however the words that his five-almost-six year-old daughter just uttered send shivers down his spine.

he’s frozen, eyes wide, face pale. he thinks his lungs stop working and his heart stops beating.

big, blue eyes round as a bug’s stare up at him, oblivious to the implications of it all.

the sentence echoes in his head like a taunt. he thinks he’ll hear it in his nightmares tonight.

then, her little hand as she tugs on his pant leg yanks him back to reality.

“daddy, i said my tooth fell out!”

satoru gulps, gaze falling to the crumb of bone in her hand, then to the tiny gap that’s now in the front of her mouth.

he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

you’re home from work not long later and the girl rushes to greet you at the door, screeching with delight to announce the loss of her tooth to you.

you’re gasping dramatically, gathering her up in your arms as she gives you a gummy smile so wide her eyes scrunch shut. staring at her is like looking in a mirror, a perpetually perfect reflection of you and your love combined into one small being.

“it didn’t hurt, did it?” you ask her.

“nope! i didn’t even cry,” she tells you, beaming with pride.

“oh, how brave you are,” you tell her, kissing her soft cheeks, grinning as her giggles bubble throughout the entire foyer.

she wriggles out of your grasp and then she’s off again, bounding back upstairs to her room to the pile of plushies upon her bed so she can continue to brew up tales and backstories for each of them. now that both her mother and father have heard her big news, she’s satisfied enough for it to no longer need to be on her mind.

you’re not surprised to find satoru in the kitchen, rummaging through the snack cupboard. you are surprised at the fact that he doesn’t turn to greet you like he always does. with a pout, you stride over to his towering frame and snake your arms around his slender waist, pressing yourself flush to him.

“hi, lover,” you hum.

in your embrace, satoru becomes lighter. the tension in his hard muscles lifts, his shoulders dropping, his back shedding the weight of the world.

“hi, pretty,” he replies, uncharacteristically quiet, yet somehow his voice still drips with affection for you.

“what’s the matter?” you ask him. you’re well aware of your husband’s melodramatic nature, and it’s because of that that you don’t find yourself worrying over his state of despair. still, you’re rather filled with a curiosity—what minuscule nonsensical issue has him down today? did they discontinue his favourite kitkat flavour?

hands migrating up his torso and finding his chest, you squeeze your fingers into the fat of his pectorals. in the blink of an eye, satoru is facing you and his cold hands have grabbed hold of your wrists. he grins down at you softly, amused by your antics as always, but you blink again and his face drops, growing almost grave.

“talk to me,” you urge, prying. his soft grasp leaves your wrists, moving to envelop your hands which drown in his. he brings them to his lips, kissing at your fingertips, making your heart beat in your ears and your face grow hot. it’s strange to think he once shrivelled away from your affection, convinced he was not worthy of it.

“how was work?” he asks.

“fine. good. same as always,” you tell him. “but you’re avoiding my question. and your feelings.”

he shakes his head, a child through and through. “tell me about your day.”

“satoru,” you say, stern, and it feels like you’re scolding your daughter for not listening to you. “i hate it when you’re… off like this.”

his eyes pierce through yours then, filled with unspoken apology. then, he exhales, long and hard, a sigh that’s heavy with weariness. for you, he’s learned to surrender.

“our daughter losing her tooth today made me realise that she’s getting older and i can’t stop it,” he admits.

you sigh along with him, half relieved that your conscience had been right in believing that it wasn’t anything serious. well, in the sense that no one had died. the rest of you knows he’s not being irrational. since becoming a father, and even before that, when having children was just a distant fantasy for him, an anxiety had lived inside of him. an anxiety of fucking up, of being inherently unsuited to fatherhood, of the idea that she may suffer the consequences of him being her father.

and now, a new anxiety sprouts.

“true, but we get to watch her grow, satoru. don’t you think that’s amazing?”

he stays silent, mouth forming an absentminded pout.

“i just keep thinking about when she was a baby… how tiny she was, how she would waddle around, and drool on my chest. soon she won’t be my little girl anymore, you know?”

“satoru,” you say firmly. your hands curl around the back of his neck, scratching at the snowy hairs of his undercut. “she’ll always be your little girl. i know that because she’s your whole world, and you’re hers. she may never be that little baby again, but she’ll never be as little as she is now either, so love and cherish her now instead of moping about the inevitable passage of time.”

satoru smiles a dopey smile at you, the same one his daughter has.

“i’m so glad i married you,” he says. his hands are warm now as they settle on your lower back, dipping down, down, down.

you roll your eyes at him, opening your mouth to reply with something witty, but he beats you to it.

“i’m being serious now, baby. you always know what to say when i’m being stupid.”

“when you’re being overdramatic, you mean,” you say, grinning playfully.

“hey, it just shows that i care, doesn’t it?”

you pull him down to your face by his neck and kiss him, moulding your lips against his, tender and warm and home. it’s not just his thoughts that melt away when he kisses you, it’s his entire head, until all that’s left is a man with nothing but his wife on his mind, heart beating for no reason other than to keep him alive so that he can keep thinking about you.

briefly, you pull away, in spite of how he chases your lips with his, because he could kiss you until the end of time and you could do the very same, but there’s something weighing on your mind suddenly.

“if you want a second baby i can make that happen, by the way,” you tell him, your hips pressing against his.

“oh, now you want another one? but every time i ask for one i get an earful? heh,” he says, quirking a brow, but unfortunately for him he’s hard in his pants in an instant.

“yeah, but now i feel bad for you.”

“babe, i don’t want a kid out of pity!”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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w1w2 · 21 days ago

Text

The Price of Affection

Previous part | Part 4

Minatozaki Sana x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 8k

Synopsis: When Y/N asks her to let go, Sana disappears into the background, loving quietly, helplessly, from the edges of a life she no longer belongs to. But some ties refuse to break, and some hearts don't know how to stop choosing, even when they should.

Notes: Oh god, it's the last one. It was hell of the ride. I hope you like it! Thank you for being here with me, mwah.

Req by Anon

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

She thought it would be a relief.

Aching but clean, the kind of pain you could take a breath through, the kind that would make her stronger in the end, the kind that would fade into something she could carry without feeling like it was ripping her apart every time she moved.

She thought that asking Sana to let her go would give her power back, that it would be a declaration, a reclaiming of herself after all the months she had spent quietly wishing for a version of Sana that was never going to exist. But the silence that followed didn’t bring peace, no. It brought a weight that settled over her life like ash, soft and suffocating, coating everything she touched with the residue of what could have been, what almost was, what she had still stupidly hoped for even when every part of her knew better.

It wasn’t the sharp kind of pain, the kind that explodes and burns fast and clean, it was slower, the kind that sat heavy in her bones until even breathing felt like a betrayal. Every breath was proof she was still here, still hurting, still somehow surviving the wreckage of something that never really belonged to her in the first place.

Because letting go wasn’t a single moment, it wasn’t a choice she made once and was done with. It was something she had to do every time her fingers twitched toward her phone, every time she heard a voice that almost sounded like Sana’s laugh, every time her heart lifted at a shadow passing by the café window, stupid and instinctive, before crashing back down when she remembered that Sana wasn’t coming again.

And the worst part, the part she could barely stand to admit even to herself, was that there was no ghost of Sana in her apartment to banish, no shirts left behind to bury at the bottom of a drawer, no half empty bottles of perfume, no toothbrush leaning against hers by the sink.

Sana had never been there in any of the ways that mattered.

And still her absence filled the rooms, louder than her presence ever had, a roar in the silence, a hum in the walls, a shadow where nothing should have been.

She hadn’t lost a person, she had lost a hope she had built with her own hands. She had loved the possibility of her, and the betrayal of that, of knowing that she had done this to herself, was what gutted her the most.

Because deep down, Y/N knew she had never truly been chosen, she had been an almost, a maybe, something beautiful to look at but too complicated to keep.

And still, she had stayed, she had waited, she had loved her.

And now? Every minute of every day, she had to live with the bitterness of that choice.

She stripped her life of Sana’s presence, not out of spite, but out of necessity. The money was just enough to buy her time, time away from the café, time to throw herself into her art like it was the only thing tethering her to herself, time to paint until her fingers ached and her vision blurred and the ache inside her was too tired to scream.

And she was angry, god, she was.

Not just at Sana, but at herself. Angry that she had let herself fall, knowing better, angry that she had let herself hope when Sana had shown her every step of the way that she would never be enough to make her stay.

She worked until she couldn’t think, she painted until her body gave out. She dragged the grief out of herself one canvas at a time, pouring it into shapes that didn’t make sense, colors that bled and bruised across the page, hands that reached and never found what they were looking for.

People praised her work, they said she was evolving, that there was something raw in what she was doing now, something fearless. But they didn’t know they were looking at the pieces of her she had nowhere else to put, they didn’t know that every brushstroke was a wound that hadn't closed.

They didn’t know she was painting Sana.

Some nights she stared at the dress hanging untouched in her closet, the only thing she hadn’t get rid of, still carrying the weight of what she had once believed might happen, and those were the nights when the anger slipped out of her and all that was left was the unbearable, gutting tenderness of missing someone who had never truly been hers.

Because for all the pain, all the bitterness, all the furious pride that kept her moving forward, there was still this small, stubborn part of her that whispered that if things had been different, if Sana had only been a little braver, a little kinder, a little more willing to be what she could have been, they might have had something real, something worth the fall.

But she couldn’t live in that fantasy anymore.

She had survived the worst of it, and she would keep surviving, even if it meant dragging her heart behind her like dead weight. She chose forward, not because it felt good, not because it healed anything, but because there was no other way to live that didn’t break her all over again.

Waiting for Sana to choose her had been another way of losing herself, and she refused, absolutely, violently refused to lose herself anymore.

And even if some part of her would always carry the shape of what they might have been, even if she would always feel the echo of Sana’s name somewhere under her skin, she knew that loving someone wasn’t supposed to feel like begging.

Not again.

Not ever.

Sana hadn’t understood what real heartbreak looked like until the door closed behind Y/N, soft and final in a way that left no space for hope, no space for second chances, no space for anything except the silence pressing against her ribs, squeezing until she could barely stand.

And for a long moment after, she just stood there, staring at the empty hallway like she could still piece something back together if she just didn’t move, if she just didn’t blink, if she just didn’t breathe.

But the truth was already settled.

It wasn’t the leaving that shattered her, it was the fact that Y/N hadn’t left in anger, hadn’t slammed the door, hadn’t thrown accusations or hurtful words. She had simply stepped back, had simply let go, had simply said please, let me go and that quiet devastation was what tore Sana apart in ways nothing else ever had.

She had meant what she said that night, even though no one was there to hear it. She had meant it with every breath, with every fracture inside her chest, with every desperate, broken part of herself she never dared to show before. It was real, it was true, and it was too damn late.

She didn’t call, she didn’t text, she didn’t show up at her door with flowers or apologies or grand gestures, because she knew, she knew in a way that left no room for excuses, that Y/N didn’t want to be chased anymore, that chasing her now would only be another wound, another selfish act of taking when all Y/N had ever needed was to be chosen freely.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

It didn’t erase the way her fingers hovered over her phone in the early hours of the morning, didn’t stop the way she found herself driving by places where Y/N might be, didn’t soften the brutal, endless ache that gnawed at her every time she realized that Y/N’s absence wasn’t something temporary, wasn’t something she could fix with enough regret or enough love, no matter how much she burned with both.

She kept her promises, even when they tore her open.

She stayed silent, she became a ghost in Y/N’s life, a presence she refused to announce, a shadow she refused to cast across her path, because if she couldn’t be the woman Y/N needed, if she couldn’t be the one she deserved, then she would at least have the decency to disappear.

But she couldn’t vanish completely, no, she couldn’t.

She whispered Y/N’s name into the right conversations, left her work where important people would see it, used her influence like a secret offering, a penance she knew would never be enough. Because she couldn’t stand the thought of Y/N’s talent slipping through unnoticed, because even if she wasn’t allowed to love her out loud, she could still build a future for her in the quiet.

She didn’t need recognition, she didn’t need forgiveness.

All she wanted was for Y/N to have everything she deserved, success, joy, peace, even if Sana herself had forfeited the right to be anywhere near it.

So she watched from the edges, careful and aching, slipping in and out of her orbit without ever letting herself get close enough to burn, showing up at gallery openings she wasn’t invited to, standing at the back where no one would notice, where Y/N wouldn’t have to see her and remember all the ways she had failed her.

Then she would leave before the ache could split her open again, before her feet could betray her and carry her forward like some desperate thing reaching for something it had no right to touch.

Because real love wasn’t about holding on.

It wasn’t about forcing your way back into someone's life, it was about standing in the spaces they no longer wanted you in and loving them anyway, even when it broke you, even when it hollowed you out, even when all you could do was carry their name like a wound you didn’t know how to heal.

And so Sana faded into the background of Y/N’s life, present in ways she would never be thanked for, invisible in ways that made the missing worse, a constant ache she carried without asking for anything in return.

She watched Y/N’s world move forward without her, watched from the quiet edges as new doors opened, as opportunities bloomed where once there had only been struggle, and though pride swelled in her chest every time she heard Y/N’s name spoken with admiration, it was a pride laced with grief, sharp and unrelenting.

Because loving her from a distance meant celebrating her victories with a heart breaking open a little more each time, meant standing still while Y/N took steps further and further away from her. When the call came, when Y/N’s name was placed among artists who mattered, Sana knew it would be her last offering, the last quiet thread she would weave into the life she was no longer allowed to touch.

She knew Y/N deserved this, she had always deserved this.

Somewhere across the city, while Sana sat in the silence she had built for herself, Y/N’s phone buzzed to life, carrying a future that neither of them could ever quite claim without remembering everything it had cost.

It was a Thursday afternoon, the kind of grey, unremarkable day where the hours blur together, where the world feels too heavy and too indifferent to believe that anything extraordinary could still be waiting, long after Y/N had convinced herself that good things were for other people, that breaks and miracles and second chances were doors that only opened for those who hadn’t already been left behind.

She was elbows deep in a canvas that refused to cooperate, hands trembling from too many cups of coffee and too many nights spent chasing something she couldn't name. Fingers stained with colors that felt too loud for the hollow ache inside her, when her phone buzzed against the floor, sharp and insistent in the silence.

For a long moment, she just stared at it.

Because hope was a habit she had been trying so desperately to unlearn, a dangerous thing she had taught herself to set down and walk away from, and she didn’t think she had it in her to pick it up again, not even to answer a call that could be anything, anyone, another wrong number, another reminder that the world was still spinning without her.

But something, maybe stubbornness, maybe instinct, maybe the last flicker of a girl she used to be, made her reach for it.

Something made her answer.

And then the words poured through the line, careful and measured in a voice that didn’t understand it was reshaping her whole world in a single breath, telling her, almost casually, that she had been chosen to showcase her work at one of the most respected galleries in the city, that someone had seen her, had chosen her, had opened a door for her.

She sat there, frozen, the brush slipping from her fingers and landing with a soft, wet slap against the floor, still she didn’t move, just stared at the wall and tried to understand how something had managed to slip through the wreckage she thought she had built around herself too tightly to let anything good find its way in.

It didn’t feel real, it didn’t feel possible. It felt like standing in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by every broken piece of herself she had ever tried to bury.

And somehow a door swinging open in the distance, a way out, a way forward, a way back to the version of herself that had once believed she was worth saving.

And for the first time in weeks, something fragile and bright cracked open inside her chest, something reckless, something that tasted a little like hope. Something she hadn’t let herself feel for a long, long time.

And for a moment, just a moment, she let herself believe that maybe she hadn’t been wrong to keep trying.

Y/N should have let herself have it, the joy, the pride, the quiet astonishment of standing on the brink of something good, something she had earned with her own hard work, with her callused hands and sleepless nights. But she had learned by now, that life was rarely so clean, rarely so kind, and the universe had a way of dragging the truth into the light when you were least ready to bear it.

It happened the night before the showcase, when she had returned to the gallery for a final walkthrough, nerves humming low and constant under her skin, a stack of final paperwork clutched in one hand and a cup of bitter coffee in the other, telling herself she had done it, she had survived the storm, she had carved something out of the wreckage that no one could take away from her.

And then she heard it.

A voice carried from the gallery director’s open door, casual enough that it might have gone unnoticed if it hadn’t held the one name that could still crack her in half without warning.

"Miss Minatozaki, thank you for your call.” the director was saying, voice low and easy, deferential in a way that made Y/N’s stomach lurch before she even fully understood why.

“The girl is a truly amazing artist, raw but brilliant. She still needs a little sharpening, of course, but she’s good enough that we decided to showcase her art after all. You were right to push her under our noses."

The world tilted.

For a moment, she just stood there, the words lodging themselves inside her like thorns, so small and sharp she almost didn't feel the full weight of them at first, almost.

She stood there, stupid, invisible, a ghost in her own life, listening to the director laugh softly, thanking Sana again for her "recommendation," as if Y/N’s entire future was a favor passed between two people behind her back, as if her work had been plucked from obscurity not because it deserved to be seen, but because someone had finally decided to open a door for her.

She kept asking herself why, out of guilt, or pity, or worse, out of love that had come too late to mean anything good.

The betrayal hit so hard she almost dropped the coffee right there on the pristine gallery floor.

She stumbled out before anyone could see her, clutching the cold paper cup like a lifeline, her breath scraping her ribs raw, her pulse slamming against the inside of her skull, humiliation flooding her so fast and hot that for a moment she thought she might actually throw up right there on the polished sidewalk outside.

Because she wanted this, god, she fought for this.

She bled for this when no one was watching, sobbed herself raw on nights when the loneliness was too sharp to carry. Built herself back from nothing when the world kept telling her she was invisible, unremarkable.

And now? Now it felt like it had been handed to her like a gift she didn’t ask for, a mercy disguised as success, a triumph stained with invisible fingerprints she would never be able to scrub clean.

It made her want to scream, it made her want to tear her paintings down from the walls, smash the frames, rip the canvases apart with her bare hands until there was nothing left of what had once felt like salvation.

But beneath the fury, beneath the humiliation, beneath the sick, gutting shame curling itself around her ribs, there was another truth, quieter and more cruel, one she couldn’t claw away from no matter how hard she tried.

Without Sana, this might never have happened.

Without her name spoken in rooms Y/N had no access to, without her quiet influence, her silent pulling of strings, the world might have kept looking past her, might have kept seeing just another girl with paint under her nails and too much feeling in her chest and no place to put it.

How could she celebrate something that didn’t feel fully hers? How could she stand in that gallery tomorrow night, wearing her best dress and her best smile, knowing that every eye that landed on her art was only there because someone who had once broken her heart decided to pity her enough to put it back together?

How could she ever breathe easy inside something that tasted like mercy instead of victory?

And yet, somewhere deeper, somewhere smaller, somewhere she didn’t have the strength to kill yet, there was still the tiniest flicker of gratitude, burning low and miserable and real. Because for all her anger, for all her humiliation, for all the ways she wanted to hate Sana for touching this part of her life without permission, she couldn’t deny that Sana had seen her.

Had believed in her, even when Y/N had stopped believing in herself, and somehow, that made it hurt worse than anything else.

Next day, Y/N stands in front of her closet after the sky has gone dark, hands trembling slightly as she pushes hangers back and forth with more force than necessary, each brush of fabric against her fingers another reminder of who she used to be, of the girl who once believed that love could be fought for, that it could be earned if you just held on tightly enough, if you just loved fiercely enough, if you just refused to let go.

Most of the dresses hanging there were hers alone, bought in the aftermath, chosen with hands that had learned the hard way how not to hope too much, and yet tonight, even those felt wrong, too ordinary, too small for the storm brewing under her skin, too stitched through with the life she had built on surviving instead of celebrating.

Then her fingers land on it.

Tucked away at the back, half forgotten but never fully erased, still wrapped in paper that crinkled under her touch like an accusation, waiting for a night that had never come, waiting for promises that had crumbled long before they had the chance to be spoken out loud.

The dress Sana had bought her.

A gift given with a careless sort of affection, the kind that had once made her heart stutter with wonder, back when she hadn’t yet learned that affection without commitment was just another kind of cruelty.

She should hate it, she should shove it deeper into the closet, bury it under sweaters and jackets and every other version of herself she had outgrown, or better yet, she should leave it behind altogether, let it rot away with the rest of the things she was trying so hard to forget.

But instead, she pulls it free.

She lets the fabric slide through her fingers, soft and expensive and weightless, except it isn't weightless at all. It carries every unsent message, every unfinished promise, every goddamn almost they never became.

It feels like a dare.

Maybe it’s a fuck you to Sana.

Maybe it’s something softer, something sadder, something she isn’t ready to look too closely at yet, some part of her still aching to believe that not everything Sana touched had to turn into something that hurt.

She steps into the dress with mechanical hands, zipping it up without ceremony, without sentiment, without the reverence she might have once given it, her fingers steady not because she is calm, but because she has run out of ways to fall apart.

And when she sees herself in the mirror, tall and radiant in a dress that had once been meant for a different kind of night, she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, doesn’t soften.

She just looks.

She looks at herself, at all the ways she has survived, at all the ways she is still standing, still goddamn fighting even after everything, and she lets herself feel it. The anger, the pride, the devastation, the hunger for something she had built with her own hands even if the door had been opened by someone else.

Then she grabs her coat, lifts her chin, and steps out into the night, wearing the past like armor, wearing her defiance like a second skin, daring anyone who looked at her to see anything but the artist she had always been, screaming without words.

"I am here because I deserve to be, I am here because I fucking earned it."

The gallery is already alive when she arrives, the air thick with the low, golden hum of conversation spilling out onto the street, laughter mingling with the soft clink of champagne glasses, the weight of expectation settling into the night like mist, and for a long moment, Y/N stands frozen on the sidewalk, heart hammering so violently against her ribs she wonders if anyone inside can hear it.

She stares at her own name printed clean and bold across the program clutched in her hand, her breath fogging in the chill evening air, her fingers trembling despite the steady beat she tries to will into them, and it feels unreal, impossible that it could be her name they are saying tonight, her art they are gathering to see, her voice etched into every canvas hanging on those pristine white walls.

She is here.

Not as someone's guest, not as someone's afterthought, not as someone's beautiful distraction.

She's here as the artist.

For a moment she feels it settle into her bones, feels the years of being overlooked, of being told to be patient, to be realistic, to be grateful for crumbs, all press against her chest at once, a tide of memories trying to drag her under.

But she doesn't let them, not tonight.

She steps through the doors and the sound swells around her, warm and heady, and for a dizzying second the world tilts, the lights overhead blurring into gold and white, the polished floors gleaming underfoot like a stage she isn’t sure she’s ready to walk across.

She grips the program tighter until the edges crumple under her fingertips, a small anchor against the urge to run, to shrink back into the girl who never dared to dream too loudly for fear the world would laugh at her audacity.

People are turning toward her now, curators with assessing eyes, critics with notebooks tucked into the crook of their arms, strangers with the kind of smiles that mean something, and they are talking to her, not around her, not over her, not through her. But to her, and their words are not pitying or patronizing, they are admiring.

They talk about her work, the bruised, beautiful mess of it, the way she captures color like it’s alive, the way her pieces bleed emotions through every line, every fracture, every brushstroke, the way she seems to reach into something too raw, too human, and make it visible, make it inescapable.

And she smiles.

Small, careful, dazed.

Not because she doubts them, not because she thinks they’re lying, but because some deep part of her still doesn’t know how to stand in the center of the room without flinching, still expects to be pushed aside, forgotten, undone by the simple fact of her own existence.

But tonight? Tonight she doesn't flinch, tonight she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and lets the words settle into her skin without apology, without fear, without shame.

Tonight she lets herself feel it, the wonder, the pride, the fragile sweetness of being seen for what she created, for what she built from the ashes, for what she clawed into existence with nothing but her own hands and her own aching, stubborn, relentless heart.

And for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, she lets herself believe she has earned this. Not because someone opened a door for her, not because someone whispered her name into the right ears, but because she had the strength to walk through it anyway.

It happens halfway through the night, just as she’s setting her empty champagne glass down on a side table, fingers brushing the cool surface a little too fast, a little too clumsy, like some part of her still can’t quite believe she’s allowed to be here, allowed to stand in the glow of her own making, and for a moment she lets herself lean back into the wall, breathing slow, trying to steady the wild rush of adrenaline thrumming under her skin.

The noise around her softens into something almost bearable, conversations blending into a low, pleasant hum, the clink of glasses and soft bursts of laughter swirling lazily through the air, and for the first time all evening, she feels like maybe, just maybe, she can stop holding her breath.

She isn’t looking for it, she isn’t eavesdropping.

But some truths are cruel enough to find you no matter how carefully you try to outrun them.

"She’s phenomenal," a voice says just behind her, low and admiring, and she doesn’t recognize it but it cuts through the crowd anyway, carving a sharp path straight to her ribs. "Every single piece sold before the doors even opened. Some private collector swept them all up."

There’s a ripple of laughter then, soft and almost reverent, the kind that spills from people witnessing something rare, something inevitable.

"Did you hear? Minatozaki Sana pulled it off again. Her instincts are impeccable. She knew exactly what she was doing when she found this girl."

And just like that the floor shifts, the walls tilt.

The entire world inside the gallery blurs at the edges, voices smearing into noise, colors bleeding together until she can’t tell where the paintings end and the people begin, and she is left standing there, weightless and sinking all at once, the stem of the glass still curled between her fingers, the smile she had worn like armor slipping, cracking, shattering against the realization clawing its way up her throat.

Because she knows, of course she knows. She doesn’t need anyone to say it outright, she doesn’t need confirmation. She doesn’t need anything but the echo of that name Minatozaki to feel everything she fought so hard to rebuild splintering apart all over again.

She knows whose hands have been reaching into her life, rearranging it with invisible fingers, pressing against the fragile spaces she thought she had finally carved out for herself alone.

Sana.

Always Sana.

Always lingering in ways Y/N hadn’t asked for, hadn’t agreed to, hadn’t known how to defend herself against without tearing herself open even wider. And the betrayal, god, the betrayal is sharp enough to leave her breathless, her lungs seizing under the weight of it, her heart pounding a broken rhythm against the walls of her chest.

Because this was supposed to be hers. Hers to earn, hers to fail. Hers to hold or lose or mourn, but hers all the same, and now even this night, this victory, was stained by Sana’s ghost, by her stubborn refusal to let go, by her desperate, aching way of loving too late, too wrong, too much.

And still beneath the fury, buried under the humiliation, tangled in the wreckage of everything she was trying so hard to stand tall above, there is that same brutal, aching tenderness that refuses to die no matter how viciously she tries to kill it.

Sana didn’t just buy her paintings to support her, no. She bought them to hold onto pieces of her, bought them because loving her from afar was the only thing she had left. Bought them because if she couldn’t stay in Y/N’s life, she would bury herself in Y/N’s art instead, silent and unseen, clinging to brushstrokes and color where her hands were no longer welcome.

She should be furious.

She is furious.

But she is also wrecked, gutted by the quiet, desperate way Sana keeps choosing her now, in the dark, in the shadows, in the aftermath of all the chances she hadn’t taken when Y/N needed her most.

And she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or sob or run straight into the night, or go to Sana’s place and drag every broken word out of her throat, demand why, why she keeps doing this, why she only ever seems to know how to fight for her after it’s already too late.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there after the whispers die away, frozen in the corner of the gallery with the weight of it all crushing her ribs, the soft laughter and murmured praise around her turning into little more than static against the roar inside her head.

The glass in her hand grows heavy, forgotten, her knuckles white around the stem as if letting go of it might mean letting go of everything she’s been holding together for hours, for days, for months, and part of her, some small, desperate part, wants to flee, wants to disappear into the night and pretend none of this ever touched her, none of this ever mattered enough to leave scars.

She could walk away right now, pretend she never heard, never saw, never knew. She could swallow the hurt down until it calcifies into something sharp and silent, something she could carry without bleeding every time she thought of Sana.

But she doesn’t.

Because somewhere beneath the grief, beneath the rage, beneath the endless exhaustion of loving someone who only ever seemed to find her too late, there is a raw, reckless spark that refuses to be quiet this time.

And it drives her forward.

Her feet move before her mind catches up, cutting through the crowd, heart slamming against her chest so violently she feels it in her throat, her ears, her fingertips.

And that’s when she sees her.

Half in shadow, near the side exit, her coat draped over one arm, her body turned halfway to the door, posture small and folded inward in a way Y/N has seen only a handful of times, only when Sana is trying to make herself invisible.

Sana.

Quiet leaving.

Without a word, without even the decency of goodbye. Something inside Y/N burns hotter than grief, hotter than rage, hotter than the bone deep ache she has been carrying for what feels like forever.

She closes the distance between them in quick, purposeful steps, the noise of the gallery dimming to meaningless hum around her, the only sound that matters the harshness of her own breathing and the crackling, electric snap of something inside her breaking loose.

She doesn’t call her name softly, she doesn’t plead. She sharpens the word like a blade and throws it across the space between them.

“Minatozaki.”

The sound of it cuts through the noise like a crack of thunder, sharp and cold, formal in a way that says I see you, and you are not getting away from this.

Sana freezes.

Her fingers curl tighter around her coat, her spine stiffens, and for a second, she doesn't turn, doesn't move, as if hoping, praying that if she stands still enough, if she wishes hard enough, she can pretend she didn’t hear.

But she does, of course she does.

Slowly, like the movement costs her something she can’t afford to give, Sana turns to face her. And for a moment, for a beat stretched taut between them, neither of them speaks, neither of them breathes, the air thick with everything they had never said, everything they had said too late, everything that still lived between them like a ghost they couldn’t exorcise.

Finally, Y/N steps closer, her hands clenched at her sides to keep them from shaking, voice low and fierce when she speaks again.

“We need to talk.”

There’s a flicker in Sana’s expression then, a crack in the armor she has tried so hard to wear, exhaustion bleeding through her carefully neutral face, something old and familiar and wrecked in the way she meets Y/N’s eyes, like she knows this is a reckoning neither of them will walk away from unscathed.

Sana nods once, almost imperceptibly, voice rough and worn thin when she answers, a rasp of surrender more than agreement.

“Somewhere private.”

No questions, no protest, no more hiding.

They step out into the night together, the door closing behind them with a soft, final click, the cold air rushing around them like a warning, and for the first time since she walked into that gallery, Y/N feels something steady settle in her chest.

Not peace, not hope, but the certainty that whatever is about to happen between them can no longer be buried, no longer be swallowed, no longer be survived in silence.

It is going to break them open.

One way or another.

The elevator ride is brutal, the kind of silence that feels alive under the skin, humming in the blood, pressing against the glass and steel of the small space until breathing becomes an act of will.

Neither of them speaks.

There are no words light enough to carry the weight between them, no language soft enough to wrap itself around the jagged edges of what they are about to unearth, no apology deep enough to cover the years they lost to fear and pride and silence.

When the doors finally slide open into Sana’s penthouse, Y/N hesitates at the threshold, heart hammering against her ribs like a warning, a desperate plea, because stepping inside feels like crossing a line she won’t be able to uncross, feels like surrendering to something that might break her in ways she doesn’t know how to survive.

But she moves anyway.

Because she needs to know, because she deserves to know.

Y/N crosses the living room without waiting for permission, heels tapping softly against the marble floor, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence pressing down on both of them, and when she finally turns to face Sana, her hands are trembling with the effort of holding herself together.

And then the anger comes, hot, wild, uncontrollable, because love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

“You can’t just fix everything with money,” Y/N spits out, the words sharp and shaking, cutting through the silence like a blade, her voice too loud against the glass and stone, bouncing off the walls and back into her own chest.

Sana flinches, barely, like she’s been hit, but she doesn’t look away, doesn’t defend herself, just stands there with her hands curled into fists at her sides, taking the blow because she knows she deserves it.

Y/N laughs then, a bitter, broken sound, raw at the edges.

“Is that what you thought would happen?” she says, voice cracking. “Throw enough money at me, buy my paintings, pull a few strings, and what? What was supposed to happen Sana? Was I supposed to fall at your feet? Thank you for finally noticing me after everything?”

Sana’s face crumples, just for a second, just enough for Y/N to see the crack running straight through her carefully built facade, and it only makes her angrier, because Sana isn’t supposed to be the one who looks like she’s breaking.

She’s supposed to be strong, cold, unaffected. She’s not supposed to look like this hurts, because it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, it wasn’t supposed to be love.

And then Sana speaks, voice low, rough, the words clawed from somewhere deep inside her.

“I wasn’t trying to fix anything,” she says, each word a struggle, each word heavier than the last.

“I know you don’t want me in your life. I know you hate me for not choosing you when it mattered. I know it’s too late. I know it, but I couldn’t—” she breaks off, breath hitching, jaw tightening, hands shaking with the effort of holding herself together.

“I couldn’t pretend I didn’t love you.”

The words land like a blow, harder than anything Y/N was braced for, harder than anger or betrayal or grief, because she had spent so long telling herself that Sana’s chase was about pride, about ownership, about needing what she couldn’t have.

Not love, never love.

And hearing it now, spoken in a voice stripped of everything but truth and desperation, undoes her more completely than any silence ever could have.

Y/N stares at her, stunned, heart breaking open in her chest, fury and grief and longing tangling so tightly together she feels like she might collapse under the weight of it.

For a long, trembling moment, she says nothing, every word she wants to scream caught and burning in her throat.

Because she wants to hate her, she wants to tell her that love isn’t enough. That love should have come before pride, before fear, before distance, before silence. She wants to tell her it’s too late.

But the words die there, heavy and useless, because the look in Sana’s eyes is not pride, not ownership, not triumph.

It is devastation, it is surrender, it is the quiet, terrible truth that she would tear herself apart just to stay close enough to love her, even if it’s from the outside, even if it’s from the ashes.

And it’s everything Y/N ever wanted and everything she’s terrified to want again.

Sana steps closer, slow and careful, like someone approaching a wounded animal she’s afraid to scare off, her movements deliberate, measured, the air between them stretched tight enough to hum, and Y/N feels every inch of it, every crackle of tension, every desperate beat of something too big to name rattling inside her chest as Sana dares to cross the impossible distance between them.

When she speaks, her voice is so low and wrecked that the words barely reach Y/N’s ears, trembling in the space between them like something half broken already.

"I am so deeply in love with you," Sana says, her voice raw and uneven, "that I don’t know how to breathe without it hurting."

And it’s too much. It’s everything.

It’s the one thing Y/N had begged for in the quiet, in the dark, in all the moments Sana had been too blind, too afraid, too late to see her standing there with her heart in her hands.

Now it comes wrapped in devastation, now it comes after the leaving, after the loss, after the pieces were already shattered beyond recognition, and some furious, broken part of her can't bear it.

She shoves her.

Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel the heat of her anger rising between them, crackling in her fingertips, her breath coming sharp and ragged as she spits the words between them like knives she doesn’t know how to take back.

"Don’t you dare," Y/N hisses, voice breaking in the middle, "don’t you dare stand there and say that now, not after everything, not when you only started chasing me the second I walked away."

Sana stumbles back a step, but she doesn’t retaliate, doesn’t defend herself, only looks at her with eyes that are too wide, too wrecked to be lying, and that only makes Y/N angrier, because she’s supposed to be the strong one now, supposed to be the one who isn’t unraveling first.

"You didn’t love me when it mattered," she says, louder now, angrier, every word sharp and aching and bleeding. "You liked the idea of me, you liked the way I stayed no matter how hard you made it, you liked knowing I'd be there even when you didn’t choose me."

And Sana, instead of fighting back, instead of building the walls Y/N is hoping to slam herself against, simply stands there, breathing like every second is another cut she doesn’t know how to survive, her hands curling uselessly at her sides like she wants to reach for Y/N and knows she has no right.

"I didn’t like an idea," Sana says, and it’s not soft, but something cracked and stubborn and breaking open at the seams.

"I loved you." Her voice shakes, her whole body seems to shake with it, but she doesn't stop.

"I still love you. Not the version of you I could hold at a distance, not the safe, tidy version. The real you, the messy, stubborn, brilliant you, the one who made me want things I was too much of a coward to reach for."

The air between them is vibrating now, too heavy with everything they’ve buried, and Y/N feels herself shatter under it, the last fragile defenses she’s been clinging to splintering apart with a force that leaves her raw, gasping, barely able to keep herself upright.

She wants to hate her, god, she wants to hate her.

But there is no hate left in her, not really, only love so battered and bruised that it barely knows how to stand anymore, only love that has been waiting for too long to be met in the middle.

She moves before she can stop herself, fingers fisting into the front of Sana’s jacket, dragging her forward like she’s furious, like she’s starving, like she’s drowning and Sana is the only thing that has ever tasted like air.

And Sana gasps when she crashes into her, her hands flying up to catch Y/N’s face, cradling it like something precious even as their mouths collide with none of the grace, none of the hesitation, none of the slow tenderness that kisses are supposed to have.

It’s messy, it’s wild, it’s survival.

It’s grief and forgiveness and desperation stitched together in every clash of teeth, every desperate pull of breath, every broken sound torn from aching throats too full of all the words they never said.

Sana kisses her like she’s terrified she might vanish if she lets go, fingers trembling where they hold her, and Y/N lets herself fall into it, lets herself cling back just as fiercely, because there is no pride left anymore, no anger sharp enough to drown this out.

They kiss like it’s the only thing keeping them alive, like if they stop for even a second they’ll disappear, two ghosts finally burning into something real.

And when Sana finally pulls back, breathing wrecked and frantic, her forehead pressing against Y/N’s with a kind of desperate reverence, she whispers so quietly it almost isn’t a sound at all.

"Don’t leave me."

Y/N closes her eyes, her hands still tangled in Sana’s jacket, her heart beating too loud, too hard against the ruins of everything she thought she had buried, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she doesn’t feel alone.

She feels found.

The hallway feels endless, the silence between them not heavy anymore but trembling, fragile, full of a different kind of tension, the kind that has nothing to do with anger anymore and everything to do with fear, with hope, with the terrifying possibility of something real.

Y/N’s hand is still tangled in the fabric of Sana’s jacket, not dragging, not pulling, just holding, anchoring herself to the one thing that has always felt like danger and shelter all at once, and Sana follows without resistance, without hesitation, the way someone follows their own fate.

The bedroom glows faintly under the soft, blurred spill of city lights through the windows, turning the sharp lines of the penthouse into something softer, more human, and Y/N stops in the center of the room, breathing hard, feeling like if she says the wrong thing, moves the wrong way, the fragile thread between them might snap.

Sana stands there, a few steps away, the shadows catching in the hollows of her throat, the curve of her jaw, the tension in her hands that she doesn’t try to hide anymore. And for a long, breathless moment, they just look at each other, both of them wrecked, both of them open, both of them too scared to speak first.

It’s Sana who moves.

Sana who takes the last step forward, closing the distance not with force but with a kind of trembling reverence, reaching out, brushing tentative fingers along Y/N’s wrist, not grabbing, not demanding, just touching, asking without words.

And when she speaks, her voice is a wrecked whisper, breaking down the last walls still standing between them.

“I want you to see me,” Sana says, and it’s not smooth, not seductive, it’s broken and trembling and so unbearably real Y/N feels her own heart seize. “I want you to see the real me.”

It undoes her, it undoes everything.

Y/N’s hands move without thinking, reaching up to cradle Sana’s face, feeling the way she shudders under the touch, the way her breath catches, the way she leans into it like she has been starving for this, for gentleness, for forgiveness, for being seen and still being loved.

And when she kisses her again, it’s not anger, it’s not desperation, it’s not survival.

It’s love.

It’s fire and tenderness wrapped into one devastating pull, Y/N’s hands threading through Sana’s hair, Sana’s arms wrapping around her waist like she’s afraid she might break apart if she lets go, mouths meeting in a kiss that feels like building something, not destroying it.

This kiss isn’t a war, this kiss is home.

They don’t rush, they don’t tear at each other, they move slowly, like learning, like worship, like stitching every broken piece of themselves together with every soft, shivering breath.

Sana lets Y/N touch her like no one ever has, trembling and open under every careful slide of hands across skin, shivering under the weight of it, because this isn’t about possession, and it isn’t about erasing the past, it’s about building something in spite of it, because of it.

They fall into each other without hesitation this time, clothes sliding away not with frantic need but with a desperate kind of awe, every new inch of skin revealed like a secret kept too long, every gasp and shiver a promise neither of them dares to say aloud but both of them feel in the marrow of their bones.

Sana lets Y/N see all of her, the scarred and scared and stubborn and hurting and loving her. And Y/N touches her like she’s memorizing her, like she’s building a map back to the place they lost and found again all in the same aching breath.

When they finally fall onto the bed, tangled in each other, it isn’t frantic or wild anymore.

It’s slow, it’s breathless in the way that speaks of reverence, of relief, of everything words could never say. And when they disappear into each other, when the city fades away beyond the windows, when touch turns into shivering sighs and whispered names and hands tracing every beautiful line, it is not a victory.

It is a beginning.

And when sleep finally finds them, limbs tangled, hearts pressed close, there is no more loneliness, no more fear, no more pretending.

There is only love, heavy and aching and utterly, breathtakingly real.

The morning slips in slow and golden, sunlight pouring over the tangled sheets, over the bare skin of two bodies curled around each other like they forgot how to exist separately, the world outside the windows moving on without them, the city humming somewhere far away, but inside this room, there is only quiet, only breath, only the slow, miraculous unfurling of something neither of them knows how to name.

Y/N wakes first, her lashes fluttering against the swell of Sana’s shoulder, her body aching and for a long, trembling moment, she simply lies there, breathing, feeling the weight and warmth of Sana against her, the slow, steady thrum of a heart that had once been closed to her and now beats so recklessly close.

She shifts slightly, the sheets rustling softly, and Sana stirs with a quiet, broken sound, her arm tightening instinctively around Y/N’s waist like even in sleep, even in dreams, she is afraid to let her go.

And Y/N, god, she feels her heart crack open again, not from pain this time, but from the unbearable tenderness of being held, of being wanted, of being seen.

Sana blinks awake slowly, her gaze unfocused and soft with sleep, and when she finds Y/N staring back at her, something raw and unguarded flashes across her face, a flicker of fear, of awe, of a thousand things Sana has never been good at saying aloud.

She shifts, lifts a trembling hand to cup Y/N’s face with a kind of reverence that steals the breath from Y/N’s lungs, and for a long, shivering second, neither of them speaks, neither of them moves, the world holding its breath around them.

And then Sana’s thumb brushes across Y/N’s cheekbone in a motion so gentle it aches, and when she speaks, it’s a whisper so fragile it barely makes it into the space between them, but Y/N hears every word as if it’s been etched into her skin.

“Let me show you how much I love you,” Sana says, it isn’t a question, it isn’t a demand. It’s a promise, small and terrified and stubborn, the only one she knows how to make now, the only one that matters.

Not with money, not with grand gestures, not with words. But with presence, with choosing, with staying.

Y/N exhales shakily, feels the last of her old anger, her old grief, bleed out into the sunlight pooling between them, and when she shifts closer, when she lets her forehead fall against Sana’s, when she breathes her in like air after a lifetime underwater, she realizes that she isn’t falling anymore.

She’s landing.

And maybe they don’t have forever, maybe they don’t have promises or neat endings or easy answers, maybe all they have is this bed, this morning, this wrecked and stubborn love trying to stitch itself back together one breath at a time.

But for the first time in what feels like forever, Y/N doesn’t need more than that. She closes her eyes, feeling Sana’s fingers trembling where they cradle her, and she lets herself stay.

They don’t talk about what comes next, they don’t make any promises.

But they don’t let go.

Not this time.

And somehow that feels enough.

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