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fangswbenefits · 8 months

Text

Devotion

Summary: You give yourself to Miguel, and he's about to show you what complete devotion looks and feels like.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x spider-woman!reader

Word count: 6.5k

18+. Miguel POV. Reader POV. V*rginity loss. Cr*ampie. F*ngering. C*mplay. Org*sm denial. After care. Edg*ng. Br*eding k*nk. Mentions of pregnancy.

Part 1. Previous Part.

Thank you so much to @ancientbeing10 for the help with the Spanish 🩷

Miguel had scooped you up in his arms effortlessly and carried you to his bedroom, slowly placing you on his bed.

He then leaned in to place a kiss to your temple, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head back, hoping to have his lips on yours once instead.

The truth was that you were absolutely smitten by him. Relationships are often complicated. People are complicated. Miguel was a complex person, and yet, you felt drawn to him.

You could still remember the first time you realised your feelings for him transcended those of a regular friendship.

It had begun with him looking after you in the lab. It had been innocent and fleeting enough, but the heart works in strange ways. The way he was so adamant about you having to take care of yourself awoke in you a feeling that you were seldom presented with:

Affection.

His lips hovered over yours, snapping you from your thoughts, and you brought a hand to the side of his face. "Please kiss me…"

Even through the darkness that engulfed his room, you could still spot a faint smile.

And he did as you requested.

Your back arched nearly instantly, seeking more of him. Even though your body had barely recovered from your orgasm, you felt desire flare inside you at an alarming rate.

He quickly deepened the kiss by parting your lips with his experienced tongue, and you eagerly let him in, moving your hand to the back of his neck, yanking him closer.

Nearly losing balance, Miguel placed both hands on either side of you for support, settling in between your legs.

A moan rose in your throat, and you broke the kiss at the feeling of your clit throbbing, as the underside of his cock settled between your folds.

"We can stop."

You stared into his crimson eyes. "Do you want to stop?"

He pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of your mouth. "This isn't about me."

Oh.

Desire had clouded your mind, almost making you forget that you were still very much inexperienced. But you still craved the fluidity and eagerness of couples who already knew their way around each other's bodies… with no virginity in the way.

Truth be told, if there was anyone who you'd give yourself to, it would be Miguel O'Hara.

You wouldn't utter these words out of fear of sounding ridiculous at best, and desperate at worst.

"I want more…" you whispered instead, rolling your hips and causing his cock to slide along your clit.

He moaned, but gripped your hip to a halt with strong fingers. "Are you on birth control?"

The question caught you momentarily off guard, and you blinked. "What?"

"If you want to continue… I have to know."

"Yes—Yes, I have an implant."

Hormonal imbalance had been the sole reason, though. Irregular periods accompanied by terrible cramps had taken a toll on you.

Pregnancy had been the farthest thing on your mind.

Miguel groaned lowly before burying his face in your neck, lips caressing your flushed skin, which caused your hips to jolt into him.

He immediately hissed from the sudden friction, and began to match your tempo deliciously slowly.

You bit your lip, not wanting to moan embarrassingly loudly with each slide of his cock against your clit.

He quickly grazed his thumb across your lower lip, releasing it from your teeth's grasp. "Please… let me hear you…"

The plea mixed with his gentle touch was enough to have your mouth part in a whimper.

"Louder."

Your eyes fluttered shut once the tips of his fangs began to poke your skin, and you couldn't hold back the loud moan that erupted from your throat.

Wet sounds and sticky sounds echoed all around you, as you began to drip, adding more and more layers of your own wetness around his cock.

Ambient lights were suddenly switched on, an orange and yellow gradient filling your field of vision.

Miguel brought his lips to your cheek. "Are you sure you want this?"

You sank your fingers into his soft hair, arching your back slightly, your nipple piercings digging into the taut muscles of his chest.

In reality, you were terrified. Miguel seemed to be on the thicker side than what you had expected, and you didn't see yourself taking more than one of his fingers, so his cock definitely overwhelmed you.

Would it hurt? Would he be gentle? Would you even enjoy it?

The preconception that having sex for the first time was a painful ordeal was engraved into your subconscious. Growing up, you had heard some scary recounts of first times from your friends.

But you were still clinging on to the hope that Miguel knew what he was doing.

So you took a deep breath, staring into his eyes. "I'm sure…"

He shifted to press a kiss to your forehead. "You can tell me to stop if it gets too much," he murmured. "And I will."

You had no doubt he would.

But it still made your heart speed up, and an uneasy feeling spread throughout your body rather quickly.

He reached over you to grip one long pillow and eased it under you until your back pressed against it, angling your torso so your eyes could be met with the sight of his cock dripping precum.

Now you understood why he had turned the lights on.

Then, you heard a click and stared as he removed his dimensional travel watch, placing it on his bedside table.

Oh.

Your soaked folds were wrapped snugly around him, and you gasped as you spotted your swollen clit peeking from under his cock.

"Does that feel good?" Miguel asked, voice strained.

You could only stare in complete and utter fascination, as he kept dripping more and more precum, the droplets eventually running down along your folds.

"Yes… you're really…" you paused briefly, completely transfixed with the amount of precum. "Is it normal for you to…"

Miguel's eyes followed your line of sight, and he chuckled upon realising what you meant.

"With you, yes."

His bluntness had your walls clench instinctively around nothing in anticipation.

He then raised his hips and you watched as strings of precum mixed with your wetness dangled from his cock, before he kneeled at your side, slowly dipping the mattress.

You were about to protest at the loss of contact, but he immediately silenced you with a hungry kiss, drawing a couple of whimpers from you.

The taste of him had become so familiar to you by now, that it served to soothe your frustration and impatience.

Your hand tapped around blindly until it found what it was looking for.

Wrapping your fingers tightly around his hard cock, you tugged gently, and Miguel quickly broke the kiss with a delicious hiss. "Fuck…"

The heat pooling between your legs was becoming unbearable and, with each throb of your clit, uncertainty gave way to burning desire.

"Miguel… please…"

He pecked your cheek. "I need you ready for me."

You pouted in response. "I am."

He then brought his lips to your ear, whispering softly, "Can you take more than one of my fingers, then?"

Your heart faltered once you felt one hand trail down from your neck, caressing your hardened nipples, before traveling down until it reached your swollen clit.

"Can you, sweet girl?"

That term of endearment had begun to grow on you, and it almost made you moan out your answer.

"I think… I think so," you said, trying to muster your confidence.

He then pressed a kiss to the pulse point on your neck.

You watched as he traced your clit with his middle finger, coating it in your wetness. The view was hypnotic and you stifled a moan as he rubbed at your entrance once, before plunging the finger inside.

As if seeking an immediate anchor, you gripped his cock tighter, feeling beads of precum steadily spreading across your hand.

"Easy, cariño… not so tight."

This wasn't even considered dirty talking, but it was enough to have you buck your hips against him, and he eased inside easily, burying himself knuckle-deep.

Crimson eyes watched your every reaction attentively, and you gasped as the heel of his palm pressed down on your throbbing clit.

"Tell me how it feels," Miguel cooed, sliding in and out of you at a torturous pace. "I need to know."

You hummed in response, trying your best to ride his finger through throaty whimpers.

He paused abruptly. "Use your words."

You snapped your half-hooded eyes to him. "It feels good… really go-" the word died in your mouth as he began pumping into you once again.

He unclasped your fingers from around his cock. "I know you're eager, but if you keep touching it like that I won't last…"

You were sticking out your lower lip in a silent plea, but decided to bring your precum-soaked hand to your breasts, letting the warm liquid drip onto your nipples, earning an approving growl from Miguel.

"Do you think you can take a second one?" he asked, bending over to swipe his tongue across one nipple. "You set the pace."

The sight of him tasting himself on you was the most erotic thing you had ever experienced, and you immediately nodded, just so you could feel his tongue again.

Suddenly, you felt a second digit probing at your entrance, and you couldn't keep your chest from heaving rapidly at the stretch.

Miguel shifted closer to you, catching your eyes in his. "Relax, cariño… you're doing great."

You tried. You really did try to stop your walls from tightening around his fingers, but your body was moving involuntarily at the sudden intrusion.

He placed a reassuring kiss on your cheek. "Nearly there…"

A raspy whimper parted your lips and you allowed yourself to relax ever so slightly, until he was buried as deep as he could.

The discomfort of the stretch turned into impatience, and you rolled your hips, seeking more and more friction.

"More…" you mumbled desperately.

Your eyes dropped to the mesmerising motion of both fingers sliding in and out, glistening with your wetness, as your swollen clit peeked from between your folds.

Wet sounds filled your ears and your head fell back once his palm pressed against your clit. Miguel immediately took advantage of this angle, and had his lips on your neck, sacking gently.

The familiar coil in your lower abdomen warned you that you were nearing the point of no return. The delicious friction mixed with his thick fingers fucking you at a steady pace.

"You're so close…"

You bit down on your lip so hard you feared drawing blood. At this point, you didn't trust yourself to utter any words, and chose to lose yourself in the blissful moment.

Miguel took your hand in his and had your fingers wrap around his cock once again with a hiss. He was so thick and hard and warm and leaking so for you.

"Let me fuck your hand…" he growled into your neck, snapping his hips. "Just… squeeze harder…"

You eagerly gripped him tighter, feeling strings of precum sliding down your wrists as he matched his hips with the tempo of his fingers inside you.

"Miguel… Miguel…" you managed to moan as you neared the precipice.

His lips were on yours all of a sudden, and you crumbled under his touch, whimpering into his mouth as his tongue found yours.

You were so close.

So deliciously close.

"You’re doing so good," he praised you over and over again.

Your back arched reflexively as the blissful turbulence of an orgasm began to wash over you.

And then, it was gone.

Your peak never came and your moans immediately died in your throat.

Confusion took a violent hold on you, as you slumped into the pillow and mattress underneath you.

Miguel had removed himself from you entirely, and you were left clenching around nothing, mourning the loss of his touch.

"Miguel…why?!" you protested, as you felt tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

You dropped your hand from his cock to grip the sheets, hoping to rein in your frustration in between sobs.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding truthfully. "I want you to come around my cock, cariño…" he added, before kissing your quivering lips.

You wanted to be mad at him for denying you of your pleasure, but he managed to gain a nod from you instead.

The mattress dipped around you and even through closed eyes, you could tell he was positioned right between your legs.

He then brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. You felt slightly taken aback, not expecting him to do this.

"You taste really good."

You laughed nervously. "I do?"

His lips tugged upwards. "Don't take my word for it, then."

He brought two glistening digits to your lips and you immediately took them in, savouring yourself on him.

You sucked on him for a moment, enjoying how he looked so smitten by it.

He pressed your tongue flat with his fingers, before sliding out, saliva dangling from the tips.

"You're so hot."

That compliment threw you for a loop, and you immediately looked away, not quite feeling like you deserved it.

He cradled your face with his hands. "Look at me."

Slowly, but surely, your eyes met his as you tried to even out your laboured breaths.

"You are. You are beautiful."

Your heart clenched and you were left speechless at how genuine he sounded.

You felt like you could cry from this. You didn't cry easily, but his words always found a way to tug at your heartstrings like no one had ever managed to.

He craned his neck to press a soft kiss to your wet lips, and you felt his cock resting against your throbbing clit.

"Are you sure of this?"

"I am. Please, Miguel…"

He caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm not going to last long," he whispered softly. "But neither are you."

The jab at your stolen orgasm had you pouting at him.

He groaned in response. "Try to relax as much as you can, okay?"

You swallowed hard with a determined nod. "Okay."

You felt his cock slide along your soaked folds, grazing your clit, before you felt a small pressure at your opening.

Instinctively, you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the pain and discomfort.

But Miguel kept his hold on your face with one hand. "Please look at me…"

You took a deep breath and mustered the strength to stare into his crimson eyes.

"I've got you," he promised, brushing his knuckles across your heated cheek.

And you believe him.

Even when you felt the tip being pushed slowly into you, your breath caught. Your gaze faltered and your mouth fell open in a strained gasp. You felt his other hand press flat against your thighs, and you spread your legs as much as possible, hoping it would be enough to ease him in.

"Breathe…"

You slowly let out a shaky breath, realising he had stopped.

"Are you okay?"

No.

You wanted to be, but you could feel yourself tense up and you brought your hands to claw at his back, feeling the muscles underneath his skin flex as he adjusted himself.

But you still nodded. You wanted to be done with this. First times can be tricky, but you would have to keep your fear of pain at bay until the worst had come and come.

He pushed his hips into you again, and the stretch had you holding your breath again, as a sharp sting tore through your entire body.

You didn't dare breathe.

Your chest became so tight it ached, and you felt the familiar tension in your eyes, as the first tears began to blur your vision.

"Stop… please…" you begged, tapping on his back.

He immediately halted, his face softening. "Do you want me to pull out?"

You shook your head, the motion causing one tear to slide down from the corner of your eye. He captured it with his lips, a silent reassurance that he would take care of you.

Deep down, you feared he might be turned off by your hesitancy. You were sure he wanted to go deeper and faster, but the discomfort was gripping you hard.

"How much…" you sobbed, staring down at the length of your body to find where the two of you were connected. "... is it almost there?"

Miguel smiled warmly at you. "Nearly there, sweet girl."

Your lungs expanded with a deep inhale and you sighed through your nose. "Go…"

You dug your nails into his skin as he slid deeper inside, drawing a sharp gasp from you. This time, you had to bite down on your lip again, feeling Miguel's unwavering stare on your face.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

But you didn't want him to stop. Not now. Not when you were so close to being filled to the brim with him. No amount of pain or discomfort would take that away from you now.

He was being so gentle and caring, assuring that you were the priority here.

And you wanted this to be on equal grounds, soon.

His pleasure would be yours.

Your pleasure would be his.

He was kissing every single tear away, whispering praises, and you knew he was fully buried inside, once he stopped moving again.

This time, you felt him shudder under your touch, breath coming out in shallow pants.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice raspy and shaky.

"Yes."

You would be soon.

The pain hadn't been as bad as you had expected and once you began to relax, you could feel the remnants of it slowly fading.

The two of you remained still for a few more seconds, with only the erratic breathing keeping you company.

"I'm not going to last long," he confessed, burying his face in the curve of your neck. "Can you relax a bit more?"

You tried to drain the tension from your muscles, and you immediately felt his cock twitching inside you.

He was so deep...

"Please move," you asked, ready for what was to come.

Miguel inhaled sharply, and you felt him drag it out slowly, earning a few pained whimpers from how thick he was.

Before you could take a deep breath, he slammed slowly into you.

Your clit was swelling up again and you knew he had bottomed out again when you felt his balls press into you.

But you needed more. You needed to feel more.

"Can you go faster…"

He dragged his fangs along your shoulder. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Please…" you begged.

Miguel set a slow pace at first, and you heard the wet sounds of your pussy clenching around him, which had him groan with each thrust.

Your gaze was on how his cock reappeared only to disappear back inside you, visibly struggling to move past your tightness.

"So good… fuck…así… no pares," you heard him mumble mindlessly each time he pushed all the way back into you.

You managed to snake one hand in between your bodies, and you immediately gasped as the tips of your fingers slid past your clit only to finally touch his slippery cock.

His pace quickened slightly, and he removed your hand with his, pressing down on your pulsing clit.

"Just… just like that…" you whimpered breathlessly.

You arched into him, your pierced nipples digging into his chest, and he suddenly stilled.

"I need you to come first," he rasped, drawing circles around your clit. "Please… please…"

There was something incredibly riveting about having Miguel O'Hara begging. Such a strong and serious man, was now on top of you, completely taken by how you milked his cock, and how close he was

His thumb left your clit, and he pulled his torso away from you and moved back, pressing your legs together with both hands and pushing your knees into your chest.

The new position nearly pushed you over the edge, as your walls pressed further around his cock. His thumb was on your clit in an instant, and you moaned and whimpered, gripping the sheets with both hands, holding on for dear life, as he skilfully brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me… clench around me, cariño," he urged desperately.

You heard the sound of fabric tear as your grip tightened around the bedsheets, plunging you into a blinding orgasm. Your vision blurred and you arched your back, feeling rhythmic contractions ripple across your walls, gripping his cock hard.

As your chest heaved rapidly with a rush of adrenaline, you felt him slam into you only twice before reaching his own peak.

"Mierda, te sientes tan bien… carajo," he mumbled in between groans, as he buried himself as deep as possible, finally spilling himself inside.

Even through the numbness of your orgasm, you could feel his cock twitching inside you, filling you with a burst of warmth.

Beads of sweat poured from your skin, and you felt completely spent by the time he finally slid out of you. A whimper escaped your lips once he was fully out, and your walls involuntarily clenched.

You felt him slide his cock along your folds a few times, the added friction on your oversensitive clit making your jolt.

He released his hold on your legs, and you let them flop down, feeling something beginning to seep out of you.

"Wait here," he said as he slid out of bed and pressing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.

You remained still for a few seconds, before curiosity got the best of you, prompting you to slide your band in between your legs.

A warm liquid began to coat your fingers and you propped yourself on one elbow, watching in awe as your clit and folds were covered in his cum.

You dragged a small quantity from your entrance and brought it to your lips, eager to finally taste it.

Its saltiness and warmth invaded your mouth and collected it with your tongue, slowly swallowing all of it.

"Does it taste good?"

Your eyes widened slightly as you found Miguel standing next to you, fully naked. He was a complete marvel of muscle and beauty, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks as his burning gaze bore into you.

He had a towel in his hand, and slowly kneeled on the floor, tapping his finger to your jaw to have you fully face him.

Miguel was so very handsome. It was almost criminal. Sweat-damp strands of thick hair covered his forehead and you brought your free hand to brush some of them aside.

"Does it taste good, cariño?"

You smiled innocently, removing your fingers from your mouth. "You can taste it yourself."

Miguel's lips met yours and his tongue slipped past them hungrily. Your eyes fluttered shut and you pushed some of his cum with your tongue into his.

He eventually broke the kiss and you felt the soft fabric of the towel being softly pressed to your forehead.

Some drops of cum coated his gorgeous lips and you found yourself unable to look away from his face.

"Let me take care of you."

Affection and devotion.

You nodded as exhaustion slowly weighed down your body.

His lips curled into a faint smile and you mimicked him. "What?"

"You're so… perfect," he drawled out, sliding the towel down the side of your face and neck.

You giggled. "Is this a post-sex thing?"

He arched an eyebrow, looking very serious all of a sudden. "You're doubting me?"

Your smile faded slowly. "Oh, I just… I… don't think I'm perfect. No one is."

Miguel pressed his lips together, his gaze shifting to your breasts as he continued to pat the sweat away.

"You are to me," he mumbled.

You had heard so much about love over the years, and thought Tom had been the personification of it in your life. Even after what had happened between you two, you never doubted he was the one who had gotten away.

But now?

You weren't so sure anymore.

And it wasn't because Miguel was so easy to offer you compliments and praises. That was easy to do. It was much harder to be stricter with those one cared about, and Miguel didn't hold back from grounding you when you needed the most.

After all, he managed to get a hold of your heart with the way he took care of you.

Just like he was doing so now.

He reached in between your legs, and you jolted from the surprise.

"Was I too rough?" he asked, uncertainty dripping from his low voice.

You shook your head. "You were perfect."

His crimson eyes met yours and you smiled warmly, allowing him to clean the cum mixed with your own wetness.

"You said no one is perfect."

"I'll make an exception for you," you said, feeling your eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

He leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek, and your vision darkened as your breathing steadied. You faintly felt more cum drip out, which Miguel quickly wiped, and vaguely wondered how much was still left inside you.

But your thoughts were cut off by your drowsiness, feeling exhausted and as you lay limp on the mattress.

You were almost dozing off when you heard his voice. "Want to take a shower?"

A grumble left your throat. "Later… I'm so tired."

"I'll carry you."

For the second time that night, Miguel took you in his arms with little to no effort, and sauntered into his bathroom, occasionally pressing loving kisses to your face.

You had looped your arms around his neck for support and groaned lightly as he stepped into the shower, tepid water hitting your skin gently.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes, yes…" you said, fighting through a yawn and landing on your feet and easing your hold around him.

Miguel silently washed your back witj both hands, and you were able to feel more cum drip from inside you, blending in with the running water.

You pressed your forehead to the tile as he moved the wet piece of cloth in between your legs, and you flinched away.

"Did I hurt you?"

"It's just a bit sore…" you breathed out, reaching down to touch your numb clit. "It's fine… don't worry."

You then turned around to face him and tip-toed to place a wet kiss to his jaw.

Adoration didn't even begin to cover how you felt about this man.

Maybe he would be your first 'I love you'.

Maybe.

- 2 months later -

Miguel shot his laser-like string of web to the side wall of glass that led to his apartment.

The window was open, and he smiled to himself.

You were home.

He flung himself upwards, the opening presenting itself as the perfect entryway, and he swung through it, landing gracefully on the tiled floor.

His digital mask vanished, and he ran a hand through unruly hair.

Immediately, his senses were hit with the familiar smell of freshly cooked empanadas, and he immediately smiled as you entered the kitchen, specks of flour resting on your cheeks.

"Hey, you," you greeted sweetly.

"Hey."

He closed the gap between you two in an instant, taking your face in his hands.

"Are these empanadas all for myself?"

Your eyes fell to his lips. "Depends."

He dusted off some of the flour with his thumb, raising an eyebrow. "On what?"

"Payment."

"Oh, really?"

You hummed, bringing your lips so close to his, he could feel your breath fanning them lightly.

"What sort of payment, sweet girl?"

He could almost taste you, and his heart jolted in his chest.

It seemed that he was doomed to having your presence have this permanent effect on him. No matter how much time passed, he could not get accustomed to the hold you had on him

"One kiss."

He quickly complied, tasting your sweetness.

You were quick to break the kiss, however. "And… promise you won't be upset."

At this, he felt a faint scowl settle on his face. "What did you do?"

The reply to his question came in the form of Peter B. Parker waltzing into the kitchen, with an empanada stuffed in his mouth.

He waved and tried to speak, but his voice only came out muffled and intelligible.

Miguel's scowl deepened and he glared at you, earning an innocent shrug.

"Peter and MJ are visiting, and I thought it would be nice to invite them over," you said endearingly, offering him a napkin.

Peter beamed. "Thank you! And Miguel… not a surprise to see you here," he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he grumbled.

MJ walked in with Mayday clinging to her shoulder. "Hey, Miguel!"

He inwary winced, already anticipating an upcoming headache. In all honesty, he just wanted to spend some time with you after arriving from a mission, and now…

"MJ," he greeted flatly, before patting Mayday on the head, her curls bouncing lightly.

She stuck out her tongue in response before breaking into laughter.

"He's not even using doors anymore, Peter," MJ started with a devious smile. "It's serious."

Peter nodded, taking Mayday into his hands. "Definitely serious."

Miguel's scowl deepened further and he watched as you laughed nervously.

The two of you hadn't told anyone about your relationship. Miguel would rather keep it that way.

Why?

Because this was the result, and it annoyed him to no end.

"Oh, wipe that frown off your face, Miguel O'Hara," MJ scolded. "Everyone knows about you two, already."

"What?"

Peter quickly brought Mayday to him. "Here, hold her. It will calm you down!"

Miguel reflexively took her in his arms, but kept his gaze on MJ. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes, joining your side, as you began to clean off the counter. "All the missions together… always coming in together… spending time at the lab," she continued, listing off everything with each finger. "Peter and Jessica told me all about it."

Anger flared inside him briefly, but it quickly plummeted as defeat took over.

"Just a coincidence."

MJ shrugged. "Sure."

Mayday sat on his shoulder, tugging gently at a few strands of his hair, giggling. He winced in pain and removed her from him in an instant, holding her far away from him.

You turned to him and moved to grab her from his grip, pressing her adoringly against your chest. "Don't worry, Mayday. He's just a little bit grumpy, but he's a cutie, too!"

His scowl softened at the sight of Mayday melting into your touch.

You really were a natural at this...

"You're the cutest, though," you whispered in her ear, and she immediately gave you an ear-to-ear grin.

MJ was glaring intensely at him with a knowing smile, and he cleared his throat.

The last thing he needed was them realising how he yearned to be a father, with you carrying his children.

"You're so good with Mayday," Peter praised, stealing another empanada from the plate, and earning a death glare from Miguel who considered hiding them away. "Imagine Mayday and Jessica's kid having another friend to play with!"

Your eyes widened lightly. "Oh! I… I think…"

Miguel wanted to catapult Peter through the window, but he wouldn't do so in front of his wife and child. He always found a way to be inconvenient, and even though Miguel agreed with him on this, he couldn't let it show.

Out of spite.

MJ motioned for him to cut it off, and the two of them walked out, leaving a babbling MJ with you.

You chuckled. "They're good fun, right?"

No.

But he wouldn't dispute that with you, because this was what you did. You adored making people around you feel included and your love language definitely spoke louder.

As you rocked Mayday against your chest, lulling her into a peaceful silence.

"Actually, I have something for you," you whispered with a smile.

Miguel's brow quirked again. "Please don't tell me Hobie Brown is about to burst through the ceiling."

His remark caused you to stifle a giggle. "No, but he might pop up later today."

Miguel's face hardened again.

"I'm kidding, Mr. Grumpy," you said, pointing to an envelope on the table. "Open it."

He glared suspiciously at you before shifting his attention to the piece of paper. Once he unsealed it, he peered closely at what was inside.

A small plastic rod.

His eyes widened and his lips parted.

That was…

"Yeah. I had my implant removed," you said, standing close to him. "The spider-doctor told me to wait out for my next cycle, but…" You began rubbing Mayday's back as she dozed off with a yawn. "Pregnancy can happen earlier than that if we try…"

Miguel was too perplexed to say anything.

You were indeed aware of his breeding kink, and he would gladly give you as much time as you needed. Even if you ended up deciding not wanting to have children, he would be more than fine with that decision.

He was too in love with you to push you beyond your comfort zone.

And yet… here you were, willingly fulfilling his wishes.

"Say something," you said, nudging his arm with yours.

He swallowed, finally meeting your eyes. "You didn't have to…"

You nodded. "But I want to, Miguel. And I know you want it, too."

There was no denying it. The past few months had been torturous at times. Each time he fucked you raw and spilled inside you, knowing fully well nothing would come of it. Witnessing his seed going to waste would torment him.

He pressed his hand to your head and pulled you against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Te amo."

You lifted your head to stare at him. "I love you, too."

- A couple of weeks later -

Miguel stormed into the lab later that afternoon, needing a refill of his serum.

But he didn't expect to see you still there, sitting on a chair, and tapping at the screen in front of you.

"What happened?"

Your head turned and he was met with tired eyes. "Oh, I was wondering if you could draw some blood."

Alarm bells chimed inside his head right away and he was quickly in front of you, scanning your face for any signs of distress.

"I'm okay, Miguel," you assured him with a faint curl of your lips. "Just want to check something."

You sounded off.

So he quickly gathered what he needed to comply with your request, always eyeing you from the corner of his eye.

He came to sit next to you and motioned his fingers so you'd lay out your arm for him.

"Did something happen?" he pressed again, pulling the sleeve of your lab coat upwards.

You shook your head, gaze dropping to his hands.

He wasn't convinced in the slightest, but decided to give you some space, offering a respectful silence.

Hi fingers tapped your skin, tied a latex glove just above your elbow as a tournique, seeking a bulging vein.

"It's funny…" you said with a sigh.

Miguel lifted his eyes briefly, finding yours staring right back at him. "What is?"

The faintest tug at the corner of your lips had him relax slightly.

"The first time I met you… you also drew my blood for testing," you said, and your tone told him you held the memory of it fondly. "And now, here we are again."

"Under different circumstances, I'm sure."

"Better ones."

He was unsure of what you meant by that, so he dropped his eyes to your arm again. Once he found what he was looking for, he punctured the soft barrier of skin, watching as the vial in between his fingers filled with liquid.

As he withdrew from you and pressed a pad to the wound, a weird feeling began to loom over him.

Could it be that...

He eyed you curiously, hoping for you to confirm his suspicions, but you remained silent.

"Apply some pressure," he asked, and you nodded, your fingers replacing his.

Scooting over to the analysis machine, he placed the vial inside and watched the liquid being sucked inside.

"Why do you need your blood tested?"

You shrugged, but he could sense you were holding something back.

By the time the first results began to appear on the hovering screen, he scanned them, looking for an outlier.

It didn't take long for it to show up.

Miguel's heart lurched as the confirmation hit him, and he checked it twice, but there was no mistake.

< hCG (mIU/ml) - 145 >

The human chorionic gonadotropin was colloquially referred to as the pregnancy hormone, and its level could inform how far along a pregnancy was.

This value had Miguel guess you were around three weeks.

"Why didn’t you tell me right away?" he managed to ask, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He felt you looping your arm around his, resting your head on it. "I figured it would be more romantic than peeing on a stick and showing it to you," you chuckled softly.

In all honesty, he wouldn't care either way.

How could he?

In front of him was the proof that the bond he shared with you was now bearing fruit.

"... besides… this is your field, right? Genetics," you said, tightening your grip around him. "It felt right for you to find out this way."

Miguel felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, upon realising just how you never missed anything. Down to the last detail. Everything you did always held a purpose, no matter how insignificant it might seem at first.

"I…"

You shifted until you were in front of him, and quickly laced your arms around his waist, placing your chin on his broad chest, eyeing him with absolute adoration. "Come on, Miguel… don't tell me you're surprised it happened so quickly."

He truly wasn't.

He had bred you over and over again over the past few weeks, always making sure you would lay still after each time, a pillow under you, not allowing any cum from going to waste.

You had protested at first, but he excelled at providing after care, and those sessions soon turned into opportunities at exploring your intimacy to the point you were eager to be filled over and over again.

His sweet girl…

"I think I love you," he blurted out, immediately realising how ridiculous he sounded.

Your chuckle reverberated across his skin. "You think? I hope you're more sure than that. There's no turning back now."

His arms circled you, pulling you into a tighter embrace as his gaze met yours. "Thank you."

You quirked an eyebrow. "For what?"

"Everything."

Author's note: Thank you so much to everyone who has been with this story from beginning to end. It means a lot. I hope you were able to connect with these characters in one way or another 🩷 I will be missing Miguel and sweet girl so much... this story wouldn't be anything without your vital support, and I will forever be grateful! Ruby~

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #answered ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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bohbee · 1 year

Text

Genshin characters when someone's creeping you out

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

Summary: a creepy guy keeps bothering you, so you run to the character, and they handle it the best they can.

Characters: Al-Haitham, Cyno, Tighnari, Childe, Wanderer (Kuni)

Warnings: Creepy guy, stalker [childe], sexual comments [tighnari, Al-Haitham?], manhandled [Al-Haitham, cyno], violence [wanderer] implied gore? [Childe], dude gets tossed [cyno], making out [kaveh]

Notes: this could be very triggering so please read with caution <3

Al-Haitham

"C'mon babe, I will give you so much more attention than that mediocre scribe" the creepy male had said yet again, he had been bothering you for around a week now, but today got particularly worse. Al-Haitham hadn't been with you for the week due to complications at the Akademiya, so you just had to suck it up for now. You attempted multiple times to decline him. However, he just wouldn't end his bugging.

You shook your head and walked past the male again. He was much larger than you, which struck fear in you. He obviously had dark intent.

'What do I do, I could go grab Kaveh... he'd save me.... no, he's at the house... I can't lead him to the house.' You huffed to yourself, your thoughts not giving you a clear plan. Walking into town, you decided to go to the Grand Baazar, hopefully Nilou was there.

The male followed you. Once you walked into the tunnel, he slammed you against the wall. "Don't you know it's rude to ignore a person?" his hand placed itself over your mouth, fear building into your chest. "haithem" you mumbled desperately, making the male holding you down laugh.

"Don't you know not to touch another man's lover?" Your eyes flashed towards your savior, Al-Haitham was livid, his eyebrows furrowed as he grabbed the man's arm with heavy strength. "If I even see you in the same place as them, I will not be so forgiving. Got that?" His tone was dark, causing the older male to shiver and nod. He ran away, however, was quickly stopped by Cyno, who took care of him.

Al-Haithams eyes scanned your body, his lips frowning looking at the marks the man left on your body. "Come on, let's go get you into the shower, we can talk about it at home... alright, love?" He said softly, trying to make sure you were alright. You nodded softly and walked with him to your home...

After a long shower with him and a small talk, the two of you had walked down to make dinner, informing Kaveh on the events. Kavehs reaction being slightly more frightening than your boyfriends. Gaining a chuckle out of you. You were safe.

Childe (Tartaglia, Ajax)

Dating Childe meant that you were consistently in harms way. You have been safe from all the dangers. However, as of recently, there has been a person following you everywhere you go. You didn't notice at first, but today, everything was added together. Someone was following you...

Snow crunched under your feet as you picked up your pace, rushing to your home. The dark-haired stalker followed you swiftly, your heart beated faster as his body got closer.

You quickly swung the door open and locked it, running upstairs and hiding in the hiding spot, Childe made you in case of emergencies. The doorknob to the front door rattled heavily. You held your breath as tears made their way down your cheeks. 'Childe, please hurry up,' you thought to yourself as you curled into a ball. The rattling of the doorknob got worse until the door swung open. Unfamiliar steps make their way in the house. You stopped all movement as you heard the footsteps start going upstairs.

The soft clicking of boots entered your bedroom, "I know you're here." the deep creepy voice said, sending shivers down your spine. His footsteps got closer to where you were hidden but was suddenly stopped. More footsteps could be heard at the front door, his footsteps.

"Doll? Why is the door open?" Childes voice was urgent as he looked around downstairs. The intruder opened the bedroom window and booked his sorry ass out the house. The commotion caught Childes attention, his heavy footsteps charged into the room.

He knelt down to the hiding spot and opened it only to find you curled into a ball silently sobbing "ajax." He crawled in, hugging you tightly. "Shh, I'm here. I'm here, stay here for now, I'll take care of him, okay?" He placed his coat over your body, you nodded as he closed the hiding spot.

It had only been a few minutes, and your beloved boyfriend came back, "Don't come out yet," you stayed put, waiting for him to open the hidden door. Ruffling noises were heard and then his ginger hair peaked through the door, pulling you out. His clothes were changed, he placed you on your bed and hugged you tightly "You're safe with me... always."

Cyno

(Takes place after the whole fucking fight)

It was creepy how loyal some of the matras were to their leaders. As a leader yourself, you knew this, but certain followers did too much. Especially those following Cynos commands. People were envious of him, his position, his vision, his life. However, one person in particular was determined to have his exact lifestyle. They dressed like him, joked like him, and he even wore Cynos same cologne. But the worst thing was he was trying to get to you.

Of course, the hazel eyed male was aware of his colleagues' plan, so he gave him a heavy warning. This stopped the male, however, a few months after it struck up again, after Cyno had gotten on one knee. Making you his fiance. It was like a drug to the matra.

You and Cyno had been commissioned together to go to the desert to find more details on some missing artifacts. A handful of matras had joined you, one of them being the scarily obsessed male. The group had walked into an abandoned building to rest. You decided to take watch as everyone slept. It wasn't smart for two leaders to watch at the same time so Cyno couldn't be with you.

You sat on the top of the building, watching the stars twinkle in the deep sky. Soft footsteps caught your attention, 'dammnit' you thought to yourself. "U-Uh, I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd join you." The male said, a weird smile spreading across his face.

You mumbled an alright and sat uncomfortably as the male shifted awfully close to you. "So uh, you're getting married to the General, huh?" He said, his voice had a distasteful twinge to it. You let out a hum nod, nodding at his question.

He grabbed your left hand, and you quickly went to pull back, but his hand was tight. "I just wanna see the ring... calm down, sweetie." his creepy nickname caused you to shiver. You pulled your hand away harshly. "Do not put your hands on me...." you said with a serious tone. "Now it would be in your best interest to go back downstairs." Your eyes glared into his shocked irises. "I just simply want to talk, you know make friends I-"

His sentence was cut off by a hand grabbing his neck roughly. "They said go. Now, since you didn't listen to the leader in charge, you are dismissed." Cynos voice was stern, rage boiling through his blood. "S-sir please I-" Cyno clicked his tongue and tossed the person off the roof. A yelp emitting from the obsessive guys throat. His body plopped in the sand heavily, Cyno still glaring at him. Causing the male to scatter and run out of sight.

Cyno then turned to you. He grabbed your head and laid it on his lap. "You rest here, alright? I'll keep watch. " he kissed your ring. "We mind as well toss the commission out if you can't get any rest." He said with a straight face. "Cyno, that wasn't even funny," you said, holding in a giggle "Love, you know it was"

Kaveh

You sat at a table at Lambads Tavern, waiting for your architect boyfriend to join you. He wasn't late. You just liked being early to things. You sipped your drink as you opened your book, reading from where you last left off. The seat in front of you slid, a body sitting in it. Assuming it was your beloved, you spoke aloud. "Hey Kaveh, how was the new project?" You asked, closing your book, looking up only to be met with unfamiliar eyes. The man in front of you was clearly drunk, his friends cheering him on in the background.

"I don't know who that Kaveh is, but I'd gladly be it for you." He smirked... 'That wasn't even clever,' you thought to yourself. Forcing a smile, you shook your head "Actually I'm waiting for my boyfriend to join me." A heavy frown painting the guys face, he shook his head. "Well, he isn't here, so let a guy buy a hottie like you a drink"

You grumbled once again, declining his offer. He went to go say something again. However, a loud slam on the table startled you both. Your boyfriend stood their, an angry blush covering his face. He then looked at you, grabbed your face, and kissed you passionately. Causing the dudes friends to all gasp. "Mine." He said after he pulled away from your delicate lips. The drunk guy grumbled and hobbled away, Kaveh got a new chair and sat down. "Next time, punch him." he said to you. "Better yet, I'll get you a ring to place on your finger." his words caused a heavy blush to appear on your face. He smirked and kissed your hand. "I'm serious though, both parts."

Tighnari

(Starts off platonic)

"Ugh, could you please leave me alone, I am not interested." You groaned at the male 'artist'. You continued to walk the path towards Gandharva Ville. He followed behind you, "I am just trying to teach you the arts of which none other than the Lesser Lord taught me." he said, attempting to defend himself. He had been trying to get into bed with you all afternoon, and it was quite annoying. He was one of the bed pickpockets. He would wait till you'd sleep and rob you clean.

You shook your head again, as the village finally came in sight. "I said no" your stern voice raised a little, hoping that someone was near enough to hear. You walked on the bridge leading to your place of staying, the dude still following you.

The familiar forest watcher, your best friend walked out, his eyes flickering towards you. His ears had picked up the commotion, and he walked over to you, pulling you aside. "Uh, excuse me, I am with them." The artist said his words gained a grumble from Tighnari.

"Yeah, right, go before I feed you to the withering zones." The artist looked at him shocked but then soon scurried off. Tighnari pulled you into his room, "you okay?" He asked. You nodded, still slightly annoyed at the situation. "Good, y'know you could always come to me whenever that happens." His words were sweet and sincere. "Yeah, but that'd be a bother, haha." you said as you sat down on a chair.

His face got close to yours, both of your eyes flickered to eachothers lips. The two of you slowly closed the gap, kissing very delicately. He pulled away, his tail swaying happily. "Now you gotta come to me."

Wanderer [Kuni]

You walked into your house, locking the door quickly. Your swift actions caught the attention of your boyfriend. Your face was ridden with fear. He stumbled up from his spot and walked towards you, "What happened?" He asked, his voice was stern, yet laced with fear that his past came to catch him.

"Some guy keeps following me, Kuni." Your voice was soft. It was creepy, and you thought that The Fatui had come to end you. He grumbled, a large grimace present on his face. "Stay here." He said lowly, grabbing his hat, he rushed out the door.

You walked towards the couch and settled in. You knew what he was going to do. This has happened a couple of times before, but no one has ever followed you home. Whoever was stalking you was going to pay, Kuni would make sure of that. You grabbed his cape and hugged it waiting for him to come back home.....

The signature knock was played on the door, letting you know that your boyfriend was there. He unlocked the door, closed it and locked it again. His clothes were clean but his hands were bloody. "Pathetic, wasn't even a Fatui, just some weak excuse of life"

After he washed his hands he stood infront of you, he wasn't one to ask for cuddles so he would wait for you to ask. It was your little thing, you opened your arms "Lay with me?" You asked, a very faint smile was placed on his lips "if you insist."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

This was surely something. Part two will be up soon :)

#genshin oneshots #childe x reader #genshin reader insert #genshin x reader #wanderer x reader #al haitham x reader #kaveh x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader

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yutaholic · 4 months

Text

smells like teen spirit (M)

PAIRING: Jeno (NCT) + reader (female)

SUMMARY: Jeno keeps getting on your last nerve, but you still end up in his arms with your tongue down his throat.

WARNINGS: strong language; some drug use; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 8.6k words; this is part two of a rose and her thorns, but can be read as a standalone one-shot

Chicago, 1991

A tale as old as time. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

That was our life that summer. Some of us in different doses than the others.

You sat on the bed with your legs bent, resting the notebook against your thighs as you scribbled out another page of the band’s escapades.

Though there was a connection with Mark, we agreed to keep things simple for the rest of the summer. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with the band. God forbid we earned a reputation like Fleetwood Mac’s.

Unfortunately, this agreement caused some awkwardness and I handled that the way I always did - with distance. If Mark couldn’t help but complicate things, then I would do him a favor and give both of us the space we needed.

It felt like shit, but I was used to being the villain.

Turning the page, you kept writing in the eerie quiet of the van. Haechan was bouncing his leg up-and-down at a mile a minute, thoroughly annoyed by Jeno’s delay. Mark was dozing in his seat, trying not to fantasize about you and the fucking heaven between your thighs, but he couldn’t help but watch you jotting down your feelings, your grievances, your hopes and your dreams.

He prayed that he was part of the latter.

The silence broke when the van door opened loudly, followed by a disheveled Jeno stumbling inside. “Goddamn, I am getting so much pussy on this trip,” he huffed, running a hand through his overgrown and severely damaged blond hair.

“Jeno, I swear to god,” you barked, scratching out the compliment you had given him at the top of the page. “If you give me an STD this summer, I will set your drums on fire.”

“You would destroy my child?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Jeno grumbled something under his breath about how you always rained on his parade of pussy and shut the doors. “Let’s get on the road,” he said irritably, shooing Haechan out of the driver’s seat and jerking the van in gear.

“We’ve been waiting for you, dumbass,” Haechan sniped. He’d been getting so annoyed and impatient he threatened to leave the bastard drummer behind and never look back. That bitch can walk, he’d declared moments before.

Mark stayed quiet in the passenger seat, sluggish with sleep. He looked to you again, watching you write in your journal and wondering what you were saying about him.

About all of them.

Jeno drove fast, but not a soul complained. The gig in Chicago was the most highly-anticipated of the trip.

The van hurtled down the highway, not stopping for several hours until you begged for a bathroom. After a quick gas station run, you put some fresh snacks into the cabinet and wrangled your hair into a bun on your head.

Jeno came in with a bag in hand and said, “I bought more condoms.”

“Good for you,” you deadpanned, wrinkling your nose.

“Although I heard Mark didn’t have to wear one,” Jeno added, tsking his tongue. “One of the few perks of being innocent and pure, I guess.”

Your voice was razor sharp. “Careful, Jeno.”

Both pleased and annoyed by your tone, Jeno asked roughly, “Did you at least remember to get your birth control?”

You wanted to shoot daggers into his face with your eyes, but refusing to afford him any looks was better. “Yeah. I got my Depo shot two days before we left.”

“How long does it last?”

“Three months.”

Jeno smiled wryly. “Well, isn’t that convenient.”

“That’s the whole point,” you mumbled. He was trying to get a reaction out of you, prodding at your buttons, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

There was a pause. “I’m ready when you are,” Jeno flirted, wiggling his brows at you.

“Who said I even wanna screw you?”

“You did. Many, many times.”

True, but no longer relevant. All things considered. You returned to your notebook and said, “That was before you became a penis petri dish of death and disease.”

“Ouch.”

My relationship with Jeno could best be described as rivalry. He never gave an inch and neither did I. It was my job to keep him humble.

And damn, what a full-time thankless job that was.

Jeno had been going out of his way to rile you up after your night with Mark. He couldn’t stand seeing you sulky. Mark’s pouting was beyond remedy, but yours could be managed with well-placed jabs.

He had you down to a science. Lighting a fire under your ass was all Jeno knew how to do. The more he prodded at you, the more flames escaped. And when you were angry, you couldn’t be sad.

Because there was nothing Jeno hated more than seeing you cry.

“Can you try to stay on beat this time?” Jeno chided, spinning a drumstick nimbly between his fingers.

Having been testing the microphone, you whipped around and snapped, “Fuck you, Jeno.”

An argument swiftly ensued, petty and heated. No surprises there. Mark and Haechan stood with their guitars and watched the back and forth with no end in sight, even as people poured into the club.

“Those two are going to kill each other,” Mark said under his breath.

Haechan scoffed. “Or make a ton of babies.”

Mark almost choked on the lump that shot into his throat.

You stomped over to Haechan, pointed at Jeno and said, “I can’t deal with this douche canoe anymore!”

To which Jeno shot back, “Just shut up and sing, ice crotch!”

Your eyes went wide with rage and you spun in Jeno’s direction, ready and willing to claw out his eyes. Haechan grabbed you by the arm and steered you back over to the microphone, officially sapped of all patience.

“In ten seconds, me and Mark are going to start playing,” he said hurriedly. “And both of you are going to look like losers if you’re not ready.”

You huffed a swear or two under your breath and gripped the microphone as Mark and Haechan got into position. Then you heard the tapping of drumsticks behind you followed by the roar of Mark’s electric guitar.

By the time the show was over, you were utterly exhausted. Between Haechan and Mark, your arms draped across their shoulders, the three of you sang tiredly along to one of your songs as the boys essentially dragged you down the hall toward the back door for some well-earned sleep.

Turning the corner, you saw Jeno with two beautiful blondes. You bristled with annoyance. They were giggling at every little thing he said like they were getting dick after, which you quickly realized was the case.

Not on my watch.

“Let it go,” Haechan said, but he knew it would make no difference.

Jeno did not deserve pussy after how badly he stressed you out. You wriggled out of Haechan and Mark’s arms and made a beeline for the drummer.

“Oh my god,” you said in a loud, obnoxious voice, greeting the girls as you cuddled up to Jeno and patted his chest. “You guys look so cute! But unfortunately, Jeno is only halfway through his chlamydia treatment.”

Wide-eyed, the girls looked at you in horror before sending vengeful expressions at Jeno, who set his jaw and bristled with anger.

You held your hand beside your mouth, pretending to whisper a secret, “Very contagious through bodily fluids.”

The pair of blondes scurried off. One of them gave Jeno the finger.

“I hate and despise you,” Jeno hissed, trudging down the corridor.

You were hot on his heels, ready to resume the argument from earlier. A moniker like Ice Crotch was not going to be forgotten. “Haven’t you had enough threesomes?”

“There’s no such thing as too many threesomes,” Jeno replied, heated. “And I’ve only had four.”

Haechan asked curiously, “You keep track?”

Jeno snorted. “Don’t you?”

“One is easy to remember. I wasn’t into it.”

Mark fell in line beside them and said, more so to himself, “I have questions.”

“I don’t,” you spoke up, backhanding Jeno’s burly arm to get his attention. “Jeno, you’ve got pussy brain and you fucked up the tempo.”

Jeno went quiet, which was the last thing you expected.

Everyone was tired and raw. We were a well-oiled machine, steaming ahead like a freight train, but with time, gears start to grind. When gears grind, they tear through flesh and bone.

I know my boys. It sounds cliche, and I agree, but I know them. We’ve been friends for so long and crossed hundreds of lines of intimacy reserved for soulmates. They can’t hide anything from me.

Especially the things they intentionally try to hide from me.

You knew you had struck a nerve, but you weren’t sure which one. You dug your heels in regardless, but you were miffed when Jeno said nothing and made for the door.

“Did he just storm off?” Mark questioned, equally bemused.

“He never does that,” Haechan said softly, turning to you.

You didn’t hesitate to stomp after him, and Mark and Haechan didn’t follow this time. When fire fought with fire, it was best to keep a distance to avoid getting burned.

The cold of Chicago’s night was bitter on your cheeks when you stepped outside and you pulled your jacket tightly round you. Jeno hadn’t jumped into the van yet. He was lingering in the lot, scraping his shoes across the asphalt as he puffed on a cigarette.

Closing the distance, you called, “The hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he replied, avoiding your eyes and blowing out smoke.

“You’re out of sync and you’re acting weird.”

Jeno narrowed his eyes at you. “We were all out of sync tonight. Why am I the only one getting called out on it?”

As usual, no matter how angry he made you, your first instinct when things were too tense was to smooth his feathers. His surface was rough, but at his core, Jeno was tender. You brushed your hand down his arm and said sweetly, “Because you’re the rock…”

"We’re all built on," was going to be the end of that sentence. Unfortunately, I never got to say it.

Jeno cut you off. “I don’t want to be your rock,” he lashed out, hissing your name. “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me all the time?”

You recoiled like you’d been slapped and that was when you noticed his eyes. They didn’t belong to the Jeno you knew, but to the monster that stole his mind and would eventually give him back by morning.

Wrapping your arms around yourself in comfort, suddenly much colder than before, your breath pillared into the night like the smoke from his mouth when you whispered, “I didn’t. Until you said that.”

Jeno blinked, realizing too late that he’d hurt you.

That was the thing about me and Jeno. We both thought the other to be fearless and unbreakable, but also knew who we were at each other’s cores. I was his mirror image and he was mine. The broken kids; the kids that just wanted to be loved. The pair everyone knew to be demons, but never stopped to think how we became them.

The fallen angels.

Anger faded from his face in an instant. “I didn’t mean it,” Jeno started, flicking away the cigarette and reaching for you.

You stepped back, not wanting to be touched. “You’re at your most honest when you’re high, baby,” you said sternly, fixing him with a look that rooted Jeno in place. “Don’t lie to me now.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. How could you always see right through him?

You wiped the tear that spilled down your cheek and escaped into the van, your safe place, your little haven. Jeno ran a hand down his face and cursed, “Fuck,” for hitting you where it hurt.

The rest of the night was tense and awkward, only slacking when sleep took hold. Everyone was painfully exhausted. Chicago had exceeded expectations and pushed all limits. The show was insane. The energy was incredible. I would remember that performance for the rest of my life.

Me and the boys may have been a little out of sync, but each of us gave it our all. We left nothing on the floor and held nothing back.

Haechan curled around you in the bed, keeping you warm. You claimed the bed together more often than not. Mark slept like a vampire, on his back on the floor with his arms at his sides. It was the weirdest thing you’d ever seen, but it worked for him somehow. He slept like a baby, the whistle of his snores filling the van.

Jeno sat in the driver’s seat, looking up at the stars, exhaling the smoke from a joint. He was wide awake, couldn’t sleep. An unfortunate side-effect of the shit he took to get high. The marijuana wasn’t simmering him down as hoped. He’d probably stay up all night and sleep the day away.

Glancing over his shoulder, seeing your pretty face made him smile. You looked even cuter when you slept, but it was frustrating as hell.

No one else noticed he was high but you. Did you really know him that well?

Of course she does, Jeno thought. You were his better half. That’s how it worked. He could never escape you. There was a point of no return when it came to intimacy. Not so long ago, you and Jeno soared past that point. Two reckless teenagers, young and wild, that found all their highs and lows with each other.

Jeno propped his legs up on the dash and closed his eyes, watching the memories like a movie in his head. Mark shredded the electric as if his life was on the line; probably to vent his sexual frustration. Haechan was a whirlwind of energy despite playing that boring ass bass. And you, beautiful you… Mark wasn’t kidding when he said you were a god on stage.

Chicago delivered on the show, but not the after-party. Instead of drinking and fucking the night away, Jeno was in the stuffy van watching the stars go by when he wasn’t stealing glances of you. He wanted to be in your arms, needed you to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay.

You were the fix he craved most of all.

In the time it took him to blink, dawn broke. The sun shone across Jeno’s face. He lifted a hand, shielding his eyes. He grumbled a little and turned in the seat to get comfortable, cursing at the awkward angle his back was in.

Your hand touched his shoulder gently and Jeno lurched in surprise, peering up at you. He’d never looked so weary and drained, but you could see the animal was gone from his eyes. “You’ve been up all night?” Your voice rang with compassion, and Jeno felt utterly undeserving.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, unable to keep them open any longer.

You tugged at him, getting Jeno to his feet and ushering him to the bed, where he basically collapsed onto the mattress. Mark and Haechan were up, crawling around in search of coffee like a pair of zombies. Meanwhile, you let Jeno situate and draped the blanket over him, tucking him in, and brushed some of his hair back from his face.

Jeno took your hand and laced his fingers through yours. “Tell me you love me,” he said in barely a whisper.

“I love you,” you replied without hesitation, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing his knuckles. You stayed propped over him, wanting to be close so you could be sure he finally drifted off. You left a chaste kiss on his brow and coaxed, “Go to sleep, baby.”

Mark turned away. It wasn’t jealousy he felt, just longing. Seeing you so gentle with someone you were viciously fighting with the night before made him want you more. No matter what was said and done, there was too much love in this cramped little van.

When Jeno’s breathing leveled out and his hand went slack in yours, you finally relaxed. You’d be damned if he went days without sleep. There wasn’t much you could do, but the boys had their limits and you did your best to make sure they weren’t crossed.

Without another word, you clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key, driving out of the club parking lot and onto the main road. You found a shopping center where Mark and Haechan could run errands while Jeno was out, and you pulled in.

Jeno slept well into the afternoon, stirring when the smell of hot food filled the van. Haechan used some of the gig money to splurge on delicious Chinese takeout.

You pulled out a foldable table from behind the cabinet and stood it up on the floor. The four of you sat around it and ate in silence, stuffing your faces until your bellies were full. You and Haechan gabbed a little, but not much. Mark and Jeno didn’t mutter a single word, both of them stuck in their feelings.

A far cry from how they would be that night.

One last show in Chicago. You were back on the same stage as before. It was the first time the band would perform an additional night at a club.

Jeno and Mark were squabbling, which was a rare enough sight to see. The two generally didn’t like to fuck with each other. It always resulted in fists flying and both were surprisingly really good at scrapping.

You looked to Haechan and rolled your eyes. Your best friend was smiling, on the verge of a laugh.

“We’re doing the third set,” Jeno said firmly.

“She can’t,” Mark replied, anger rising. “Her voice is fried from last night. The third set could knock it out for weeks and we’ll have no singer.”

Jeno shrugged. “She can take it.”

You were thoroughly annoyed. “She’s standing right here,” you spoke up, folding your arms. The audacity they had. It made you bristle, because you knew it had nothing to do with your voice and had everything to do with your body.

“What do you want to do?” Mark asked, softening his voice for you.

Jeno cut in, “Don’t ask her. You have to push her.”

You shot him a nasty scowl. “Stop pushing me.”

“Or what?” He smirked.

You shivered with irritation crossing dangerously toward rage.

“I don’t think you can do the third set,” Jeno said, challenging you, his smirk deepening. “Prove me wrong.”

“I’m not falling for that reverse psychology bullshit.”

“Coward.”

A smug look washed over your face as you hissed, “Don’t you feel pathetic leaning on me?”

The smile fell off Jeno’s lips. “I said I was sorry.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you snapped, but you definitely cared. The wound was still fresh and stung.

Haechan tilted his head when you looked at him. He was always your anchor in the rough seas of Mark and the violent winds of Jeno. “I’m with you, whatever you choose,” he said.

If I ever walked off that stage, my boys would follow. No questions asked. They would follow me into hell and back. Though the four of us would probably just live there indefinitely.

You straightened your shoulders and your tone left no room for argument. “We’re doing the third set.”

Jeno beamed victoriously. Haechan nodded. Mark gave a look mixed between concern and awestruck.

You sang until you were spent; brutally, wholly, and everything in between. Your legs felt like jelly when you walked off stage and your chest ached, lungs taut. The adrenaline, like a performance-enhancing drug, had run its course and you were officially on empty.

It wasn’t unlike you to push yourself to the absolute limit. You loved the stage. You worshiped the power that surged from your voice when you sang into the mic. Pipes for days, Haechan always said.

The dressing room was a sight for sore eyes. You dropped heavily onto one of the sofas and let your head fall back, closing your eyes. Your throat felt like you’d swallowed razors.

“Try not to talk,” Haechan said, holding up his hand when you shot him an irritated look. “I’m not telling you to be quiet. I’m suggesting you let your voice rest.”

You nodded and sunk back into the sofa again.

Mark was vibrating, the energy of the show still pulsing through him. Brimming with energy (the excess turning into courage), he walked over to you and bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow.

You smiled, knowing it was Mark without opening your eyes.

Jeno finally deigned to grace the rest of you with his presence, bursting into the dressing room and exclaiming, “Holy shit, you killed it!”

“And this is where you take all the credit,” you rasped, wincing at the sound of your own voice.

“I’ll wait till you go to bed and then I’ll take all the credit.”

You lifted your head and narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you have some ass to chase?”

Jeno licked his lips. “Nah. I only got eyes for you right now.”

“Pluck them out for all I care.”

“You wanna fuck me so bad you look stupid.”

You waved him away, settling down and closing your eyes again, and wheezed, “Have fun with your hand.”

Haechan sat beside you, picking up your legs and draping them over his lap. “I’ve never seen you so mad at him.”

“He just doesn’t stop,” you huffed. “You know when to leave me alone. Mark never pushes my buttons. Jeno just keeps fucking digging.”

Haechan chuckled. “That’s all he knows how to do.”

“Whatever.” You shrugged, feigning indifference.

Mark suddenly asked, “Do you love him?”

You sighed. “I love all three of you. He’s definitely my least favorite though.”

Mark gleamed proudly at Jeno, who scowled back.

“So, if we were drowning, who would you save first?” Haechan asked mischievously.

“Mark. Obviously.”

Mark’s grin widened, while Haechan gasped and put a hand over his heart like it was the ultimate betrayal.

“You can swim,” you said, patting Haechan’s arm over your legs. You opened your eyes and gave Jeno a vicious sneer. “Jeno’s the only one drowning.”

Jeno’s lips squared into a frown.

“What’s that mean?” Mark asked curiously, but Haechan stayed silent. He knew.

“Leave it,” Jeno warned, darker than ever.

The three of you did. Unlike Jeno, you knew when to quit.

Some people did drugs. Others did rock music. A few did both.

The boys dispersed momentarily. You were relieved when the dressing room was empty, leaving you to your thoughts and the searing pain in your vocal chords. Rubbing at your eyes, smearing your makeup, you didn’t hear someone come back in as you muttered to yourself, “God, my throat fucking hurts.”

“It’s probably raw as shit,” Jeno said, making you jolt. And roll your eyes. He cleared his throat and switched his tone to add, “Speaking of raw…”

“No.”

“You let Mark in raw,” he whined loudly.

You cut him a glare. “I wouldn’t let you raw me if you were the last man on earth.”

Jeno pouted. “Ow.”

With a scoff, you decided to turn the tables on him. “Why are you so hard for me the past few days? I can’t even brush my teeth without you humping the air around me.”

There was no shame to be found in Jeno. “I haven’t had you in weeks,” he groaned.

Your lips parted in surprise. “You’ve had every other girl in the country.”

“It’s not the same.”

You stood and crept close to him, close enough to ghost your lips over his mouth. Jeno went boneless, every inch of him fixated to you and what you would do next. He wanted you so bad he couldn’t see straight. So, you decided to yank the metaphorical rug out from under him, sniping, “You’re pathetic.”

“Are you really going to hold that against me forever?” Jeno asked, tensing.

No. It was just easier to be mad at him. That was the only way I could have some defense against the power he had over me.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said, sliding your hands over his shoulders and winding your fingers into his hair. “Answer one question for me and I’ll forgive you.”

Jeno was one more breath away from kissing you. He knew it was a trap. You were luring him in and he was happy to swallow the bait. “Fine,” he replied in a husky voice, eyes on your lips. “Ask your damn question.”

“What are you taking?”

“What do you mean?”

You hardened your gaze on him and tugged on his hair. “Don’t play that with me. I know better.”

Jeno studied you a moment. You would keep yanking this thread until it unraveled. He pushed, you pulled. The two of you could play tug-of-war with each other’s heartstrings forever. Jeno decided it was better to rip the bandage off and get it over with it.

He reached to the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a bag, and handed it out to you.

You took a split-second look at the bag and your jaw dropped, your arms falling as you snatched it quickly. “Cocaine? Are you fucking kidding me, Jeno?”

Jeno stole the bag back in the time it took you to blink, returning it to the safety of his pocket. “We’re supposed to do drugs,” he defended, rather unconvincingly. “We’re rockstars.”

“We’re teenagers that just graduated high school with barely enough cash for fuel and chips!”

“How I spend my cut of the money is my business,” Jeno shot back.

“This isn’t about the money.” You folded your arms, scolding him like a mother would a child; oscillating between angry and worried. “You know how dangerous that shit is.”

Jeno shifted his approach too, ever your mirror. “It’s the only way I can perform, babe. If I don’t have it, I can’t focus and I get too nervous.”

You softened even more, like Jeno knew you would. “We can get you something else,” you said gently. “Something better. Safer.”

He scoffed. “With our gas and chips money?”

You sighed, accepting a temporary defeat, but you pressed, “You’re doing it to get high. Not to concentrate.”

Jeno went slack, equally defeated, and reached for your waist. “I’m just trying to have a good time. We know this won’t last. We’re going nowhere.”

You lowered your head. “I know.”

The summer was half over and we hadn’t been scouted. Hope was replaced with disappointment and eventually, disappointment would flip to resentment. We never put it into words, but it was like a cloud following us, day and night.

Jeno took your face in his hands and tipped your chin up until you met his eyes. “Let me have this summer,” he whispered sadly. “Mark got you. I got this.”

Something inside you broke a little.

Yes, when the summer was over, you were Mark’s.

But the summer wasn’t over.

Jeno smiled in surprise when he felt the warmth of your lips on his, but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and deepen the kiss. Feeling the heat of your body against his was what he’d been craving, wanting you to burn him alive.

My first instinct always was to comfort him. I would chip away at myself and give him every piece if it meant he could use them to stitch his wounds.

Believe it or not, Jeno was my first love, but a first love at fifteen means nothing in the grand scheme of things. He was my first everything, but we just didn’t work. No matter how hard we tried. There was a mad and intense connection between us, inseverable, but in the confines of a relationship, we were wild animals forced together in a cage.

I know few will understand us. Hell, even I don’t understand how I could have so much passion and fire for someone that stretched me thin and forever kept me at the brink of insanity.

But I was beyond questioning it.

Jeno slipped his tongue in your mouth and you grabbed his hips, pulling him flush against you. His kisses were surpassing hungry and landing somewhere near ravenous. The intensity must have scared him, because Jeno suddenly parted from you and took a step back.

You rubbed your lips bashfully, not realizing you were panting until it was the only sound in the quiet dressing room. And Jeno was breathing just as heavily.

“What’s wrong?”

Jeno shook his head. “I want you so bad.”

You snickered. Here you were on a silver platter and he was the one that put distance between you.

Though you opened your mouth to say something snarky, Jeno spoke up, “But you’re going to leave me.”

Your heart sank. It dawned on you; this summer was the end to a lot of things. Youth was ending. The band was ending and with it, all of your dreams.

And the tie between me and Jeno would have to finally be severed so my life with Mark could start.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. You didn’t want to think about Jeno and his broken heart. Or that the drugs you scolded him over were what he used to fill the void you left behind.

Jeno respected the hell out of you for having the strength to leave him. He never could walk away from you even though he knew it was for the best. You would spend your whole life trying to fix him while he would always use you as a crutch.

It wasn’t fair to either you or him.

“Mark is good for you,” Jeno said in barely a whisper, his eyes glistening.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about Mark.”

Jeno swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing his pain reflected back at him on your face was too much. “Get high with me.”

Your eyes went wide. “Why?”

“You’re my person,” he said, vulnerable. “The only one I’ve ever wanted to do it with.”

This was what you struggled to put into words - the hold this boy had on you. He was bottomless ocean depths.

“It’s always you and me. We do everything together,” Jeno continued, reaching for your hand and leaving a kiss on your knuckles.

You let him pull you back into his arms and asked, “What if I die?”

“I’ll bring you back,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your brow that completely melted you.

“What if you die?”

“Let me go.”

Your eyes suddenly shone with the threat of tears. “Never.”

Jeno leaned into you, stealing a kiss from your lips. “Just this once, babe.”

You paused, thinking it over. Everything inside you screamed, “Yes!” Jeno never failed to bring this side out of you - the reckless, starved one that didn’t give a damn about consequences. You always feared if that was the real you, the true you. “Just this once,” you said quietly, closing your eyes as Jeno sealed his lips to yours again.

The idea of getting high reached out to you with gentle, caressing fingertips, promising to banish the pain and numb the hurt.

Tearing himself away from you once more, Jeno walked over to the door and locked it.

Yet another first time with Jeno to add to my list.

You were caught off-guard at how fast the high kicked in and never before had you noticed how tense your body was until it wasn’t anymore. Your mind was even lighter. There was no more torment. You could feel that it was there, but it didn’t ache any longer.

The sensation was indescribable. You were whole, perfect, immortal and invincible all at once.

And that was how you found yourself on the couch with Jeno, pawing at each other like animals in heat.

“Jeno?”

“I know.”

You sucked in a breath as he nipped at your neck and asked weakly, “Am I going crazy?”

“Babe,” he said, meeting your eyes with a smirk. “You been crazy.”

You laughed and the sound was music to Jeno’s ears, making his smile widen.

Time blurred together. It could have been the next day or the next year for all you cared. All you knew was this moment with Jeno and how it lasted a lifetime.

You sank deeper into the sofa beneath Jeno’s weight. Your thighs were hooked on his hips, hands roaming his taut, muscly back. Both your shirt and his tee were somewhere on the floor, along with your bra.

Jeno kept grinding into you, each movement rougher than the last. “Fuck,” he swore, lips brushing your ear. “I just know you’re getting so fucking wet right now.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A wanton noise of pleasure escaped you and Jeno ate it up. You were burning by a thousand degrees, it was almost painful. You had never craved someone’s body on such a primal level before.

With Mark, it was love, but this? This was lust running wild with abandon.

The doorknob wiggled. You didn’t hear it over the loud thumping in your ears and neither did Jeno, who was far too busy bruising your neck whilst he kneaded your breasts, pinching your nipples to make you squirm. Haechan didn’t need to try the knob again to know what was going on. He turned to Mark, who was coming down the hall, and led him away.

“They’re working out their issues. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said hurriedly. Mark hesitated, but didn’t argue. He was none the wiser. With the way you and Jeno had been at each other’s throats, it never crossed his mind that you would fuck him.

Meanwhile, you were discovering new uncharted levels of arousal, undulating beneath Jeno, trying to match his movements, which were getting faster and harder. The drugs in your system made everything feel more intense, all-consuming. There was no tension, no insecurity, just instinct and pleasure.

Jeno was definitely waiting for you to give him the green light, and you were enjoying keeping it from him, but the throbbing between your legs was unbearable.

You planted your hands on his thick chest and pushed, making Jeno prop over you and look into your face. “Wanna fuck now?” you asked sheepishly.

His pupils dilated. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You whined when Jeno clambered off of you, standing next to the sofa and unfastening his pants. Before he drew them down his thighs, he pulled condoms from his pocket and dropped them on your lap.

“Two?” You snorted. “My lucky day.”

“One for each girl. You know, the ones you chased away from me.”

Licking your lips as his hard cock sprang into view, you grabbed him by the hips and purred, “I called first dibs on that dick years ago.”

Jeno chuckled, but his expression changed on a dime when you leaned in. He watched you drag your lips over his abs, kissing and nibbling along his happy trail. His breaths stuttered as he said, “Whenever you want it, it’s all yours.”

You peeked up at him hotly. “I want it now.”

While Jeno fitted himself with a condom, you shimmied out of your pants and underwear, and the moment they were on the floor, you turned onto your knees, braced yourself on the arm of the sofa, and arched your back, sticking your ass in the air.

He wouldn’t be able to resist it for a second.

“Fuck you,” Jeno hissed, getting into position behind you and raking his cock between your folds, gathering your slick from tip to base.

You wiggled your hips. Your brain was clouded with lust and drugs, and something purely hungry for Jeno. Like he was your favorite meal. “Gimme it,” you huffed, glancing over your shoulder. “What the fuck is taking so long?”

Jeno gave your ass a smack, making you squeak. “You need to calm down,” he chided with a grin, still sliding his length between your slit. He was so riled up his hips jerked against you involuntarily.

You reached between your legs, getting a hand around his dick and steering it into your aching pussy. Jeno let you, biting his lip and smirking at how goddamn horny you were for him.

The head of his cock pressed into your entrance and you grasped the arm of the sofa with both hands as Jeno began thrusting forward, working himself inside until he impaled you on every last inch of his girthy cock. You buried your face in the couch, biting down on the stressed leather.

Jeno gripped your waist tight and drew you to him until he was balls deep in your tight heat, feeling your walls stretch and flutter around his length. The drugs amplified everything about you; your warmth, your scent, your sounds. He barely noticed the condom at all.

When he drew back and shoved his cock back into your cunt, you lifted your head and cried, “Fuck!”

“You’re so wet,” Jeno growled, sinking in and out to hear your slick pussy welcoming him back.

You whimpered. “Fuck you and that big dick,” you mumbled, but you didn’t mean a word of it. You weren’t sure how much you could blame the drugs anymore. You wanted him to plow the living shit out of you until there was nothing left.

Jeno took that personally. As a challenge more than anything. He squeezed your waist in his hands and smacked his hips into your ass, driving his cock into your core and giving you something to really whine about.

It was all you could do not to scream as he took you for all you were worth. You fisted the couch in your hands until your knuckles ached and you threw yourself back to meet his strokes, a noise escaping on your hoarse throat with every rushed breath. Sex was a drug all its own. It just felt too damn good.

Jeno kept his hard pace, making sure he landed flush against your heat every time, and brushed his hands up your body to wrap them around your throat and tip your head back. “Yeah, that’s my good slut,” he taunted, the smack of his body colliding with yours getting louder. “She’s taking all that dick, huh?”

The sounds you made were humiliating, but they only made Jeno harder. His grip on your neck had you slack-jawed, your eyes winched closed. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him!

It wasn’t fair that he had that kind of power over my body. With him, I felt desired and powerful, and between that - untainted. Unbroken. Jeno never saw me for the damaged goods that I was. To him, I was always perfect. He completed me. No matter how unhealthy it was, I wanted it.

I didn’t need drugs. Jeno’s love was my high.

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, his hands heavy on your strained vocal chords. “Don’t ever stop...”

Loving me. Though the words wouldn’t come, Jeno knew them.

“Never, baby,” Jeno said, releasing your throat in favor of your waist, draping himself over you and burying his face in your neck. His hands wandered your breasts as he plunged in as far as he could go and stopped, leaving a few scattered, reassuring kisses across your shoulders.

Your body trembled when he bottomed out, aching with need and overstimulation. You swallowed to wet your throat, panting for air, and asked, “Why are you…?”

“You’re so fucking high, baby,” Jeno crooned, touching you gently and affectionately. “Just trust me.”

He was right. You were high on drugs and his body. You were a nerve laid bare, every brush of his hands enough to make you shiver. Your body pulsated, like you were being dangled over the edge, the pressure becoming too much to bear.

You held yourself up on hands and knees, tortured by the fact he was no longer moving inside you, but his hands playing with your breasts and his lips on your neck had your attention. The stimulation was sending more shudders across your skin, making you lean into his touch as your core throbbed for him.

“Part of you will always be mine,” Jeno whispered into your neck. “I know you’ll pick him over me, but part of you will always miss me.”

You tensed with unshed tears and cried, “I know.”

“I need you to know it’s okay,” Jeno said, turning your head and kissing you with so much pain and pleasure it knocked the wind out of you.

You kissed him back, reaching up to thread your fingers into his hair. It was a cruel curse - to love someone so deeply that was bad for you.

Jeno broke the kiss and rocked gently into you, staying in deep and lilting his cock inside your walls, the head of him kissing your cervix. Normally, you would have pushed at his hips for some mercy, but the high made you impervious to pain.

Suddenly, he thrust in hard but slow, arching his hips. You staggered out a moan and reached out to steady yourself, almost knocked off balance by his strength.

He did it again and again.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Jeno was hitting you with those drawn-out, domineering strokes, making you feel every inch of him slam against your sweet spot. He may have agreed to never hold you choosing Mark over him against you, but he was going to give you one final reminder of how absolute his control of your body was.

“I’m coming,” you warned, his name a mantra on your tongue as you took all he had to give. You were grateful for the roar of music coming from the other side of the wall, drowning out your cries and Jeno’s moans.

Jeno fisted a hand in your hair while the other still tugged and rolled your nipples. He kept his pace, hips slapping into your ass at a perfect rhythm, knowing you were on the edge of orgasm with the way your walls clamped down on his cock.

“Fuck!” Another brutal thrust sent you into ecstasy. You shook and swore, trying to crawl away from him, but Jeno was on you, shoving you into the couch and riding out your high.

“Good girl,” Jeno hissed, watching you writhe beneath him. He went still and tipped his head back, letting out a tiny moan.

You blinked to clear your eyes. You could feel the bruises forming in your skin as Jeno pinned you to the couch. It only turned you on more. When you realized he was still hard, that he hadn’t come, you mumbled under your breath. He was supposed to finish with you.

Jeno’s eyes flickered. Another moan escaped him as you rolled your hips, desperate for friction. He drifted his hands to your hair, gathering it all in his fists.

You sat up and went to work, fucking him as best you could in your position. Despite the condom, your pussy wanted to milk every drop of cum out of his dick. Post-nut clarity hadn’t set in. Either the drugs or the orgasm made you even more feral for this dumb boy.

“Oh, fuck,” Jeno groaned, watching you throw it back, bouncing your ass on him, taking him like a fucking champ. His abs tightened as he tried not to pound the fuck out of you. Instead, he reeled his hand back and slapped your ass, goading you.

“Come for me, baby,” you said darkly, the room echoing with the loud, wet clap of your bodies meeting.

Jeno growled a low curse in this throat. Suddenly he was on the edge, driven by your command and that tight fucking cunt.

You shrieked in surprise when he flipped you over roughly, the sound devolving into a moan when he steered his cock back into your pussy, grabbed your waist, and drilled into you like he would never get the chance again.

He didn’t last long at that pace. Jeno threw his head back and came, one moan after another tumbling from his pretty mouth, each one more ragged than the last as he emptied himself into the condom.

You brushed your hands over his thighs and hips, whispering little nothings as he came, feeling him shake like a leaf as he buried himself inside you. Once Jeno settled down, you touched his chest and asked, “Holy shit. Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” he wheezed, voice cracking, all the air knocked out of him.

Biting your lip to fight a laugh, you failed to hide the smug grin taking over your face.

“Don’t,” Jeno said weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“You just came so hard you cried,” you teased, pinching his nipple for good measure.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Feeling him about to pull out, you reached for his waist and held him there, joking, “I will remember this, forever and ever, and I will bring it up every time you get on my nerves.”

“You’re the worst.” He sobered, leaning in close. “And you’re the best I've ever had.”

You smiled as he kissed you, sealing his words on your lips. Then you giggled as his mouth traveled over your chest, sucking on a nipple. Your buds were still stiff and Jeno couldn’t resist.

“I see how easy it is to get addicted,” you said when Jeno got up to discard the condom. “That shit is intense.”

“Told you.”

Sitting up, you ran your hands through your messy hair. You could only imagine how you looked; makeup smeared, glistening with sweat. “You know you have to stop,” you told him, making your voice gentle.

Jeno afforded you no looks. “Eventually.”

You were too tired to argue, sore and spent in the best ways. When Jeno returned to the couch, you welcomed him with open arms, pulling him close and steering him to lay his head on your naked chest. You stroked your fingers through his hair and over his broad shoulders, and whispered, “I’ll never let you die, Jeno.”

He stayed quiet.

“You’re not allowed to leave me.”

“Stalker.”

You snorted back a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Jeno lifted his head and nuzzled your cheek, teasing, “I just think it’s cute how obsessed you are with me.”

You kept touching him. His skin was just so hot beneath your fingertips, like caressing an open flame. “Are you really okay with dying?” you asked after a moment.

Jeno shrugged. “It’s unavoidable. I don’t see the point in sweating over it.” As he spoke, Jeno kissed at your neck slowly, curious if he could get you riled up again.

Your lashes fluttered and you shifted underneath him. Though he left you more than satisfied, the longer he kissed over your pulse and palmed your breasts, the quicker the ache in your core came back, ready to be filled up again.

Jeno reached down to cup your sex, running his finger over your swollen clit and swearing under his breath when he felt your soaked entrance, thinking how easily he could slide right back in and make you feel good. Both of you.

“If you died,” you stammered, struggling to form words as he touched you. “I don’t think I would ever smile again.”

Jeno was caught off-guard. He stopped pawing at you to look in your eyes, wondering if you realized just how heavy a thing that was to say. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he told you innocently, kissing the corner of your mouth with affection.

It was the first time you’d seen him so serious. Not hiding behind his usual humor.

Jeno was surprised when you pushed him away and reached for your pants on the floor. He watched curiously as you rifled through your pocket and withdrew a balled-up piece of paper and handed it to him.

“For the memoir?”

You nodded, watching him unfurl the page, your heart thumping harshly in your chest. “Yeah, I’m constantly jotting stuff down.”

Jeno’s eyes drifted over your words.

I can’t stand him. He infuriates me. He makes me crazy. But Jeno is the one person that knows me - the good and the bad, and accepts them both.

I love my boys, but he’s the one I don’t think I could ever live without.

Jeno peered at you with glassy eyes, shining with tears. “Damn it,” he groaned, crashing his lips on yours.

As expected, you made use of that second condom.

Jeno hooked your legs in the crooks of his arms and thrust languidly, staring down at you. Your eyes never parted as he gave you release once more, knowing when the summer was over, he would never get to touch you again.

When all was said and done, the two of you slumped into opposite sides of the sofa, soaked with sweat. Once you caught your breath and Jeno returned from tossing the condom, it was your turn to clamber on top of him, using his chest as your pillow. You rested your head on his shoulder and traced senseless patterns over his collarbone with your fingertips.

Jeno said your name. “I want you to be happy. That’s all I want, but I know I can’t give it to you. I tried.”

You closed your eyes. It would keep the tears at bay. “I know.”

“I feel sorry for you, loving all three of us. It can’t be easy.”

“It’s what I was made for,” you said softly, tightening your arms around him, lest he fly away from you and never return.

Jeno changed subjects before it broke him. “I’ve never felt so self-aware of how it feels to be young. And how it doesn’t last long.”

You nodded slightly. “This time is precious.”

“I wouldn’t say precious. Definitely fun though.”

You snickered, relieved to hear his humor coming back, but a somber feeling rushed over you. “Do you think we’ll ever get tired of it?”

“Of what?”

“The performing, the fucking, and… the drugs.”

Jeno paused. “You mean each other.”

You sighed tersely. There was no hiding it from him.

My biggest fear was that my boys would hate me. That I would be a bitter reminder of what could have been, how close we were to our dreams before crash landing back on earth, broken and bruised forever from the fall.

Jeno brushed his fingers up and down your back, and kissed the top of your head. “I don’t think we’ll resent each other if this fails, babe,” he said in a low voice. Some things just aren’t meant to be, he thought sadly. Like you and me.

“If that happened, I think I would die,” you whimpered, burrowing your face in his chest.

“Don’t talk like that,” Jeno said, running his hand mischievously over your thigh. “But stop being so afraid of death. You’ll waste your life running from something that is going to catch you no matter what.”

You tipped your head back to kiss him. “I just know the devil dreads meeting us. We’ll steal his throne.”

Jeno kissed you back hotly. “Hell yeah. I can’t wait to fuck you on it.”

You laughed.

Hard to steal something that already belongs to you, Jeno.

#nct #nct smut #jeno #jeno smut #nct dream smut #jeno x reader

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miguelhugger2099 · 23 days

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<<Prev

Nerdy!Miguel that’s at your doorstep in one of his large sweaters with “Not all math puns are terrible. Just sum!” written on the front.

Nerdy!Miguel that pushes up his thick rimmed glasses on his nose bridge over and over again since it keeps falling from the nervous sweats coming out his pores.

Nerdy!Miguel who holds a bouquet of flowers in his hand, an arrangement of pink tulips, red roses, baby blue forget-me-nots and pink peonies. Miguel plucked some dandelions on the way to your doorstep and added them in.

Nerdy!Miguel who flushes bright red when you open the door, his heart sinking when you look at him in anger and make your way to close the door again.

Nerdy!Miguel that stops you with a shout of your name, his voice meek and pleading.

“Please! Just…Just a moment of your time.” He gulps and watches as you stare him up and down.

Your eyes squint at his attire—he looks more like his original self. You keep the door open.

“3 Minutes.”

Miguel gives you a weak smile. “Five minutes?”

“Two minutes.”

Miguel closes his mouth quickly. “I’m sorry. I—“ He clutches the bouquet in his hands tightly enough for it to shake slightly.

“I’m…so sorry for hurting you. I promise I didn’t mean you any harm in ignoring you—I didn’t think…” He screws his eyes shut as the embarrassment of his actions washes over him.

“I didn’t know but that’s no excuse. I just—It’s just that I…” He wheezed out his nexts words, using his entire strength to usher out the next few words.

“I really like you. So I wanted you to like me back…but now I know I can’t force you and I know that…changing myself didn’t even work so…” Miguel stares down at his feet and stretches his arms out to hand you the collection of flowers.

“You don’t need to forgive me. Hell, you can throw these flowers out, o-or shut the door or pretend you never knew me or—or anything. I only wanted to apologize because it’s the least I can do for hurting you, intentionally or not. I’m sorry.”

Miguel feels you gently take the bouquet from his hands and he stiffly places his arms at his side.

“It was really stupid what you did.” You say softly. Miguel hangs his head further down.

“I know.”

“Nothing what you did was natural.”

“I know.”

“It hurt me a lot.”

“I know.”

“Especially since I really liked the old you.”

“I know—wait—huh?” Miguel looks back up and sees you looking solemnly at the set of flowers. “You liked me?”

“I did.” Miguel deflates at the past tense. Did, not do.

“So I…really messed up with you.” He mumbles. “I’m an idiot.”

You laugh softly and take a rose from the bouquet. “You are.”

“I’m really sorry.” He whispers to you, his voice oozing with guilt.

“I know. I forgive you.” You say, tucking the rose behind his ear and he blinks down at you with all the love in his heart.

“You do?” He asks hopefully.

“Mhm. I knew it wasn’t you. I knew something was up. So yes, I forgive you.”

“But you don’t like me anymore.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Is—hit me if i’m being stupid again—but is there a chance that…you could like me again? Because I still really, really, really like you.” Now that Miguel has said his feelings out loud, it feels much easier to say them again and again.

You take a moment to respond. “Yeah. I think so.”

Miguel feels his legs buckle and he falls to his knees, looking up at you with hopeful shine in his eyes. You take a step back in surprise watching Miguel grip at his sweater. He can feel his heart pounding painfully against his chest and he hopes to God that you can’t hear it.

“Thank you.” He sighs. “Thank you for even considering giving me a second chance.”

You grow flustered at his shameless display of gratitude. “H-Hold on! Miggy, get up off the floor! It’s dirty!” You kneel in front of him and try to lift him back up. Miguel feels a pleasant shiver run through his body when you utter his nickname.

He looks at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky, like you’re the warm sunshine he bathes in, the moonlight he admires every night. And he believes all of those things one hundred percent.

“I promise I won’t mess it up this time.” Miguel murmurs to you with a kind smile.

“You better not.” You threaten playfully, retouching the rose that had partially fallen off when he dropped to his knees.

Nerdy!Miguel who reverts back to his old self, the one you loved since the beginning.

“You will have to apologize multiple times for calling me a bitch.” You mutter disdainfully.

Miguel bows his head in shame. “Of course.”

Nerdy!Miguel who pampers you for as long as you like; who makes up for his mistakes everyday without a single complaint.

Nerdy!Miguel who whines loudly in embarrassment and buries himself in your shoulder when you bring up that one time he called you a bitch.

A/N: would anyone like some extra scenes? :)

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel x you #miguel o'hara imagine

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neptuneiris · 5 months

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Behind the Scenes (01/05)

Behind the Reencounter

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: Due to your work as a make-up artist and wardrobe assistant, you meet Aemond, a very successful young actor with whom you work and all professional relationship breaks down and a secret relationship arises, until you get pregnant and decide to run away from him so as not to ruin his successful and promising career. After almost two years, you and he unexpectedly meet again.

word counter: 7.6k

series masterlist • next part

hello! i'm back with another mini series! yay!

god, i'm so excited about this, it's nothing like what i've written before but the excitement and inspiration got the better of me.

also i must say that i had seen stories with this plot about daddy aemond and i wanted to make my own, adding angst, which i know you like and a story that i came up with that i really hope you like a lot:)

without more to say, enjoy beautiful people, I look forward to your comments, don't leave me without knowing what you think please!

warnings: angst, language, sexual content, smut

Your state of nervousness and anticipation is not much of help when it comes to the first day of your new job.

The film studio is a world of constant activity and you know that just on your first day it's going to be hectic. At least in your area which is Wardrobe and Makeup, it's a completely active area and you have to be available almost all the time.

You let out a long breath and before you leave, you stop in the studio's small nursery where your son, Aenar, barely a year old, spends his day while you work on set.

You can't help but watch him with adoration, a certain sadness and longing, for nothing would make you happier than to stay here with him, but you know you can't afford it.

These last few months have been hard, your income has been complicated and you need the money from this new job to be able to survive and make sure nothing is missing for him, your little boy.

Aenar crawls on the floor, exploring the world around him, while the woman in charge keeps her distance from you and him, taking care of other children. And when his big, curious blue eyes look up at you, he lets out a giggle of joy and stretches out his arms to you.

You bend down with him and take him in your arms tenderly and adoringly.

"You don't want me to leave, do you?" you murmur fondly as you leave a kiss on his cheek.

He babbles excitedly, unable to formulate coherent words, but his smile completely lights up your insides and you respond with giggles and smiles.

You take advantage of the little time you have before work to play and laugh with him for a moment. But eventually your time to leave arrives.

You leave a kiss on his forehead and with a sigh of defeat, you say goodbye.

"Mommy has to go but she'll be back soon, okay, my little dragon?"

His little hands explore for a second all over your face, making you laugh and you leave a couple more kisses on both of his chubby cheeks, loving to hear his laughter and loving to see the huge smile he places on his pink lips.

"I love you, sweetheart."

You leave one more kiss on his forehead and make sure one last time to cover his head well with his cap, taking advantage of the fact that it's November and Winter has arrived to hide his straight hair.

You distract him with all the colorful toys that are distributed on the floor for all the children and take the opportunity to leave, otherwise he will cry if he sees you leaving. You exchange a look of understanding with the woman in charge and finally head back to your workplace.

The trailer door opens with a soft creak as you enter, feeling the mixture of excitement and nervousness run down your spine. You had been looking forward to this moment with anticipation, but also apprehension.

For you knew that your past would come back to haunt you.

But you know you need to be here.

The first thing you see are the lighted mirrors with their respective chairs and vanities in front of them, where makeup and wardrobe experts hurry to prepare the actors for the day's filming.

A scent of pressed powder and beauty products fills the air, creating a familiar atmosphere. And when you barely have time to absorb the scene, a brown-haired girl approaches you with an enthusiastic, warm smile.

"Hi! Y/N, right? The new makeup artist."

She points at you with her index finger and a thoughtful look, without wiping away her smile.

"Hi, yes, it's me," you nod to her, as you return the small smile.

"Perfect! I'm Jess, the wardrobe assistant," she extends her hand to you in a friendly gesture, "Nice to meet you and welcome!"

You can't help but be relieved by the friendly reception, then shake your hand with hers.

"Nice to meet you too, Jess. Thank you for having me."

"Oh we're so excited to have you here, I've been looking forward to your arrival," she confides, "Let me show you where you can drop your stuff off and then I'll give you directions, okay?"

Again you nod, grateful for the kindness of Jess, who leads you toward a row of lockers where you can store your things, then gives you directions.

"First, let's go over the schedule for the day," she tells you, opening a folder with the itinerary for the shoot. "We have this first scene where we need to make sure every detail is perfect. And you'll be in charge of the wardrobe for the main characters today."

She indicates without losing the kindness in her tone and you nod, understanding.

"So, take the wardrobe list for each actor and check that we have everything in order."

He hands you a detailed list, making sure that you with your new addition are aware of every detail.

"After that, we'll move on to makeup," she instructs you, "Sam, our talented makeup artist, will give you a brief orientation on the look we're going for. Don't worry, she's amazing and will guide you through the whole process."

Jess grabs a pair of robes and hands them to you.

"Now, let's get to work on the wardrobe. When you've gone through everything, head over to the makeup area, okay?"

Again you nod, understanding the directions perfectly and dive into your tasks with enthusiasm, getting off to a very good start and feeling completely comfortable.

Besides, this is nothing you haven't done before, as way back when you used to work for the BBC television network right here in King's Landing as well, this was your job, so there's nothing new or complicated for you.

When Jess, frantically going through her checklist, looks up at you.

"Oh, Y/N, we need more pins for costume fixes. Could you go to the prop depot and get a package, please? I'd really appreciate it."

You nod with a small smile.

"Sure, I'll be right back."

With a determined pace, you step out of the trailer and head to the depot which isn't far away and start looking for the package, which you didn't think would take you some time since there are so many packages of different things mixed up.

You search through many huge boxes, until you finally find the package of pins and let out a relieved sigh.

You leave the huge room and close the door behind you, walking back. And as you walk, as you pay attention to your surroundings, you feel a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness, as these hallways, permeated with the buzz of film activity, take you back to memories you've been trying to bury.

You let out a long breath, not wanting to think about it now, and concentrate on your work.

As you enter back into the trailer, everything is immersed in a constant murmur of conversations and the activity of preparations, at the same time as the trailer door closes with a soft click behind you.

You are about to enter the area where the tables and chairs and mirrors and everyone else are when you hear a somewhat familiar voice in a distant echo in the middle of it all, completely stopping your footsteps.

"…they said at the training scene I wasn't supposed to look any different in particular."

You frown, thinking that maybe you're mishearing and are mistaking that voice for someone else's.

But still you advance just three steps, sharpening your hearing with a wary face, waiting, wanting to make sure.

"And which one of these for that scene?" you hear one of the girls in charge of wardrobe.

You wait for the answer from that attentive and completely cautious voice, thinking that it must probably be a figment of your mind that wants you to believe things that aren't.

"I think the brown one," you hear that voice say back to the girl.

Your heart stops completely in that instant.

No.

It can't be.

You think completely incredulous and terrified.

You stand completely paralyzed and with a face of total shock as the sound of that voice continues to echo softly throughout the interior of the trailer, flowing conversation between him and the makeup artist.

The pulse in your throat beats with a mixture of surprise and anxiety, suddenly losing strength in your body, so you lean against one of the walls as you feel an emotional vertigo begin to emerge.

All those buried memories, suddenly resurface, as it is no imagination of yours and you know it is him because his voice has not changed and you could recognize it anywhere.

It is him.

He is here.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of your emotions, but you can't, and you can't believe this is happening right now, on your first day of work.

Completely cautious, you slowly peek out, wanting to be even more sure and wanting to see that it's all just your mind making it up.

But as soon as you catch a glimpse of that signature flash of platinum hair, your heart rate begins to race faster than normal.

And there he is, with his hair pulled back in a small low bun as he discusses the details of the scene with the makeup artist, a scene that resonated with similarities to moments you and he shared in the pass.

Disbelief completely invades your eyes and your entire face as you watch him, surprised to see him after exactly one year since that day. You notice every gesture and every feature that is still etched in detail in your mind.

He, oblivious to your presence, continues the conversation, but something in your expression begins to tremble.

You go back in time to the spark you both shared in the corridors of that studio, the looks of complicity, the many nights you shared together and the whispers in the dim light of the dressing rooms.

But you also remember that day, when you saw him completely frustrated but willing to be there for you, where his manager and his entire team talked to him about the consequences and you also remember everything he promised you, on hidden, which is why you decided to run away when you were only three weeks pregnant with him.

A lump forms in your throat and standing there, watching him, after so long, tears begin to invade your eyes.

But Jess announces your presence as she emerges from the back where the dressing rooms are, watching you at the entrance completely static and with a look she can't instantly identify.

"Y/N! There you are! Did you get the pins?"

And that's when it happens.

Saying your name loud enough for everyone inside the trailer to hear, it catches his attention, who confused and attentive watches where Jess is heading and that's when the gazes meet.

And in that instant, a spark of recognition crosses the face of Aemond, Aemond Targaryen, the man you decided to run away from so as not to ruin his career and the father of your child.

His healthy eye opens wide and surprise and disbelief overcome him as he sees you, right there, less than five meters away from him, the woman who carried his child with her and whom he sought so much after she disappeared completely from his life.

Silent, with the urgency of tears threatening to overflow, you step back, watching him cautiously and fearfully, at the same time beginning to tremble all over.

"Y/N," he utters your name with a tone of surprise and longing, as if he can't believe it, beginning to slowly rise from the chair.

You recoil further, as all the sadness, pain and anguish wash over you as you remember the past and think at the same time of your son, your sweet little boy.

However, your first instinct is to run away. Again.

Without a word and without looking back, you turn around and exit the trailer quickly before you could no longer hold back and tears involuntarily flow from your eyes, taking with you the image of Aemond and the echoes of a past you cannot escape and forget.

You don't care about your job, you don't care that you left everything just like that, you only think about running away and going quickly for your son, crying and completely terrified.

Aemond watches you walk away, unable to move and unable to speak, with a look of deep disbelief, surprise, bewilderment, regret and remorse while the people around him do not understand anything.

He knows that he made many mistakes in the past and he knows that you have a right to feel upset and hurt. But he also knows that you also made mistakes and you recognize that too.

But for now, you run away and he stands still, losing strength, where you both barely process what just happened and at the same time travel to the past, where it all started and where it all ended.

ALMOST 2 YEARS AGO.

At just twenty-one years old, you barely graduated from college and landed a great job opportunity with the BBC television network to work as a professional makeup artist and wardrobe assistant.

And now at the age of twenty-two and having been working for the network for two years, your life couldn't be better.

You have the job of your dreams, you have achieved so much despite the fact that your parents had no faith in you for choosing to study something that didn't guarantee you a future, and now your income is enough to allow you to live an independent life where you lack nothing.

When then, a new project comes up, a new TV series where you participate full time and where you are passionate about what you do.

That's when you meet him, one of the main actors of the show, Aemond Targaryen, a young, successful twenty-four year old actor who has already attracted the attention of the show business in his early days with a very promising future.

But it was not only for his incredible talent, he was also recognized and attracted a lot of attention for his unusual appearance, beautiful bright blue eye and a peculiar long platinum hair.

In his interviews he explains the origin of the genetic descriptions of him and his family, which is what causes a lot of doubt in every interviewer and also in his fans, wanting to know his origin.

That's why when they tell you that you will be assisting him in his makeup and wardrobe, you can't help but feel nervous but also a little excited to work with him.

And when the day finally arrives, Aemond Targaryen is actually quite a nice and accessible man to work with.

In the first few weeks of working and shooting the show, your interaction with him was completely professional.

You take it upon yourself to bring out the best in his image for the screen, where he does his part, always being friendly, willing and cooperative with you to follow directions and achieve the perfect look.

Always both of you at the beginning had normal and casual conversations to start forming trust, where everything becomes routine.

And it's not until he would say anything silly to make you laugh and where you both got to the point where you allowed yourselves to talk completely freely without being judged.

The shared laughs and casual comments created a comfortable and relaxed atmosphere, where the relationship started to become more friendly and slowly stopped being so strictly professional.

And when you least expected it, you looked forward to working with him, doing his makeup and wardrobe, enjoying his company.

Even when he would arrive first at the trailer to get ready, he would look forward to your arrival.

And when you arrived, you couldn't help but smile a little shyly in his direction because of his intense gaze on you through the mirror, making you feel a little nervous.

As you carefully applied his makeup, Aemond couldn't help but notice that attention you paid to every detail on him, having you so close to his face, being a moment he also longed for it to come.

And as the days passed, accidental brushes and gestures that went beyond professionalism began to emerge.

During makeup sessions, the glances became more intense and prolonged, as if you were looking for something beyond the superficial appearance, where you noticed how he was looking at you beyond the professional surface.

But it wasn't something that bothered you, on the contrary, it made you feel inexplicable sensations that at the same time pleased you, knowing perfectly well that he wasn't like that with anyone else in your area, only with you.

And you both also made sure to act that way only when it was just the two of you or to do it subtly when you were around other people.

But you also knew the dangerous game you were both playing.

However, it was too late, you really started to like him too much even though you knew that the idea of him and you could not be possible.

In the film industry, relationships between colleagues are technically not allowed or frowned upon. Rumors and speculation about romances can alter fan perceptions and, in some cases, affect job opportunities.

In addition, you both have studio contracts and other projects in progress. And acting in such a way, where the intention of both is more than clear, can affect casting decisions and the perceptions of directors and producers.

And for Aemond, being an up-and-coming young actor with a solid fan base, the revelation of an affair can bring negative criticism to his public image.

His manager and team have told him that maintaining the coveted bachelor image may be convenient and commercially advantageous for him in his projects to attract audiences, as he is attractive and very talented.

Even though he had an accident as a child where he lost his left eye and now wears a prosthesis, that attracts more attention from people and they want to know more about him, causing him to be more relevant.

But all this mattered little to Aemond as he shared more moments with you.

As the relationship became more enjoyable, his feelings and emotions became more and more evident and so did yours, starting to overcome the barrier imposed by the entertainment industry.

And one day that line of professionalism that both were trying to maintain but was becoming increasingly difficult, finally broke down completely.

On a filming afternoon, you and Aemond meet in the wardrobe area, where you make sure he looks perfect in his required clothes for the day and he stands completely still, cooperating and watching you at all times.

The conversation between the two of you flows naturally, as it has so many times before, but this time, something in the air seems different, like a gentle tension.

"After we finish this final scene, we should go celebrate, don't you think?"

He suggests with a soft little smile, but his eye reflects an intensity and that desire he can't hide when he's with you.

"Sure," you say with a willing little smile, still securing his clothes, "With John, Rose and Lana?" you mention your partners.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head softly, "Just you and me."

You look directly into his eye with a slightly surprised and bewildered look, not expecting to hear that, beginning to feel nervous at his words and also at the proximity of the two of you.

"But…" you look at him a little incredulously and with a small sad and disappointed smile, "We can't."

"Yes we can," he tells you softly, "We just have to be very careful and not tell anyone."

You watch him with a small spark of amusement on your face, smiling softly in his direction, not believing he's serious.

And it is at that moment that the looks on both of your faces makes it clear that the connection you both share is deeper than you both believed and where Aemond, more than anything else, makes his true intentions clear and wants to put them into practice, after so long.

A complicit silence surrounds the two and it is as if time stands still for an instant.

Aemond, with a soft expression, unable to contain himself any longer, gently takes your face in his hands and you let him, because you want him, even though you shouldn't.

"There's something I've wanted to do for a long time," he confesses, his voice laden with sincerity.

You, intrigued and captivated by the intensity in his eye, his beautiful blue eye and the closeness of the bodies, look at him with attention and desire.

"What is it?" you murmur, almost in a whisper.

And without another word, Aemond leans toward you and closes the distance between you, bringing his lips together with yours in a needy but slow and deep kiss that you reciprocate instantly.

It all happens in an instant of surprise, followed by a sweet surrender to the attraction that had grown between the two of you.

Time comes to a complete stop as you both sink into that first kiss, where Aemond's hands gently grip your waist and you respond with the same intensity by locking your arms around his neck and clinging to his lips.

You don't want him to stop, you don't want any of this to end.

Everything feels perfect and just as you imagined in your fantasy mind of wanting to live this moment.

And the moment doesn't end, as he pulls you further into the dressing room while still kissing you, leaning you against a vanity and pressing your body completely against his, making you gasp and respond to his needy kiss in kind.

Unfortunately, the kiss doesn't last as long as you would have liked, as a voice screams throughout the trailer.

"Next scene in five minutes! Everyone to the set, please!"

You and Aemond part abruptly, with surprised and terrified looks on your faces, instantly keeping your distance and pretending nothing has happened.

You head along with him toward the set, trying to hide any trace of the intimacy you both shared moments ago. And as you immerse yourself in the frenetic pace of the shoot, the complicity between the two of you manifests itself in small gestures and stolen glances.

And that's when the little relationship secretly begins.

Keeping the relationship a secret became a balancing act for both of you. As the connection you and he shared intensified, the need to hide the relationship became more and more crucial.

In the trailer and on set when you were around more people, as he did you had to learn to act as naturally as ever, carefully concealing any trace of intimacy.

Encounters became completely secret, kisses and caresses behind dressing rooms or in the trailer when you were alone, always alert to the possibility of being discovered. Even in the dressing room, it became a meeting place, where they could enjoy a moment alone.

You could also talk freely by call or text, but both he and you preferred to see each other in person.

That's why on days off, which were few, Aemond always took you to more private places. One night, for example, he took you to dinner at a small restaurant outside of town.

If it wasn't a restaurant, it was to invite you to a small coffeeshop and more discreet places, out of the reach of prying eyes, where he still had to go covered by his characteristic hair.

And when neither of them had the spirit to be always alert, you went to his apartment or he to yours, where they could act with total freedom and even go further.

In Aemond you found a friend, an accomplice and practically the perfect man for you, not because of what he possesses and who he is out there for everyone to see, but because of who he really is, inside.

You simply couldn't help but fall deeply in love with him and that fortunately he reciprocated as strongly as you did, wanting you and only you.

And although the fear of discovery added a touch of dangerous excitement to the relationship, the weight of keeping it all a secret was beginning to generate emotional conflict.

The strain of keeping up appearances and the constant need for vigilance began to wear on you. And as the relationship progresses, you can't help but wonder if there will ever be a chance to be free with Aemond.

But you both know it's not possible.

Much less will it be when one day, Aemond lets you know the news.

"I need to talk to you about something," he says in a serious and defeated tone, taking your hands in his.

He has come unexpectedly to your apartment and that seemed strange to you, but now that he is telling you this and behaving like this, you know it is for a reason and it is not a good one.

"Is everything okay?" you ask him intently and with your brow furrowed.

He sighs before answering, looking sad.

"Production and my manager are pressuring me to fake a relationship with my co-star in a promotional campaign. They say it will help generate more interest in the show."

And there are the consequences of having this relationship on the quiet with him.

Aemond's face contorts in anguish as he sees the expression on your face of mild surprise and definitely not expecting to hear that.

"I promise you that I refused and did everything in my power not to do this Y/N, but I didn't accomplish nothing and…. I-It shouldn't take more than three months, I swear."

He explains, but the sharp pain in your chest is already there and remains, as you begin to imagine what this is all going to be like.

You press your lips together in a thin line and not knowing what to say or what exactly to do, you let out a long breath and watch your hands with his, processing what he is telling you and what he will have to do next.

Even though you understand the demands of the industry and everything about marketing, still the idea of Aemond faking a relationship with someone else makes you feel weird and uncomfortable.

But what can you really do? Nothing.

This is his job and you're not going to get upset with him when you know it's not his fault and that this is what he does in order to make a living.

"When?" you ask him watching him with your soft gaze but with a slightly sad expression.

He lets out a sigh.

"I don't know, I just know that they are already setting everything up," he tells you frustrated with his low and serious voice, "But I need you to be okay with this, Y/N," he looks at you worried, "I know it will be hard for both of us but I don't want this to affect us when you know the truth behind everything and why I do it."

You watch him for a few seconds without saying anything, as you feel a lump in your throat and also feel the helplessness he conveys for all of this, as he really doesn't want to do this.

But he must meet the professional expectations of the production company and you have no choice but to support him.

"Well," you say softly, trying to hide your hurt look by forcing a small smile to reassure him, "These are the production company's decisions and you must do it. And you don't need to worry about me, you know I'll support you."

He takes his gaze away from yours for a second, letting out a longer sigh than before, then takes your face gently in his hands.

"Of course I worried about you, sweetheart," he murmurs with tiredness, then draws you into a tight, tender embrace.

He leaves a gentle kiss on your head and even though he is relieved that you understood, he still feels remorse and anguish because if he were you, of course he would disagree and it would hurt quite a bit.

But this is work and he really doesn't have much choice.

And when you least expect it, the moment arrives.

The next few weeks are a complete whirlwind of emotions for you as you watch the fictional relationship of Aemond and his co-star, the famously gorgeous actress Cerelle Lannister, prepare to come to light.

Joint promotions take them both to photo shoots and interviews where they must show complicity and affection. And seeing Aemond sharing moments that used to be just yours and his, now in the public sphere with someone other than you, becomes a painful test.

One evening, you see photos of Aemond and Cerelle having dinner at a famous restaurant downtown and all the photos show the complicit smiles and affectionate gestures.

And even though you know it's part of the act, you can't help but feel a knot in your stomach seeing them together. And even worse, seeing how the public is fascinated and in love with their relationship.

It is for all this that you no longer see him frequently and there is only communication by messages.

And when he finally has a space in his schedule, he takes the opportunity to see you, where you at all times try to look as if you are not affected by all this, so as not to worry him and frustrate him when you know he has a lot of weight on his shoulders.

He still apologizes and tries to make it up to you, but in the midst of your soothing words, the pain is reflected in your gaze.

And that's what you do for the next few weeks, you continue to support him from the shadows while he and Cerelle put on a show and are the center of attention.

At first you had told yourself not to see anything about them on the internet, but you can't help it and you see the pictures, read the headlines in the magazines and with each new performance, you feel a slight sharp pain in your heart.

When the day of a big awards event arrives where directors, producers, script writers, the academy members, the press and of course the actors and actresses attend, where precisely Aemond and Cerelle attend together as a couple officially in front of all public eye.

Images and videos of the two sharing laughter and affectionate gestures spread through every social network, while you, from your apartment, watch the scene with a mixture of pride as this is important in Aemond's career but also feel a deep sadness that threatens to overflow.

You wish it was you instead of her.

It's been months since you and Aemond started this relationship behind everyone's back and you want that, to be able to touch him and be with him in public.

But you can't.

And you can't stand this anymore either.

You decide to watch movies and change the channel, not wanting to focus on them anymore, trying to ignore your emotions and your wounded heart, not wanting to do anything else tonight but just forget and stay in the comfort of your bed.

After two hours, your phone starts ringing, indicating an incoming call and when you look at the screen, Aemond's name appears, but you decide not to answer.

You don't feel like talking to him, you don't want to get upset with him when he is not to blame for anything and start an unnecessary fight, so you prefer not to talk.

But after that call, Aemond insistent calls you a couple more times, in which you decide not to answer as well.

At your lack of response, he can't help but feel worried, thinking that you must be feeling bad because of him even though you understand why he's doing all this. And once the rewards are over, he in covered takes his car and drives to your apartment.

As he drives, his mind is filled with thoughts of how to talk to you and find the right words to ease the tension in both of you. But the nervousness doesn't let him think clearly nor has he forgotten the overwhelming awards he had to attend to.

Once he arrives at your door, he just hopes you're okay, even though he knows you're not and knocks three times.

"Y/N? It's Aemond," he says cautiously and hopeful that you will open the door, wanting to speak and see you.

The silence lingers for a few moments before you finally open the door, where the slight surprise of seeing him here at this hour is reflected in your gaze, not understanding anything. And he just sighs, feeling guilty.

"You didn't respond to my calls or messages and I got worried," he explains to you briefly and in a soft voice, "I needed to see you."

Despite all the emotions you're feeling, the fact that he's come looking for you shows you that he really cares about you and wants to do everything he can to make you okay.

You watch him silently for a moment and nod slowly in his direction with a look of understanding.

"I'm fine," you reply softly, wanting to convince him as well as yourself.

"No, I know you're not," he insists, concerned, "I-I… I know this is all very difficult and I don't want you to feel pressured, but…" he lets out a frustrated sigh, "I'm here to talk if you need to."

Appreciating his sincerity silently and seeing how terribly worried he is, you let him in.

The two of you have a difficult but necessary conversation, where neither of you have any intention of ending this thing you have together and where he's willing to show you that he doesn't care about Cerelle, just you.

"I only want you, baby. You and no one else," he murmurs lovingly and with desire in his gaze, closing his eye and catching your lips in a needy, deep kiss.

You respond in kind, gasping into his lips and bringing your hands to stroke his hair, clinging to him completely as he brings his hands to your waist and ass, squeezing the soft skin of both your ass cheeks.

"Do you mean it?" you ask in the middle of the kiss, beginning to feel the wetness between your legs.

"Yes, I fucking mean it," he replies against your lips, biting and sucking on your lips again.

You moan as he begins to leave a trail of kisses all over your neck, biting and leaving little marks on your sensitive skin, making you shiver all over your body and begin to feel the hardness in his pants against your pelvis.

Absentmindedly he brings one of his hands up and caresses one of your breasts over your shirt, making you moan and continue kissing him as he brings his hands back down to your thighs.

"Oh, Aemond," you whine.

"Fuck," he murmurs in delight, making you wrap your legs around his torso and feel directly on your needy clit, his cock hard and in need of release, "Such a needy little thing, arent you?"

His mouth roams and kisses every exposed part of your skin, as he pulls you along with him towards your couch, making you sit on top of him and you desperately begin to seek relief as you cause friction between your bodies.

He groans into your mouth, feeling his cock throb and ache.

"Can I take this off?" he grabs the edge of your shirt and you nod desperately, needy.

You are not wearing a bra and when your breasts are out in the open, Aemond lets out a curse as he stares at your breasts fully aroused to take one of your nipples into his mouth, making you arch and bring his face closer to your breasts.

Not long after that he too takes off his shirt and you free his cock from its confines and then start riding him, unable to wait a moment longer.

"Shit," he hisses, "You feel so good, baby. So fucking good."

You moan loudly as he brings one of his hands to your already swollen clit and starts massaging it with two fingers, making you moan and making you move your hips with more fervor on top of him, as your skin slaps and rattles with his beneath you.

That night, not only does he fuck you on your couch, he fucks you on your bed too, not being able to get enough of you, loving to see your whole face contorted in pleasure as he fucks you against your bed hard, his cock continually thrusting in and out of you, the sound of skin against skin being heard.

You bite down on his shoulder and wrap your legs around his torso again, feeling him deeper, as Aemond kisses you and draws his eyebrows together in concentration and pleasure.

"Are you going to let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again, baby? I want to feel you fucking cum all over my cock."

He brings his hand to your clit again and begins to massage it furiously, wanting to watch you crumble and feel you do it around his cock, while you moan and bite his shoulder and neck.

"Oh y-yes, Ae-mond,"you moan.

You close your eyes, escape a quiet moan, arch your back fully and feel the whole wave of euphoria wash over your entire body, seeing stars behind your eyes.

And with one last hard thrust, Aemond cums inside you letting out a grunt and hiding his whole face in the curve of your neck, leaving a couple of wet kisses once you both come back to earth and melt into each other's arms.

A few weeks later, you're back at work and Aemond starts filming a new movie for Netflix, so you don't see each other as often as you used to.

Aemond's schedule is very tight and he still does everything he can to be able to see you and spend time with you, while you in comparison to him have more free time but can't spend it with him because of his work.

And it is in that same time that you start to feel strange, but you hadn't connected the dots until the signs became too obvious to ignore.

One day, while working on set, fatigue suddenly overwhelmed you and a persistent nausea made you realize that something was going on. Suddenly lack of appetite appeared and seeing things too sweet or chicken or meat meals made you sick to your stomach.

Or also weird cravings started, which your mind started to scare you with possibly confirming what you were thinking.

During a break in the filming, you discreetly retreat to the bathroom, feeling the need for a moment to yourself. And as you look in the mirror, you notice the pallor on your face and the different glow in your eyes.

Completely terrified, you wait for your break from work and rush to the pharmacy, buying three pregnancy tests of different brands and supposedly the best.

And once at home, everything is silent, as the seconds tick by and you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts.

You're not ready to be a mom, in fact the thought of having children was never something you wanted or wanted in the long run, because you're still young, you have your dream job at only twenty-two years old and to stop focusing on your dreams and goals to focus on those of a child… it's not something you want.

But the pregnancy test you hold in your trembling hand confirms your suspicions, as do the other tests, all positive.

Fear totally grips you, not only because of the fact that you are pregnant, but because of the implications this brings to your life and also to Aemond's life.

God, Aemond.

You think completely terrified, starting to cry, feeling the pressure in your chest.

You know this will stop and totally ruin his career.

You imagine yourself facing the critical gaze of the media, the headlines of magazines and news websites, as well as the constant speculation about your personal life.

You feel completely scared and hopeless, having no idea what Aemond's reaction will be, but you know this is not good, a baby, right now is not good, not for you and certainly not for him.

But you must tell him. You know you must. Regardless, how could you keep something like this from him?

It takes you two days to finally get up the courage to tell him and as you wait for him in your apartment, the pregnancy test rests in your trembling, sweaty hands, feeling completely frightened amidst all the silence around you.

Your eyes burn from crying so much, you feel like you have no strength, you feel weak and you haven't been able to sleep well and you don't even want to imagine how you will be later when Aemond finds out and everything between you will probably go wrong.

The sound of the door makes you jump nervously, knowing it's him.

You feel more fear and uncertainty flood you but you force yourself to get up from your couch and head to open the door, feeling that you will burst into tears at any moment.

As you open it, Aemond's handsome face and his usual smile was nothing like your face, being quite the opposite, so noticing your state his smile drops and he looks at you completely distressed and worried as you let out a few tears silently.

"Hey, hey," Aemond holds your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. His concern is palpable in the way his eyes search yours for answers. "What happened, baby? Are you okay?"

You sniffle your nose, inhale deeply and keep your eyes closed for a moment, only causing Aemond more unease when you don't utter a word.

"Y/N, what happened?" he insists, his tone laden with anxiety and seriousness.

"I'm really sorry," you murmur sadly to him, feeling each word weigh heavy in your chest and a sense of hopelessness creep over you.

"You're sorry, for what? What happened?" he asks again, completely confused and uncomprehending.

"I'm… I-I'm pregnant," you mumble in a broken voice, as if uttering those words would make reality more concrete.

Aemond's face remains completely static, his eyes wide open, watching you as tears slide down your cheeks. The gravity of the news is reflected in the tense silence that appears between the two of you.

"What?" he mutters under his breath, barely audible but laden with disbelief.

You nod slowly, reaching out to him for the proof you hold in your trembling hand. And every second that passes as he analyzes it feels like an eternity as you wait for his reaction.

But he barely processes the information, takes the evidence between his fingers and the seconds stretch out like hours as you feel your heart beating too fast.

But Aemond's face shows neither anger nor joy.

And finally he reacts by bringing his hands to his hair, his eye fixed on the evidence for a moment and then looking at a spot in your living room, beginning to see frustration and surprise invade him more.

He lets out a sigh and turns his gaze back to you in a desperate manner.

"Hey, baby," he says to you now nervously, "Are you absolutely sure?"

You nod slowly.

"I did three tests, all three came back positive."

He brings a hand to his forehead, averting his gaze from yours for a moment. His eyes reflect tumultuous thoughts, a mixture of thoughts ranging from disbelief to concern.

"But how?" he watches you blankly, still with surprise painted in his gaze.

"You didn't use a condom and I took the pill, but it didn't work," you tell him in a hopeless voice, trying to explain the inexplicable.

"Oh, fuck," he murmurs, biting his lips and bringing a hand to his chin.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean for this to happen either," you admit to him, your tears streaming down your cheeks.

You feel the need to apologize as if this burden is something only you should carry, the vulnerability clear in your tone of voice and on your face, which worries Aemond more at seeing you in such a state.

"Hey, no, don't, don't do that, don't apologize," he says instantly, turning back to you and placing a hand on your cheek, "We're both part of this, you understand me? You're not to blame for anything and I'm not going to leave you alone," he assures you, completely honest and determined with his words.

And despite the gravity of the situation, you feel a huge relief come over you knowing that you are not alone in this, as he looks at your sad face, with your dry tears and red eyes.

And then he places a soft kiss on your lips and encloses you in a comforting embrace that is all you need at that moment.

You knew that Aemond would eventually have to tell his manager and his team as well, however, you didn't expect him to do it on the same day you let him know the news and you didn't expect all his people to start working so soon on this, on your pregnancy.

You call his agent and in an instant he, along with his publicist and his team of public relations people, invade your apartment.

And his agent, Criston Cole, doesn't have time to start reproaching him for having had a secret relationship with you all this time, although the anger is there but the important thing is the baby on the way, where he can't do anything either because it's already in your womb.

So he only talks about solutions.

And it is precisely because of these painful solutions for you that you decided to run away and disappear from his life to save his career and also your child.

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut

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byoldervine · 4 months

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Motivation For Writing

Getting Off Your Butt:

1. Aestheticise it. Let the light in through the curtains, turn on your fairy lights, lay a blanket over your lap, light some candles, whatever you need to do to feel like a writer. The right vibes can go a long way

2. Picture that one scene. There’s almost always a moment you’re super excited about that basically inspired the whole book. Picture it, play it out in your head in full cinematic fanfare, gush to yourself about how cool it is and how everyone will love it, picture a future fanbase going nuts for it. You might get excited enough to go back to writing

3. Set a word count goal. During NaNoWriMo this year I think I wrote more than I ever have in one go. The thing that kept me coming back was the desire to not fall behind. I ended up with ~45K words after some complications irl caused me to drop off in the final few days, and that’s all just because I was adding up the 1667 a day word count goal and realising where I needed to be at to keep up. I definitely can’t stay as rigid as I did with 1667 words every single day, but seeing that you’re only a few hundred words off of a goal is super motivating - just be sure to set realistic, easy to achieve parameters for just general use, like 1000-2000 words per week. I know 200 words per day is a popular one for people trying to establish a writing routine that can’t dedicate forever to the craft

Maintaining Motivation:

1. Writing sprints. Writing sprints are a godsend for me, I like to set myself up in the living room with Abbie Emmons’ writing sprint video on. The video lasts two hours and is broken up into two parts; 25 minutes to write and 5 minutes for breaks between writing, so four 30 minute sprints overall. Having the timer and countdown with peaceful music and an aesthetic background is both relaxing and encouraging, as well as giving me a specific time for how much longer I have to push through. It’s easier for me to say “Okay, only ten more minutes, then you can take a break” then it is to say “Just keep going, we’re not stopping until I say so” which is too arbitrary for my brain to accept

2. Give yourself a choice. If you’re struggling to keep your focus, come up with a finish line and tell yourself you don’t have to do any more work once you’ve reached that point. Finish the paragraph, go for another five or ten minutes, keep it up until your next scheduled break. Whatever sounds realistic and doable without being overwhelming. And once you’ve met this goal, ask yourself if you still want to stop. With any luck, you’ll have gotten back into the zone and will choose to keep going. Maybe you’ll want to take a quick break but you’ll come back later on. And maybe you’ll decide that now actually is a good stopping point. Just remember that, if you do still want to stop, don’t force yourself to keep going. You can’t strike deals with yourself if you know you won’t keep your word and all you’ll end up doing is burning yourself out, which will lead to even less writing getting done

3. Try a new angle. If you can’t be bothered to write anymore, is there anything else you can do for your book? Plotting, editing, worldbuilding, character sheets, one-shots all that sort of thing can still be productive for your book while still being different enough to give your brain a slight respite. It also means less work in that particular area later on

Afterwards:

1. Organise. Clean up your workspace and put everything away so it’s nice and neat for when you come back to it. Or if you don’t need to pack things out the way, set it up in an aesthetically pleasing way so it will tempt you back next time. Let it give you the writer vibe

2. Take care of yourself. Get a drink, have a snack, walk about, stretch your limbs, take a breath, cuddle your pet. Something that gets you away from straining your eyes looking at text for a bit. This is also a good time to reward yourself if positive reinforcement is something you use on yourself. If you always feel shitty after your writing sessions, you won’t want to go back to it

3. Positive reflection. Make sure to tell yourself you did good, even if you didn’t get as much done as you would’ve liked or it isn’t up to a standard of quality you’re aiming for. That can all be fixed later on, and you’re infinitely better off than you would’ve been if you didn’t do it. Be proud of yourself. Tell yourself you’re proud of your hard work and your dedication and your effort. Remind yourself that this is a fun thing you like to do. Marvel over how insane it is that you’ve gotten this far - not many people do - and that you’ve got all this tangible work to prove you’ve accomplished something so many people wish they could pull off. If this isn’t fun overall, there’s no point

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tadpolesonalgae · 8 months

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Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader: Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

A/N: I was in the mood for a writing a heated argument that turns into an even hotter make-out session, but then it got slightly depressing so…

Warning: slight angst but not much because I can’t take that emotionally :’)

-Part 2[*]-

“How was she today?”

You fight the urge to clench your jaw. The harsh snapping of your book is the limit to how far you’ll allow the leash on your anger to slip. Jealousy? Frustration? Whatever complicated nonsense he’s gotten you tangled up in.

“No hello? What about a how are you today?” You ask tersely. So much for keeping your emotions on a tight leash. His brow narrows a little—you don’t usually bubble over when he asks how your older sister is doing. “You weren’t practically bed-ridden for months,” he replies slowly, gauging your response carefully.

Instantly, guilt weighs in the pit of your stomach, and you look away quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” you soothe hastily. Gods, why did you say that to him? You’re trying to gain his favour, not make him think you’re an ungrateful, self-absorbed sister. “She was fine. We did some baking—well, Elain did some baking, I was reading something. It’s a new book, actually! Because I finished the last one, which was actually pretty good, but this one I think is set in the last war and…” you trail off when you notice the patient smile he’s giving you.

Right. He’s not interested in what book you’re reading, or how you spent the day. He’s not interested in you full stop. He’s interested in Elain. You fight the way disappointment wants to twist the edges of your mouth, instead plastering on a smile that you hope he reads as oops, look at me! There I go again, haha.

“Well,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat, “she made some cupcakes—I think they were vanilla, and she put something that looked like jam inside. Really good. I’m sure she’d be happy for you to try one—if you ask,” you smile, adding in the details he wants to hear. For the Spymaster, he’s surprisingly open about his interest in Elain to you. But maybe that’s because you’re always so willing to answer any question you can for him.

“I’m glad,” he says, something glimmering in his hazel eyes. “And there were no silent spots? No abrupt changes?” You return your attention to the book in your hands, fingers running over the bound edges, “she was fine all the way. You never would have guessed everything she’s been through.” He hums, pleased with her progress. It’s a sound of contentment, from the back of his throat that you’re certain rumbles throughout his chest. It’s an effort to keep your attention on the book.

It’s been more than two years since the three of you were tossed into the Cauldron. Feyre and Rhysand are happy, Nesta’s made progress on healing herself and is now alarming in love with Cassian, Elain’s taking large steps in a good direction, too. You remember vividly the time when she would hardly utter a word for days, hardly shift her gaze from a strange spot in the middle-distance, how worried she made you and Nesta. And Feyre, obviously, but things were a little…strange at the time. They always had been.

You spent the first few months struggling to hold a meal down, often being wracked with spasms of anxiety and flushes of hot and cold. There was a time you would black out if you stood up too fast, and now you can hold down three meals a day without needing to run to the nearest latrine provided you don’t eat too quickly. You feel like yourself again, but fresher. You know you aren’t the same as you were, though. Not after the Cauldron, but you had no choice but to adapt. With eternity ahead of you, you couldn’t stand the thought of spending it weakened and frail—hardly capable of standing without feeling dizzy.

Maybe you are a little jealous that Elain’s getting all the attention. She’d always been the centre of Nesta’s attention, and while you were on fairly good terms with your oldest sister throughout your childhood, you were no competition for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. Feyre was the wild one, Elain the pretty one, Nesta the cunning one—then there was you.

What’s your place in your dysfunctional family?

“It’s good she seems to be steadily improving,” Azriel says, breaking you from your inner thoughts. You nod dutifully, agreeing with him. “She smiled for most of it, too,” you add, remembering how pleased she’d been when they came out how she wanted—after numerous attempts. “Though she was covered in flour—her hair was practically white!” You laugh fondly, covering your mouth with your hand.

A faint smile appears on his lips and, for just a moment, you let yourself pretend he’s smiling at the sound of your laugh.

But that’s all you have to report back to him, and even if you’ve pleased him, he’ll be finding an excuse to slip off now that he knows she’s been fine. You’ll admit, it’s difficult to remember she’s your sister when he so clearly would choose her over you. It’s not even a competition.

So you swallow your nerves, tuck your hands behind your back and peer up at him. “Hey, you read right?” You ask, keeping a pleasant smile on your lips—lest he think you’re too eager. He blinks out of whatever thought he was having, clearing his gaze as he looks down at you, then nods. “I’ve been known to pick up a book from time to time,” he answers. He’s in a good mood, it seems.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask, tipping your head at a slight angle, appearing to look at the books stacked on the shelves. “I feel like I’ve been rereading the same story over and over again and want to try something else.”

“You’re asking me to pick just one?” He replies, quirking his brow. The smile that comes to your mouth isn’t as fake, or as controlled as you would like—it stretches your lips thin, showing the gaps either side of the top row of your teeth.

“Okay, give me a couple to have a nose at. So if one bores me to tears, I can pick up another,” you laugh gently, pulling the book tight to your chest, worried you’re showing too much. Does he know how your days often centre around whether he’ll seek you out? The too-short conversations that often revolve around your sister?

“Does Elain read?” He asks, tentatively, and it’s like a stone to your cheek. You clutch the book tighter to your chest, taking in a slow, quiet breath. “I can ask her? Subtly, of course,” you force a smile, fingers digging into the spine of the book. He shakes his head, “I’ll do it. I’d like to see how she’s doing for myself.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, “to be fair, she might be sick of them for how long she was in here last year. They might be an eyesore by now,” you laugh softly. But instead he frowns disapprovingly, like you shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense. And suddenly that urge appears, the urge to confront him about his behaviour—why he never talks to you for you.

“Azriel…?” You say, the smile slipping from your lips, though your make sure your eyes still sparkle a little, keeping them partially crinkled. But then you bite the inside of your lip, and the rest of the mask fades, leaving you raw, and more than a bit scared. If you overthink it, it’ll never get done.

“Why do you…I don’t feel like you ever…like we ever talk. Us,” you say, then flush at the word—so intimate. Us. “What do you mean?” He asks, standing sturdy before you. A seed of frustration sprouts within, but you push the irritation away. “I just…You’re always asking me about Elain.” His brow narrows a bit, and you want to take the words back.

“What else?”

You look up at him, all beauty and classical grace, and such unearthly, ethereal lines and angles to him you wish you knew how to paint like Feyre. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” You ask, a little hurt.

“I mean, is there something else you want to talk about?” He asks, gently. Carefully.

My book would be nice. I’d like you to ask how I’m doing today, how I’m feeling, what I want to do.

“Something that doesn’t involve my sister, would be nice,” you laugh, giving him a smile that reads, can you really blame me for not wanting to talk about Elain all the time? He doesn’t smile like you’d hoped, but frowns. “Do you not like her?” He asks instead, “did something happen between you two?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “No—nothing happened, we’re fine. Right as rain. It’s just…you always ask after her, and I feel like that’s the only reason you approach me.” You swallow, having begin to put the truth out there for him. “You seem fine talking about other things with Feyre and Nesta, but I can’t remember the last time we talked about something that wasn’t my sister, and I… I don’t really…” You trail off, watching him nervously.

His frown only deepens as he takes you in. “I’m asking out of concern for her well-being, you understand that, don’t you?” He asks.

“I know, I know, but…are you?” You reply, managing to reign in your wince at the blunt question. When he only looks at you without response, you push forward. “I mean, you…you like her, don’t you? That’s why you ask all these questions? Why you care more than the others do?” You say, fighting to keep your voice even as the words come out. “And there’s nothing wrong with that,” you quickly amend, “but, you know, it would be nice to talk to you for you. And you for me. And, you know, she does have a…mate, so, I just thought—”

“What did you think?”

You blink at the sharp tone, his eyes colder than before, more sealed off. Still, you square your shoulders, keeping the book tucked tight against your front. “Well, that, maybe, it would be better to try somewhere else? Instead of investing in someone who’s practically already taken?”

“She doesn’t love him.”

“I know she says that, but—”

“But nothing,” he says, brow narrowing. “The mating bond can’t force someone to fall in love. If she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t have to have him.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet beneath his penetrating gaze. “Feyre and Rhys worked out,” you manage, eyes flitting away from his, focusing on the book in your hands. “And she didn’t love him at first.” The paper’s old and crisp—worn with age. “Then Nesta and Cassian also got together, too,” you add, the pads of your fingers dragging over the pages, “and you saw what Nesta was like. How badly she was struggling. They didn’t look like they were going anywhere but destruction, but—”

“Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?”

Again you blink at him, caught off guard by the ice in his tone. “I’m not saying it’s wrong to pursue her, Azriel,” you appease—try to. “I’m just saying maybe you could try looking…elsewhere, you know? Maybe try something with someone else? That won’t end badly?”

“You don’t know it will end badly,” he replies, all former warmth gone, no trace of it in his beautifully designed features. “It will for someone. Even if you and Elain do somehow end up together, what about Lucien? If it were Feyre and Rhys, or Nesta and Cass, would you think it okay for someone to try and separate them? When they were chosen to be together?”

“Bad pairings happen. Rhys’ parents are a fine example.”

“Yes, but they’re rather suited for one another, don’t you think?” You ask, pushing forward, “Elain’s always excelled at social events. She easily settles into the flow of conversation—she knows what to say, and how to act to put people at ease around her. And Lucien does the same. He knows how to draw ties between people where there seem to be none, just like her. He knows how to keep conversation flowing without pushing it, how to keep things at the right pace, just like her.”

“While you…” you pause, and his jaw tightens.

“Go on,” he says icily, “tell me why think I’m undeserving of her.”

“I don’t think its a case of deserving, Azriel,” you say quickly. “But you…well, you try to blend into any corner you can when there are more than three people in the room.”

His brow narrows, “I didn’t realise you’d been keeping tabs on me.”

“Yes, well, you’re the only one I’m interested in, so.” Your voice is soft, bladed, honed. Resigned. You lips press into a thin line as your eyes flicker away from his, too embarrassed to look even in his general vicinity. You had never anticipated laying your heart to bare to be so…scary? Terrifying?

Anti-climactic.

Admitted in such a quiet, understated way. As if he isn’t the first one you’ve ever felt so strongly for. As if he isn’t the first one who’s given you a vague understanding of why some women were so happy to do whatever their husbands told them. Why they were so happy to live in subservience, and why that’s not what it was.

“You think you’re deserving of me?” He asks, coldly. Shame and embarrassment heat your features, but you manage to shoot back, “do you think you’re deserving of her?” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to prevent yourself from being intimidated by his height, and muscle, and beauty, and overall damned attractiveness that makes you weak in the knees.

His upper lip twitches in a repressed snarl, anxiety spiking in your chest. “Answer my question,” he says, softly, an edge to his voice. You swallow, “answer mine.” You’ve never demanded something from someone before, but it’s out there now, and it feels surprisingly good to insist on something for yourself.

He regards you silently, and it takes a remarkable strength to stand still beneath his icy gaze—knowing that he’s judging what he’s seeing. Weighing if you’re worth his answer.

“I think I gave a hint of my interest for her,” he says, eyes glittering with something cold that you’re unaccustomed to have turned on yourself. “And she reciprocated with her own signs.” He stares you down, unyielding, and powerful, and you want to run and hide. “What about you?”

You purse your lips to keep them from trembling as heat crawls beneath your skin with humiliation. But—no. Get over it. Make it through. Survive something else. “I think I’m tired, and hurt from knowing that you only talk to me because you want to know how my sister is doing,” you confess, voice wobbling. “I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.”

There’s no bite to your words, and they come out softer and weaker than you had expected. You feel tired, and drained. Eyelids heavy and heart rate spiking every other beat, numerous crescent shaped indentations on the heel of your palms.

“Maybe you’d be better off turning your affections somewhere they’d be appreciated,” he says, icily. Your heart aches, and it takes a few humiliating moments for you to gather yourself enough that you won’t burst into tears when you again find your voice. “That’s all you have to say?” You manage, fingers trembling behind your back.

“Maybe if you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest,” he snarls softly, eyes glittering with cold rage.

It feels like a smack to the face, a punch to your stomach. Your eyes go wide, then blur, hot pressure building steadily. You dig your nails into the binding of your book, and move to walk past him—at least preserve what little dignity is still intact by refusing to let him see you cry. He already barely sees you as a woman, you won’t win any points with your blubbering. He wants a female, not a girl.

But he seems to realise what he’s said and turns, gripping your upper arm to keep you from leaving. You allow him to stop you, if only because demanding he let you go would show your tears. “I didn’t mean that,” he says quietly, and you can hear the pity in his voice. “I spoke in anger, I did not mean to upset—”

“Get those hands off me,” you snarl, turning on him with defensive ire blazing in your pupils. Rage fresh from the forges.

He recoils as if you burned him. Retreats a step.

“Not nice, is it? Targeting someone’s insecurity—rubbing salt into an open wound?” You snap, blinking away the tears and pulling your arm back to yourself. “Don’t come asking me for updates on Elain again. I don’t want to talk to you if your only interest is in getting between her legs.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you debate just running from the library—you can feel the storm in him brewing, and you’re not sure you’re ready for him. But he doesn’t wait for you to decide, because the storm breaks right then and there. “At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed,” he says softly, hazel piercing into you. “Can you say the same?”

Mortification flushes your skin, mouth parting in humiliation. “I—…This is inappropriate,” you hiss to hide your burning shame. Because no, it’s always been Elain and Nesta to be pursued. His eyes gleam, reading your thoughts clear as day in your expression. “Thought not.”

Pain twists viciously across your chest, heart strings being plucked within an inch of snapping—pulled taught around your throat. “If I’ve never taken a man to bed, it is not because I am unwanted. Rather that I would not waste my self nor my time on someone I was not sure about. That I did not want with everything I have,” you whisper hoarsely—the final layer stripped bare for him to slice and dissect.

But then he steps forward, and without thinking, you yield a step. He’s not perturbed, and takes another. “You admit you have no experience in bed, yet think you could handle me?” He snarls softly, wings flaring ever so slightly at his back, shadows thickening. “I don’t think it’s a matter of handling you, Azriel.” His name is a little more than a whisper from your mouth. One he tracks eagerly.

“No?” He asks, stepping forward again, slowly herding you. “Then what?” You swallow, trying to stand your ground, but the sense of him is so overpowering, he threatens to obliterate every ounce of your own self. “I think it would be a matter of learning. And if you think I’m unprepared, then Elain is definitely no better off, so that clearly isn’t your issue.”

“At least she’s shared the bed of a man before, at least she would know what to do.” You don’t correct him that you have, in fact, shared a bed with a male before. A few in fact, by this point. Nesta’s the bad influence. He steps forward again, and he’s towering over you, hazel glittering between his shadows. “At least she wouldn’t lose her head over the slightest touch.”

And then his hands have landed softly on your hips, and your head is silent. Only his touch on your body, his warmth on your skin, seeping into your clothes. Does he find your shape pleasing? Is he feeling this mind-numbing shock? The tingling at his fingertips where they’re pressing into you?

For a too-long moment you just stare at him, thoughts eddying about without a destination, floating throughout your conscious.

“Still in there?” He taunts quietly, pushing you back, turning you gently as he feels the heat radiating from your skin, the stiffness to your body beneath his touch. It’s only when a hard, wooden shelf digs into the base of your spine that you realise he’s pushed you against the case. You open your mouth—to say what, you don’t know. He beats you to it either way. “You want to prove you haven’t already lost your mind?” He says softly, voice like a lover’s touch. You can do nothing but stare at him, panting softly, completely at his mercy. “Tell me to stop, or I’ll keep going. Say no, and it finishes,” he murmurs, keeping you pressed tight between his hips and the book case. “But I think you’ve already lost.”

You blink up at him, hardly a thought behind your eyes.

In the back of your mind, you’re struggling frantically to decode his words, translate them into something that makes sense. And then his challenge clicks, and you take a sudden, deep breath. You need to tell him to stop, to show him you’re still in control of yourself—that you haven’t lost your head over the slightest touch.

But then his mouth latches over yours, tongue prying your lips apart, and your efforts of rebellion are washed away. You go all warm, and soft, and pliable in his hands, melting like butter as you coat him. His piercing hazel eyes lock with yours as his mouth slants, one hand rising to the curve of your spine, pulling you against his front.

How are you supposed to stand against him when he annihilates everything that you are with the softest brush of his fingers—fingers that are now tracing up the path of your spine, reaching that final notch as they tangle with delicious pressure in your hair. His gaze cuts into you as his tongue drags across your own, flicking at the roof of your mouth.

He’s utterly unruffled, and you feel like you’re on the verge of bursting into flame right there, setting him ablaze in the process.

But then you’re again subverting his expectations, your hands flying over his shoulders as you tilt your head to allow him deeper. The only sign of surprise he allows is a blink of his eyes, but you’re already lifting onto your tiptoes—the swell of your breasts dragging over his chest in a way you must’ve learned males like. But where would you have learned?

Your arms tighten, then your hips are pressing against him, and—you’re fighting back, he realises. And for the first time in a long, long time, he feels excitement flare deep inside him as you stride to meet him. No matter that you aren’t Elain: he’s hungry, and you can make your own decisions. If you want him to stop, you need only say the word, and he’ll be off you. But if you don’t…well, he’s not going to be the one who chickens out first.

He has a damn point to prove—that you have no idea what you’re getting into with him.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #shadowsinger #Azriel angst #Azriel x Archeron sibling #part one #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

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cryptidghostgirl · 29 days

Note

This is gunna sound confusing and Idk if you do him or not but could you do a Vox x reader where they have been dating for a while and Vox realizes that they havnt kissed yet and whenever he has tried or tries she turns away with a nervous laugh and says something to distract him and he finds out it's because she is nervous that she will mess up his screen like smudge it or break it (like when you touch a tv and the light warps because the screen moves slightly and if you do it to hard it can stay that way)

A/N i am actually obsessed with this idea. it is so cute and fluffy. it was so fun to write. Also, I know I said that part four of Cover Up was next in line but that part is gonna be NSFW and I am kinda nervous about it so....

Smudge (Vox x Gn!Partner!Reader)

Pairing: Vox x Reader

Warnings: Hurt/comfort (but you're the one comforting Vox mostly)

Word Count: 1,255

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Vox had known Y/n for nearly a year now and they had been together for just over five months. At first, he had assumed their resistance to have any physical contact outside of the holding of hands, the occasional hug or cuddle in front of the TV, was out of a desire to take things slow.

He looked over at where they sat beside him on the couch, his arm draped over the back of the sofa.

That he could understand. What he didn't understand was how slow taking it slow really meant. More than five months in and they had yet to have their first kiss. Y/n had never even so much as given him a peck on the cheek. Vox was a patient man but it didn't stop him from trying, he leaned in. Just as his lips were about to make contact with the side of their head -- not even their face! -- he felt a soft pressure on his shoulder.

Y/n had stopped him, again. Their eyes met his. They hadn't even given him the dignity of a gentle hand on his cheek, of anything other than an apologetic smile.

"I need to shower, my hair is greasy."

Vox was a confident man. In his position, it was hard not to be. Still, the whole situation was beginning to weigh on him. Y/n must have noticed as the smile slipped from their face, morphing their features into an expression of mild concern.

"Vox, hunny, are you okay?"

"I..."

He withdrew from the warmth of their touch, fixing his gaze back on the TV. It was unfamiliar territory. He had never had trouble getting people before, he had no idea how to act. In every past experience, he hadn't cared what disregarding such a request as to not kiss a prospective partner, or real partner even, could do. The care was what made things complicated.

Vox was not a good man. He had never been a good man, not even when alive. Y/n made him want to be one. The way they saw him... they didn't want him for his power, his influence, his money. They wanted him for him. It was obvious. In every lingering touch, every word, every home cooked meal or surprise outing. It was all so new, so different. They made Vox want to be the man they thought him to be.

"It's nothing."

Y/n was silent for a moment. He could feel their eyes on him but did not dare to return their quizzical stare. It was all so fragile, their relationship, even Y/n themself. He heard them sigh and felt their weight shift on the couch beside him. The TV clicked off. At last, he met their gaze once more.

"I don't like it when you lie to me." they hummed softly, turning to face him fully, pulling their knees up onto the couch, "What's going on?"

Vox grimaced.

"It's... please, Y/n. Don't worry about it. Everything is okay, I promise."

Y/n raised their eyebrows, cocking their head to one side. They could tell he was lying. Somehow, they always could. From the moment he met them, Vox had the uncanny feeling Y/n could see right through his facade, to the very essence of his being. It was a fear, it was a thrill, it was a delight, it was...

Vox sighed, his eyes finding his hands where they rested in his lap. He wasn't used to feeling small, to feeling weak. He did now.

"It's stupid."

"If it is bothering you this much, it's not stupid Voxy."

The dam broke.

"Why wont you kiss me?"

His voice came out smaller than he'd meant it too, more frail then he thought it was possible of being. Y/n said nothing in response and tentatively, Vox looked back over to them. Their lips were slightly parted, their eyes met his. Y/n blushed and looked away.

"Oh."

"Yeah." Vox sighed, leaning back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, "I told you, don't worry about it."

"No, Vox. It... clearly its upsetting you, let's talk about it."

"So, why wont you?" he prompted after a moment.

He watched them out of the corner of his eye, noting the way their eyes flicked nervously around the room, the way they fiddled with their interlaced fingers. A tremor in his diaphragm, his heart fell.

"If you don't..." Vox took a deep breath, "if you d-"

"It's not that I don't love you." Y/n interrupted, still refusing to meet his sidelong glance with their own eyes, "It's... I want to be with you Vox, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me for Christ's sake it's just..."

"Just what?"

"It's... stupid."

They looked up at him, the hint of a smile on their face, their brow furrowed. Vox straightened himself. If they were going to repeat his words, he could repeat theirs too. He took their hands into his, facing fear head on.

"If it's bothering you that much, it can't be stupid or... or whatever it was you said..."

Y/n let out a slight laugh.

"Okay fine, but you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"

"I promise."

They watched him for a moment, appraising the validity of his statement, before nodding their head once.

"Isn't it going to... I don't know... what if I crack your screen?"

Vox's eyes went wide. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. Y/n pulled their hands from his, hitting his arm playfully.

"Hey! You promised."

"I know!" Vox struggled to catch his breath, "It's just... thats what you've been worried about this whole time?"

"Uh... yeah?"

Finally, Vox managed to calm himself, looking over at Y/n happily.

"What."

"Come here."

He patted his lap. Y/n looked doubtfully between his hand and his face.

"Come here." Vox said again.

They rolled their eyes, standing up and taking a few steps towards Vox before sitting down.

"Other way."

They shot him a look over their shoulder. Vox rolled his eyes.

"Please."

"Why?"

"Just... trust me."

After a moments thought, Y/n readjusted their position, now straddling their boyfriend. They placed their hands on his shoulders, keeping their balance. Vox reached a hand up to their face, cupping their cheek gently. Y/n leaned into the gesture as if on instinct, their cheeks flushing pink once they realized what they had done. Vox chuckled.

"Y/n, can I kiss you?"

"What if I smudge your glass? Or like, leave one of those weird imprints or something on your face? I-"

He cut them off mid worry, pressing his lips softly to theirs. It was not a long kiss or a very deep one but it sent shivers down Y/n's spine, sparks to Vox's fingers. Their eyes met, Y/n was breathless.

"Not so bad, was it?"

Y/n leaned forward, balling their hands into the unbuttoned collar of his shirt as they kissed him again.

"No." they hummed, "Not bad at all."

Vox laughed. Running a hand through their hair, he pressed a soft kiss to their forehead. He couldn't stop smiling.

"I'm alright."

"I was right though."

Vox's brow furrowed and Y/n grinned up at him, raising their hand to his face.

"I did smudge you."

------

TAGS

@matrixbearer2024 @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @peterpankat @juskonutoh @simpingsohard @sethianaa

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tarjapearce · 1 month

Text

Chapter 7: Silent Violence is Humbled

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Tension, Angst, emotional discomfort, fluff and comfort towards the end, Strained friendships, verbal abuse, character introspection, character study, anger, hurt, family dynamics.

Summary: Karma keeps it's siege, and a new milestone hits the mark.

A/N: So. sorry for the delay, had to make some reports for my internship (I'm almost done and out with it 🥹 yay.)

Leaving the hospital wasn't precisely good. A new debt was added to your already trembling credit and to top it off, you were left with meds, a scheduled appointment with a therapist and a plethora of vitamins and supplements.

Of course you had reported everything but the gruesome details to your immediate boss. Not that she didn't sound convinced, rather shocked you were in the hospital.

You only could hope complications wouldn't be a regular guest in your life and bank account.

"I can hear you thinking from here. You ok?" MJ mumbled as she stirred a couple of eggs into the pan. You stared into the endless and spiralling void. Picking at the hospital's pale blue plastic band around your wrist.

You had spaced out as soon as you got home, the remnants of the perilous encounter with Miguel somehow still remained etched to your skin and mind. Unable to let go completely.

"I think I'll start looking for a better paying job somewhere else."

MJ watched you for a second, "You'll quit Alchemax?"

With a groan, you slouched on the dining table, placing a hand ontop of your head

"I'd love to, but I can't yet. Not until I have something certain anyways. Gotta suck it up for a bit more."

"I'll help you look up on other companies, who knows maybe we find a better thing for you. I don't feel comfortable with you being there with that crazy asshole working in there too. Do you want extra bacon?"

"Pretty please. Thank you, MJ. And yeah, if you're not a scientist in Alchemax, you're basically another exploited worker."

"Stop thanking me. You're my best friend. And I'll help, let me ask Peter if he knows about something somewhere."

She served the breakfast and placed the plate before you. Mayday announced her awakening with a mumble, her tiny hands rubbed her eyes to then look around sleepily, until her blue eyes met MJ.

You couldn't help but stare at the motherly displaying ritual.

Mayday's eyes lit up, shining brighter as MJ approached with a genuine smile that only matched her daughter's.

Your best friend enveloped her little girl in her arms, showering her in affection, earning her a couple of lovely squeals.

"Rested well, sweetheart?"

"Ma ma"

Those syllables alone made your heart leap as a myriad of emotions flooded your brain. The concept you had of it wasn't nothing alike what you were witnessing. There wasn't unnecessary yelling, cussing or physical abuse. All the opposite. A little rush of envy coursed through, but it faded quickly as it came.

It was odd, really. To behold such intimate moment of bonding between the both. It came so natural, full of love and everything you, sometimes at your age still were getting acquainted with. Patience, understanding and caring.

Mayday rested her head on MJ's shoulder and stared at you. Like seizing you for the first time ever, paying attention to your very moves, curious, scrutinizing your soul with her lovely and innocent eyes, leaving no room for disingenuous acts.

You gulped

"Hello" You waved coyly and your heart trembled with something unknown as she giggled your way, approving of your presence. She knew no evil nor judgement. Mayday didn't judge you. Just like her mother. She was pure joy.

"When's the shrink's appointment?"

MJ's voice snapped you out of your mutinied thoughts.

"Uh in a month or two." You mumbled while digging in your breakfast. It tasted like utter love and heaven after having nothing in your stomach for more than a day, and your stomach tolerated it well.

"Are you nervous?" MJ fed Mayday with the bottle, your mind subconsciously took notes of the way she held, fed and talked to her.

"Very. Not a fan of spilling my issues to strangers, even if it's their job."

"I know it might be difficult for you, considering the shitty attention you had before with them. But if the doctor says so, you must do it."

"I know." Your lips sighed, heavy with resignation to then purse into a tiny smile, " I just wanna move on, you know?"

"You will, I know so. You're strong, sweetie. Now eat up and drink your vitamins."

You chuckled, feeling her maternal instinct through the table.

"I think I'm already gaining weight."

MJ chortled as she wiped Mayday's cheek and lips, to then kiss the tip of her nose.

"Wait until you get your feet swollen, the hormone changes. Acne on your back, and the need to jump on-"

"Ok! ok, got it." Your cheeks flushed as the redhead just laughed now at your embarrassment.

"It won't be easy, but you'll get used to some stuff. You'll see."

-----

If there was something that Peter wouldn't openly admit, was the fact he disliked Miguel's sense of disposition of his time.

Sometimes his friend's hubristic demands had him juggling between his own time and his family.

Peter hated when Miguel simply let him know he was on his way. He didn't care if he was busy or was about to be, but also meant one thing. Stress was eating Miguel alive and he, as his best friend, was the only he could rely onto to take away such heavy burden.

With a sigh, Peter prepared mentally for the night. Specially to give his ever patient wife an explanation of a sudden visit. As if the universe made sure MJ and Miguel to never properly meet beyond pleasantries. If they had seen and meet eachother a couple of times was too many.

MJ was either out because of work, leaving him and Mayday alone, or the days and hours Miguel visited were when MJ was already asleep or too busy to sit and socialise with her husband's friends.

Peter has known Miguel for a couple of years by now, and still things didn't change.

He put a couple of beers to cool, then stirred the pasta. Miguel wasn't a picky eater, yet it made Peter stress over the food choice. But MJ wanted pasta and he was none to ignore his wife's whims over his friend's.

How long has it been since he saw Miguel? Months? Half a year? He didn't remember, but hoped that he wouldn't stay too long. Work had chewed, ate and spat him on the floor way too many times to count today.

His shoulders slumped, defeated before hia daughter's sweetness when Mayday gave him a toothy grin, he returned the smile, although tiredly.

"Let's get you some dinner."

He held his daughter in one arm, as he served a bit of noodles in her favorite spider-ham bowl and somw juice in her sippy cup. Peter put her in her chair and placed the food before her just in time as the doorbell rang.

"It's not that I don't like him, you know? I'm just tired today." Peter mumbled to himself and Mayday as he scratched his stubble and walked over the door.

May could only look at him, curious, bur the bright colors of her cup demanded her attention. To his little surprise, the man in question was there, scrolling through his phone in the meantime. Dressed in a casual button shirt, dark jeans and dress shoes, holding a small bag of sweets as a gift.

"Could you please start letting me know when you're coming over from now on? It's not that hard."

Peter's frustration wafted through his words as Miguel chuckled and followed him, the smell of cologne tickled the host's nose, almost a bit too pungent.

"Had to. Needed a distraction. Here"

He handed the paper bag to him, full of artisanal mexican sweets. At least this time, Miguel was thoughtful enough to bring something he knew Peter liked.

But it also meant one thing. A long night ahead.

With a sigh and defeated shoulders, Peter went to the kitchen, rummaging through the simple glassware to fetch a couple of glasses.

"I have... soda, apple juice, can't give you the beer until Mayday's asleep."

Miguel just quirked a brow and went for water. It was kinda bothersome for him how something so trivial as drinking a beer was a forbidden thing among parents whenever their children were around.

Overprotection and alienation from such things would only make them curious if anything. At least that's how it worked for Miguel. Still, it was Peter's home, and he had to play by the unspoken parenting rules his friend followed to a T.

How inconvenient

Miguel's eyes wandered through the table to land on Mayday. As a happy kid she was, the sauce was smeared all over her cheeks and chin, even her hands and forearms. Some noodles hung on her chin.

Even though his logical side appealed towards a scientific fact about babies discovering everything through their hands and mouth, the sole idea of having to deal with it on a daily basis and probably at every hour the kid would be awake and eating, made his eyes to tear away from the child and sigh, relieved he didn't have to cope with that sort of problem.

He had done his part, and against all logic, you had decided to keep the baby.

Pendeja. (Dumbass)

He huffed, annoyed to none but himself.

What would you do? It wasn't his problem anymore. He had more important things to think about than you and your stupid choices. His jaw clenched.

" You're gonna scare Mayday if you keep glaring like that."

Peter spoke as he cleaned up his daughter after feeding her with some bits of sausages. Miguel sighed as his arms untangled from his chest. A habit he subconsciously adopted as he was way too deep in negative thoughts. He gave his body some slack. He had came here in order to relax amd distract himself.

"Wanna tell me what happened or you wanna wait by having some pasta?"

In fact, now that Miguel was here he could take a good look at the scene before him. Peter had changed so much to the point of transforming himself into a completely different persona.

There was no more staying up past one am, lost in beers and talking about whatever thing alcohol made him spill out of his mouth. Reluctantly, good days. And now Peter was serving him some overcooked pasta that somehow tasted good. Even for him.

Hypocrite.

His mind reprimanded himself. He had wanted kids once but now seeing how it changed and rewired the brain chemistry and your fiasco, the thought of them had been shoved to the very back of his priorities. He had a career and money to make, not play house amd happy family with a stranger.

As much as Peter was his only true friend, he didn't want to look awful and perpetually tired because of a kid, like him.

With a sigh he dug on the food while staring at the both. The tangy smell of the sauce induced the little hunger he ate the pasta. A couple of minutes later passed when the key's tinkering echoed from the main door, revealing none other than MJ balancing a couple of paper bags in hands.

Miguel watched as Peter immediately rushed to her side and helped her out, while welcoming her with a kiss.

"Smells good!" MJ chirped and made her way towards the kitchen, Mayday's eyes lit up as soon as she saw her mama. A bubbly squeal received her when MJ ruffled her fiery curls and took her in her arms, rattling Miguel's ears.

"Hello there, precious" MJ kissed her cheek but then focused her gaze on Miguel. He tensed briefly to then give a polite smile.

"Hey."

MJ nodded and gave her respective hello back. Peter came into the dinning table with an awkward smile. He didn't need to explain the presence of his friend to his wife, as she quickly picked up the cue to get Mayday to sleep.

For some reason, the energy in the room was suffocating. As if Miguel was the black hole sucking the life and energy out of everything even without intending. Yet, Peter tried to shoo the negative aura that lurked around ominously by unpacking the groceries as he talked to MJ

"How was your day?"

"Good, a bit tiresome. But definitely better now than I'm home."

"Want extra cheese in your pasta? Oh! Miguel got us some candies."

MJ smiled politely at him, "Thanks for that. I loved the eh... Maz-uhpan?"

"Mazapán." he corrected gently.

"That thing. Peter, dear can you get the tub ready for May?"

It was Peter's cue to meet her in private.

"Excuse me." She took Mayday and Peter followed, leaving Miguel alone for a moment. Giving him a break from unwanted displays of family dynamics.

Once in the bathroom and away from prying eyes and ears, MJ cleared her throat

"Before you get angry, I didn't know he was coming until fourty five minutes ago."

MJ quirked a brow knowingly and huffed.

"I know. Still, the least he could do is to let us know he's coming over, Pete."

Peter nodded while rubbing his face, tiredly.

"I'm sorry, ok? Will make him go away soon. He's not having a good time right now."

MJ rolled her eyes while Peter added some soap to the water.

"Yeah, he only comes for a visit whenever he needs something out of you."

"MJ" Peter grunted the silent plea. 'Not now.'

She chuckled and kissed his cheek, "You know it's true. But, if it works for you, then ok. Just don't stay up past one. You snore too loud whenever you get little sleep."

"Relax, he probably just want to ramble, take a beer and leave."

"Alright, alright. He could tone his perfume a bit though. I can smell him from here. Go have fun."

-----

The beers clinked in the table, their taste numbed briefly Miguel's throat and tongue. It burned good as the sour liquid rolled down his esophagus, while Peter rambled on about the many pictures he showed him of Mayday.

Not that he didn't appreciate Peter's attempt to make him forget whatever problems were pestering his mind. But if honest, he grew tired after the sixth photo.

"You should have another."

That made Peter shut up and he chuckled.

"No no. With her is enough."

"You sound regretful."

Miguel mumbled as he finished his beer, Peter shook his head vehemently.

"At all. I know I look like shit, Mig. Still, would do it all over again. Like, look at this!" Peter got the screen close to his bored face with another picture and Miguel pushed it away softly.

"Yeah, she's a pretty girl. Got it."

"You don't get it. Once a kid shows up, everything changes."

You've got no idea...

His mind replied, as his body tensed once more.

"Have you talked about this with Dana?"

The name only made the urge to down the other beer in a go, but his mind almost slapped some sense into him and reminded him this wasn't his home.

MJ's steps alerted both men briefly as she came for her extra bowl of soggy pasta and wash Mayday's bottles.

"We broke up." He stated simply with a disdainful shrug

"What the fuck?

MJ turned to Peter, a brow quirked at his choice of words but focused again on the bottle.

"Miguel, you texted me, saying you were looking for wedding venues with Dana. And now you're single again?"

MJ's breath hitched.

Dana

Oh God

Dana D'Angelo.

Miguel's fiance. And the one that slapped you.

MJ had been so busy with work and her motherly duties that totally forgot about her husband's companion.

Miguel.

The man that only relied on her husband's company whenever life was too much for him. An acquaintance that she had only seen a couple of times and shared the same roof as her, although briefly in the few times Peter invited him over.

And also, the man that had gotten you pregnant, and had sent you to the hospital in a fit of rage. The very man that was causing you so much pain, had taken a place on her table, with her family and now was talking comfortably with her husband about his failed love, thanks to none other but himself.

Her heart wrenched and beat so fast in between powerful contractions that it made her breath shaky.

A monster was in her home. A terrible man had waltzed into her safe space and was tainting with his rottenness everything he touched, with his pungent and hubristic smell. His cologne and attitude only made her stomach churn.

"It didn't work out."

She turned to see him, unbelieving in her green eyes. So well behaved, ever polite and not an ounce of guiltiness in his judging stare. Entitled even, as if the world owed him just cause he existed. MJ understood now why it was so easy for you to fall into his trap, but the anger that clawed at her brain was greater than anything she had experienced before.

How dared he come into her home and play the victim when he had forsaken you and his child? How dared he disrupt the natural balance in her house with his mere presence?

"She was getting too annoying for me, anyways. Always behaving crazy." Miguel gestured with a terse movement of his hand before slicking his dark brown strands back.

Oh, how dared he. Those last words made her patience thread to stretch impossibly thin, that it broke.

"Well of course she'll act crazy! You fucking cheated on her!." MJ's hands balled tight at her sides, and glared daggers at Miguel.

Both men snapped to look in her way.

Miguel's eyes widened and Peter blinked almost stupidly at his wife and then at his friend that seemed like a deer caught in the headlights. Few little things in life managed to surprise Miguel, and MJ exposing his dirtiest secret to the only person he trusted outside Dana so carelessly and abruptly, had definitely caught him off guard.

"W-What?"

"He cheated on Dana, Peter."

Miguel swallowed thickly, a shaky breath turned into a steady one, anger coursing through his veins, his mahogany eyes narrowed.

Not them too...

He rubbed his face and hair again, trying to remain composed. If Dana had came for him and gave him no truce, MJ went straight to the jugular. Remorselessly for the kill.

How did she know?

A new wave of fury washed over him at the sudden implication his mind was brewing with, his hand clawed at his bouncing knee.

Did she know you?

What a sick, twisted and small world he lived in. Of course she did. Or else he wouldn't be here, trying to come up with a reply to his shocked friend. But he was cut short from everything, even thinking.

"You don't know shit." Miguel couldn't help but hiss, and his words were enough to throw Peter's patience out the window.

"That's my wife you're talking to, pal." Peter scowled, flabbergasted at Miguel's words as he stood with a warning finger waving at his... friend?, "Tone it the fuck down."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, Pete!"

Miguel felt ridiculous, not only cause the now constant need of explaining himself, but the absurdity of the situation. He was holding his friend's arm, trying to get Peter to believe him, just like he did with Dana.

But Peter was focused into getting MJ calmed down as she kept cussing his way

"Of course I know, asshole!" She spat, "I know enough of you to say how much of a piece of shit you are!"

That definitely earned her a growl "Whatch your fucking tone"

"Or what?! You'll try and hurt me too like you did with (Name)?! My friend has been suffering nonstop because of your pathetic excuses of being a man!"

If the many years prior to marry MJ taught Peter something, was that if she used foul language meant she was beyond pissed, and rightfully so. She wasn't one for cursing, and things surely would end up terribly wrong.

"You cheated your fiancé, got my best friend pregnant and demanded her to get an abortion-"

"Wait... You... you did what?" Peter's eyes widened and hardened, Miguel was cornered as Peter faced him, still containing his wife.

"No, no. That's bullshit!" Miguel's hand gestured as the other anchored to his hip. His poor attempt of bravery did nothing but set the fire ablaze in its full glory, it all had caught him so off guard he barely could think of comebacks to fend for himself.

"God... You're such a fucking liar!" Peter held MJ back as she seethed, trying to get a hold of Miguel, "I was there at the clinic with her! Cause she tried to correct your fucking mess!"

"I tried to fix-"

"You don't get shit fixed by writing her a fucking check and tell her to get rid of your child! Man the fuck up already! She's so under so much pressure now-"

"Because she's so stupid and chose to fucking keep that thing!" roared Miguel. Tired of being cornered without his usual pretense of control. Shoulders heaving with shaky and wrathful breaths, realizing the mistake he just did.

Peter glowered at him. Not only had he dared to yell at his wife but had been lying to him this whole time. And Mayday was crying. The commotion had been too great that woke her up.

Another pillar in his life was crumbling around, shaking the little constants he still remained with, to their very core.

Peter seized with him a look he had never seen before in his apparently dumb face. Disgust. He was about to protest but Peter's question only brought him to a too bright and unwanted spotlight.

"Is that true?" The tinge in Parker's voice held nothing but utter disbelief, not accusing, but skeptical. As if realizing he was being fooled this whole time as well. Peter slapped Miguel's hands away as he tried to reach for him again.

Shit

His aloof act had spreaded way too fast that didn't give it time to properly root and settle on his inner's circle brains ro control later. Peter growled at the stretching and pregnant silence.

"I'm fucking talking to you." The hard push of his hand made him sway softly, "Is that true!?"

Miguel's eyes widened. Peter's bravado and anger was something he didn't know until now. If honest, Miguel thought of him a complete goof that did everything his wife told him to. A complete mandilón.

If MJ told him to bark, he would and even do a flip while at it. But this man before him was different. Confident, authoritative, honorable, pushing his patience to new limits and oh so disgusted at his actions. A true father and man, unlike him.

A reluctant daddy.

Miguel really had a hard time grasping the magnitude of his doings and how they affected others, cause his remorse was absent. Everything he should be feeling at this collective verbal berating was gone. He was more focused in the defensive than offensive, and he failed.

Upon Miguel's silence, Peter just stared at him and sighed. He wasn't worth it.

"You need to leave, Miguel."

Ash soured the aforementioned throat. A thick lump knotted tightly on Miguel's windpipe.

"What? You're believing every word that comes out of her just like that?"

The question itself was stupid, he knew much so. But Peter didn't budge, in fact, he didn't even look at him as MJ went to fetch her daughter.

"You gotta be kidding me, Parker"

"Am I fucking joking? No. Leave." He shimmied away from Miguel's grasping hands with a disgruntled growl

"Look, I know I fucked up, okay-"

"Damn right you did" Peter pushed him away once more

"Can you listen?! " Tanned fingers sunk on Peter's arms forcefully, preventing him from escaping further, but that only earned him a powerful shove that made him nearly fall. Unlike you, that barely moved him an inch .

"Not this time. I talk and you listen. My home, my rules. Don't like it, get the fuck off." Peter hissed, the day's misfortunes and stress had piled up in his brain and Miguel's actions did nothing but set it all on fire.

"You can't just come into my house unannounced, yell at my wife for calling you out and your bullshit and expect me to remain quiet." His hands moved frantically, "You can't go around acting stupid, being a shitty friend, hurting people and believing the world owes you shit, Miguel!"

Peter turned his back on him, breathing deeply, trying to control the rising anger, finally breaking contact. His shoulders slumped with defeat.

"I knew you were an asshole, but c'mon man... Your own child? Really?" His blue eyes felt like an iceberg caressing upon seizing him a over his shoulder.

"Y dale con la misma pendejada... I did what I thought was right, okay?!" Miguel protested, trying to appeal to that good side that definitely lacked right now.

Peter turned again and stepped in a few strides closer to him, fear lacked in his glare, instead a fiery and scorching fury burned within

"Manning up is the right thing." His calm seething only made Miguel gulp, "Owing your mistakes is the right thing to do!" Peter's voice raised an octave louder

"What kind of fucked up logic is to think you can choose to cheat but choose to not face the consequences?!" Peter jabbed with force his index finger at the treacherous man's chest before him as he hissed every word.

"Funny thing is that you always saw me as a clown. Always bragged on how perfect your life was and thought of me a man child." Each word that came out from Peter was like a stone hitting Miguel,

"And look at you now, acting exactly like that!. How ironic that the roles reversed now." Peter's voice trailed off.

Miguel rolled his eyes so hard it hurted "No me jodas, Parker. Don't fuck with me with your shitty morals You didn't want children either, remember?!."

Disappointment and repugnance plastered all over Peter's face as he shook his head.

"People can do something called change, Miguel. Call me whatever you want, but at least I can say I am a man, cause I owe my mistakes. I don't go around screwing people over and then leave them to fend for themselves."

Peter went to the main door and opened it, with nothing else worthy to spill at Miguel, "Get out."

"You're an hypocrite. When you didn't want kids, everything is alright, but when I do I'm a fucking monster?"

He wasn't welcomed comed anymore. And this only added a couple of more weights in his already heavy bag of burdens, igniting his arrogance even further.

"Are you seriously playing the victim right now?" Peter huffed, "Grow a pair, Miguel. You need them. Get out."

Peter was done, all the energy that had been left was sucked out of him and the stranger before his presence was his biggest leech, he awaited for Miguel to leave, which made the exposed man's chest tighten uncomfortably. The friendship had crumbled. There wasn't anything left for him to salvage anyway.

"Fine." He took his jacket with a forceful grab, "Have it your way then." He spat and left the house with a slam that shook the doorframe.

Your eyes raked over the cream colored walls, as your back nested comfortably against the stretcher. Silence reigned with such deliciousness it soothed your underlying nerves.

A month and a half had gone by ever since yiu had that unwilling visit to the hospital, hitting the sixteen weeks of pregnancy. Your meds worked relatively good, and so did the vitamins to the point of getting a bit more strength and color in you.

But today was different. Everything felt different ever since you woke up. The sheets felt divine, the mattress had the right amount of hardness to help with the lumbar area.

The water in the shower felt heavenly on your skin, it was as if the universe was preparing you for a surprise after so many tough times.

Whatever it had planned, you hoped it was good, or at least, digestible enough to not choke you with it.

The doctor, Mrs. Vincent, typed some information in her computer, then stood to whir the machine alive.

"Lift your shirt up, please." Once you did, she smeared a dollop of blue gel on your naked belly, something you barely had the chance to admire, too busy trying to adapt to the emerging changes in your body.

Some clothes had stopped fitting and if they did, they were a chip too tight. The baby bump wasn't enormous like you had thought, but it wasn't small either, after all, Miguel was a big man. It had enough curvature to make your belly poke out from any clothes you had.

I feel like a walking avocado...

MJ was sitting next to you. Although you felt guilty because of the scene Miguel created at her home, she was more than happy to put him in his place, and so her husband. Peter.

Bless him.

You haven't properly known the man but that action alone of standing up for you against his friend of years, made you a bit hopeful.

You weren't looking for a partner, much less a father to the creature growing within, the least you wanted to do was to complicate yourself even more and add another thing in the already long lists of stress you went by.

But in truth, you wished to be there to see his downfall. Not that you were spiteful, but karma surely was a beautiful thing to watch. And the thought of him being this scared and uncomfortable man, the opposite of what you had seen and experienced, made your lips curve into a satisfied smile.

Life had heard your pleas and you were thankful.

Your breath hitched as soon as the machine's accessory made contact with your skin. Cool plastic, like the cold gel all over your skin.

"Let's see", Dr. Vincent mumbled as she adjusted her glasses in her nose bridge. The white light illuminated well the, place, her faint smell of vanilla perfume tickled your nose, it wasn't an offensive perfume, but it made you a little queasy.

It definitely shut down the medicinal smell you had been received with.

Dr. Vincent's gloved hands took the transducer and gently moved it around your belly.

"Does it feels cold?"

You nodded with a nervous smile, "A bit, yeah."

Mayday's giggles echoed behind you, MJ shushed her with some gentle words and her breath hitched when she looked at the screen.

The redhead looked like was experiencing so many things for the first time again, yet she held your hand with excitement thrumming in her skin.

"Look at that, Mama"

The word still made you uncomfortable, but the way the doctor had spilled it felt oddly soothing. The baby was there, etched forever to your womb, growing within your guts each passing day, squirming like a little worm, making it's presence known with a kick.

MJ could only watch as you chuckled. Your features softened the more you stared at the screen. But then your eyes widened at seeing the baby's 3D image.

Resting against one of your womb, comfortably, squeezing it's little hands over and over.

And if honest, curiosity had gotten a vice like grip on you. The way the baby moved and nested within you was equally disturbing and beautiful.

The transducer moved all over as Dr. Vincent looked up the right angle. Breath grew short and caught in your throat at the doctors next words.

"There she is"

MJ gasped, excited and your eyes turned bleary.

A girl. You were having a girl.

"Congrats, Mama." The doctor printed the pictures.

The little bean inside was a girl. There was no longer an it, no longer the creature, or the baby.

Despite the though times you've endured, she was healthy. Perfectly developing, a bit underweight, but healthy.

A myriad of things crossed your mind, panic, admiration, fear and so much confusion. They all swirled inside your jumbled head, fighting over the control of your emotions.

MJ squeezed your hand as soon as she noticed the red-ish hue blooming in your nose and the glossy eyes.

A little sniff was stifled. The doctor smiled at your apparent emotional reaction.

"It's ok to cry. I've gotten too many boys in the week, seeing a girl a was a change of pace. Thank you for that, hun." Dr. Vincent spoke with a sweet voice.

You couldn't help but sob silently. Digesting every second of what had just happened. The nauseas had subsided momentarily, as if sensing you needed your strength for something else.

It didn't help your hormones that Mayday took a hold of your finger, big blue eyes staring at you with pure child like wonder as if demanding your attention. Your lips quivered, and when she cooed your way, you broke.

It's alright.

She'd surely say. MJ held you close, rubbing your back in soothing circles, letting you absorb the news at your own pace.

"You ok?"

You nodded, holding onto her tightly.

"It's a girl, MJ"

Your best friend smiled sympathetically your way, "Indeed. And she's healthy. You've done a fantastic job in keeping her that way, sweetie. I'm proud of you."

Her words did nothing but make you cry harder.

"I'm so scared, MJ"

"I know. But it's alright. I'm here and Mayday too, remember?"

You chuckled in between tears and sighed, while wiping your tears.

"I'm so scared cause... I don't wanna repeat things all over with her."

"Then let's make them differently, ok? I'm here. You're not alone."

You hugged her once more.

"Let's celebrate, yeah?"

"I... I don't know if I should even do that, all things considered."

MJ chided your name gently.

"You deserve it. You've faced so much already, this little girl right here" She placed her hand in your belly, "has stayed healthy and perfect because of you. You've done so much. So let's celebrate that, ok?"

Even if you thought yourself undeserving of such thing, you nodded and followed her.

You wouldn't admit it, but a deep deep part of you bloomed with a little seed of curiosity and excitement.

-----

Taglist:

@serpentstarr @randomnobody187 @8xbygirl @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @katitakenway @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @damhanallagorm @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @ittybxttykxttytxtty @smartyren @plumplum2099 @angel-of-the-moons @reader-1290 @kaidxra @kimmis-stuff @amberpanda99 @orangemango7

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Of Flowers and Hummingbirds #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara angst

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lvlyghost · 8 months

Note

I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS SO MUCH 😩❤️😍 the way you characterize ghost is so good I can't 😭❤️ I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something for me since your writing style is sooo good frfr

How about ghost and reader have an argument that was started by ghost and he goes a bit too far breaking the reader and making them cry and be just a shell of themselves how would he feel when he sees the readers state and how would he fix it with a happy end please

Broken Wings

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: After a night out, things seem to take a turn in your relationship with Ghost.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tw: angst, hurt/comfort, self doubt, jealousy, probably ooc!simon, curse words. lots of grammar mistakes, poorly edited you know the drill🐝

A/N: i loved this request sooo much, though i did have a lot of trouble when writing it since i wasn't feeling too inspired. also had two different stories but ended up deciding to post this one i might post the other one idk, hope you like this anon! I did try my best🫶🏻🤍🩷✨corrections are appreciated; remember english isn't my native language 🐸

Masterlist✨

"I like you." You said with big bright eyes.

"But no one can know about this. Just you and I. That's enough." He answered, hand tracing the side of your face.

You blink rapidly. You have always been daydreamer. It caused you tons of problems although you tried to do your best when you were out on missions. Ghost is walking ahead of you, boots sinking in the sand beneath your feet. The waves crashing on the shore is something you like listening to and seeing too but under different circumstances. Both of your gear clink with every step you take, it's the only sound as well as the sea that swallows the tense silence that falls between the two.

Things have been rather... strange since two days ago and you've tried to talk to him about it. It wasn't weird for Ghost to push you back every now and then, he was a complicated person and you couldn't be more different from one another.

You were the sun and he was the darkness that came at night or so he had said one night at the common room back at the compound. He was stoic, grumpy and hardly found himself enjoying somebody's company. You on the other hand, even though you wouldn't consider yourself the most outgoing person like Johnny, still you liked talking unlike him. You loved going out with the task force. And most importantly you loved when Ghost joined because you loved him, you loved having him around, despite his gruff responses or annoyed looks.

You jog though your legs shake and tiredness sets in your body.

"How much farther until we get there?" You ask, ignoring the fact that his frame goes rigid when you speak . He doesn't acknowledge you at first. All you hear is a small sigh leaving his lips. You kind of wish he wasn't wearing the damn sunglasses so you could see his eyes.

They always said a lot.

"Thirty minutes. Give or take." The answer is short and cold, breaking your heart a little more than before. Still, you decide to try again.

"Sir, is something bothering you?" Before he can stop it he scoffs, shaking his head. "What?" Brows furrowing on your features. "Simon..."

He stops all of the sudden, turning to face you with a tense stance.

"First of all don't bloody use my name out here. Secondly it's your own fault we've been walking for hours. So don't go asking if something's bothering me, Sergeant."

Taking a step back you open your mouth.

"My fault? I was doing my job!"

"Didn't know your job was to get your fucking head blown off!!" He seethes. "Fucking hell you can't be this reckless and expect me to clap at your poor acting on the field." Your heart begins to race, he had never said such things to you. Taking a small step back your grit your teeth, you hated that his words were making your eyes blurry. This was the Simon you never wanted to see. And yet there he was. "Now we lost the damn intel thanks to you." He spits. But something isn't adding up.

"It's not just that. You've been acting strange for a few days now, Ghost. Don't come and tell me it's just because I did what I was supposed to do!" He stiffs yet again. Jaw clenching so hard you fear he might break it. "Not missing the way you avoid me ever since..." you close your mouth shut. "The pub..." he shifts his weight from one foot to another. The waves are increasing and now reach your feet, dampening your boots. And then you remember him storming off the local pub before he even finished his own drink. Everyone had heard the hard slap to John's arm when he had tried to calm him down. God why didn't you pay more attention to that moment? Because you both had agreed to keep your distances? And going after him was out of discussion? Then the next day you'd barely seen him, just for a short moment during debriefs and that was it. The moment you had gotten up from your seat he was gone. And today you were supposed to go to a special op that had soon become a problem that eventually led to the two of you in the middle of a beach, it was a cloudy day and if it weren't for the heavy layers you wore you're certain you'd be shaking. Sometimes –and you were ashamed of it– you were oblivious to many things and it seemed that Ghost's anger toward you was one of them this time. "What happened?"

He inhales deeply.

"It's over. That's what happened."

Your heart sinks and you swallow hard. Your whole body loses color when he mutters those two words. Out of all the things, all the possibilities you thought he'd say to you, he decided to end everything. Shaking your head you try to touch his hand but he doesn't let you.

"Ghost where is all of this coming from I don't understand!" You choke out. "We were fine..."

"No. You were fine. If I wasn't enough you should've just said so."

"Stop... you... what the hell are you talking about???"

"Nothing that matters anymore. Keep walking and don't say another word. That's an order."

He turns and keeps walking as if nothing just happened. As if he didn't just completely broke your heart.

'You were fine'.

What was that supposed to mean? You think, walking a few meters behind him, scared to even say anything else; to even try to grab him by the arm and force him to talk. It would only make things worse right now.

By the time you reach the safe house it's started to rain the silence between the two is deafening and tense. Ghost's cold demeanor and hurtful words have left a scar. Never in a million years would you think you'd be here, with a broken, shattered heart and no explanation from his part.

Words that pierced through your soul.

That day something died inside you. And he was the reason.

Two weeks, three days and seven hours.

That's the time that's passed since that day at the beach. Two weeks since Simon broke you and gave you no reasons.

You're a disaster.

You barely eat or get any sleep. There's dark circles under your eyes and you're sure you've lost some weight too. Ghost has been gone on a mission alone with Johnny for a week now, which left you with a lot of spare time to think about the two of you.

More tears stream down your face when you remember that day. Had you missed something important? Was Ghost's mind somewhere dark? Somewhere it shouldn't be? God knows he was... difficult to say the least. But every single time you tried, tried to be there for him. Did those late nights at your home meant nothing? Had he not seen the way you looked at him? Had you not shown him enough of your affection? Everything you'd do for him if he simply asked?

Getting up from your bed you get ready for another day. Not bothering to lace your boots just shoving them inside your shoes you walk down the hallways until you get to the training room. Gaz is talking to John in the far corner, the Captain's arms are crossed over his chest while Kyle frowns and shakes his head. You don't to even go and salute them as you normally would do, instead you put your earphones on and hit the treadmill.

It doesn't last long though; after one minute someone stops it by pressing down the off button. Your brows knitted together as you stop, turning to look up at Gaz who smiles politely.

"Sorry for that, sweetheart. You okay?" You nod, but say nothing more. "Come here." He pats your shoulder and helps you down from the treadmill. If you could smile now you would. But no even the faintest, softest grin leaves your lips. Gaz takes a quick glimpse at your face and rubs the back of his neck. "You know, Soap and Ghost just got back. Heard Lt. was asking about you."

"Oh." You murmur. "Okay." You don't move nor dare to meet his eyes. "I'll just head back to my room."

"Uhmm. I- what I meant is he's looking for you..." Shaking your head you walk away, not having the energy to face Simon right now. And why did he need to see you? Made pretty clear that you two were done, therefore was no need to see each other unless it was work related.

"You really do like it here don't you." Your body goes rigid. This was supposed to be your safe place. The roof of the armory was rarely visited by anyone at this hour. Simon's voice seems softer than ever before but you don't answer. Not even turn to acknowledge him. You hear muttered words and then he crouches down to your level. "Price said you're not eating. Do we have to send you to the military counselor now?" How dare he? After all he caused this. You know he doesn't mean it in bad way, somehow he cares for you deep down. Your hands ball into fists, fighting the urge to snap at him, to push him down and just break him the way he broke you. But you don't because you still love him, and could never bring yourself to hurt him. Simon is staring intently at you, waiting, hoping for any sign. He knows he shouldn't be here. Bloody hell he knows you shouldn't even look his way never again. He deserves it. Every bit of it. "Talk to me, love. Please." It's a low whisper. A plea.

"What do you want Ghost?" You ask softly. Simon leans closer, sitting down with his legs propped up against his chest and arms resting on his knees. It's a funny look for someone his size.

"Jus' wanted to see you." You scoff playing with your hands, refusing to lock eyes with him because if you did you'd be done. "Wanted to explain..."

"Then just do it!" You sob. Your lower lip trembles. "And then leave."

"Fine." He agrees. "But I'm not leaving. I- I made a mistake, and took it out on you okay? I was scared."

"Scared?" Your head snaps to where he is sitting. It's painful just to look at him. "Why would you be scared Ghost?" You retaliate

He grumbles, never fancied when you called him that when you were alone. Quite the contradiction given the fact that he told you not to call him his name that day at the beach.

"Because I saw you." He points out. "That night. Everything you're missing for being with someone like me. Can't even show proper affection because it's not me... and you deserve more than that. More than me."

"Ghost..."

"No. Lemme finish, love." He swallows. It's always amusing how controlled he seems. "I lost it, yeah? You looked so happy. How on earth do I deserve you, on what universe do I deserve ya'?"

Sucking in a sharp breath you recall the moments that preceded the events. The sound of music blasting through the speakers, when you joined the rest of the soldiers on the other side of the pub. Private Miller had slung his arm over your shoulders in a friendly manner. You laughed and drank too much that night, it was joyful. Everyone was there, your team. You never thought he felt that way about it.

"Oh my... Simon." You cover your mouth and cry silently. He hesitated for a moment before pulling you close and into his lap. "Should've known something was wrong. Forgive me... I should've stayed with you, follow you after you left." You cry out.

You were scared too, for very different reasons. That he'd get tired of you eventually, that if you weren't cautious enough your secret would be known. Both would get suspended thus separated and discharged.

"No, love. You shouldn't have to go running after me. I should be running after you. Now forgive me, say you will. Or else I might just lose myself for good." You cradle his face in your hands lifting the balaclava just above the bridge of his nose. Thumb tracing his lower lip. Your tears have dried.

"I've missed you so much, Simon. All you gotta do is talk to me, always." He tightens his grip around you. "You think Price would let us go home tonight and not ask questions?"

His chuckle is short and soft.

"Yeah. I think he's known for a while now."

#cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mw22 #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost modern warfare #cod simon riley #call of duty ghost simon riley #cod mw ghost

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divineidolatry · 2 months

Text

CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER 1

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 4,352

just before our love got lost you said "i am as constant as a northern star" and i said "constantly in the darkness, where's that at? if you want me i'll be in the bar."

“Coriolanus…” You drop the silver cutlery on the fine porcelain, the sound sharp enough that he winces. Good. This should hurt him as much as it hurts you. “What are we even doing anymore?”

His face holds that cold expression you can’t read, beautiful and impossible, a question you saw the first day you met him and you knew you wanted to crack him open.

You always knew he had ambition, and you possessed plenty to match. Power called to you from an early age, you’d just gotten smarter about you grabbed it. Still, he made you better. He made you sharper. And in turn, you could make him look soft enough to please.

But the parts of you that slotted together like perfect gears before had grown jagged and mismatched now. His ambitions mean more than you. They come before you. A part of you thinks it would be okay if he still made room for you at the end of the night, but it’s all perfunctory and dutiful.

“We need to talk. Actually talk.”

It’s not for a lack of trying to understand him, but there’s walls in Coryo that shift position, closing him off when you’re not careful enough. Talking with him turns into talking to him. He never did share much, even when you made it clear that you supported his ambitions, never troubling him with your own. You’re big girl, after all, independent and capable, you can hold your own value and underscore his. You know how to charm the worst of them and flatter the best of them, you are an asset beyond compare and yet he’s losing interest. Galling.

“I’ve been loyal, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve kept clean in public so you can defile me in private. I play your game so well, and yet…” You flick your finger against the crystal wine glass, lipstick stains rimming the edge. You dressed to the nines tonight, giving him a last chance to look at you, at everything you offered him as a partner in every sense of the word. “You make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

His silence hangs heavy and painful in the air between you two. There’s something so pristine and perfect about the room that itches in your gut, that sometimes makes you want to take the knife and stab him through the back of his hand just to see if he’d even flinch.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

Oh, how icy his gaze is. It cuts right through you, past all your defenses.

These dinners, once bubbling with conversation and excited plans about the next chance you’d have to shift the board, have turned to quiet and perfunctory affairs now. He meets your eyes less and less on the university campus. You spend hours waiting for him in the quiet hallways on the top floor no one goes to, doing your seminar readings in the same hidden alcove where he once liked to make you moan so high a rumor had spread of a ghost haunting.

It doesn’t matter to you that he is busy, it mattered that he stopped including you, that he didn’t even try. And you can’t get through to him. It’s getting sad — worse, stale. On top of that, people are talking. Gossip loud enough that you could hear it from the back rows in lecture halls, of discord between Panem’s golden future and his leading lady. Bad metrics for both of you… and it fucking stings too.

His heart isn’t in your mouth anymore, and you are beginning to starve. And he’d let you.

You fold up the napkin, dropping it on top of the half-finished meal, knowing the waste will irk him. Whatever hook you still have in him you will pull on. You must. You refuse to go down without damages.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s easier this way, me deciding to leave you, that way you won’t have to clean up the mess. That’s why you’ve been so cold, right?”

He doesn’t speak. Pushing the chair out, you get up and walk the length of the table, your heels clicking loud against the marble. You move close to him, press your body against his and feel the heat of his breath on your skin… but his expression does not shift, and you shake your head with a pained noise catching in your throat.

“I don’t think you are this cold,” you whisper, slipping your hand in under his shirt, pressing your fingers against his chest. His heart beats hard and strong. “I hope you realize when I’m gone…” You trail off, struggling with the words.

Silence. Again. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you try to reconcile this… and he is letting you flounder. Has he allowed you to ask for his time with the intention to give you nothing? The cruelty in that hurts even worse.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek, scraping your nails over his skin, hoping it stings as much as his icy silence does. You gather your bag and coat, and leave his penthouse quietly.

In the elevator, you wipe at an errant tear. The air around you feels crushing but you cannot give in under pressure. You won’t.

For a few days, you don’t cry. You had foreseen this outcome to the conversation after all, made your preparations to leave as little behind as possible, and fortified yourself to understand that no matter how perfect a match you seemingly were for each other, you still actively had to choose one another. Whatever had consumed him also kept him from letting you in as he used to, and it meant he was no longer choosing you.

The barb still lodged itself deep in your chest, leaking poison all the same.

You go through the motions, brushing your hair, washing your face, studying. It’s in one of the lectures, the professor slipping through the lackluster material, that it hits like a fist between the ribs, and you clutch at your side remembering how Coryo would have made this make sense to you. It hits all at once how he’s not there, won’t be, he’s not going to make even the dullest media history class shine bright anymore.

When the tears come, it is Clemensia who wipes them away, lets your head rest in her lap, and offers to fetch the rest of your things. She was his friend first; you’d been a year under them in the Academy. When she comes back she doesn’t say if he reacted, though you doubt he was even at home. She strokes your hair, assuring you she won’t pick a side. Through all her care of you in the weeks to come, she proves her words, not letting you flinch away in public.

“Just because he plays a good game,” she reminds you, “doesn’t mean you can’t make a better move.”

You slowly get back on your feet, keeping her words in mind. She helps with applying your makeup on days when your hands are too shaky, keeping your perfectly crafted mask in place. She glues herself to your side as you attend classes, keeping it cordial with Coriolanus while your gaze slips past him. You forgot how good it felt to be someone’s priority.

“Why are you being so nice about this?” you ask one night, exasperated as she’s getting you ready for a party, squirming in your seat. You don’t feel ready for re-emerging into society, but what choice do you have? Crawl into a hole and vanish? You’d never give him the pleasure.

She rolls her eyes and gets up off the floor to fetch a dusty bottle of posca from the shelves.

“It’s not that different,” she says, handing a glass over to you. “I was in his corner too, and it bit me. Hard.” She grimaces, scratching at her wrist before rolling down the sleeve over her hands.

“Did you two…” You have wondered, after all, jealousy flickering at times like a dangerous question mark.

“Not like that! I just needed him to show up for me, to do this one thing, and he was busy chasing his own greatness.”

It's a relief to hear, mostly because you have an easier time believing her than him. “But you got over it.”

“I can’t fault him. If you’re here, it means something, and it’s not always flattering.” She wrinkles her nose at the posca even as she drinks it down. “When you want something so bad because you need to make sense of the world, to bring some sense of order to the chaos of life… I know you get it. He’s always been this way, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Her words are just a whisper as she pins curls in place on your head, her hand lingering to trace your chin as she examines your face.

Clemensia had taken a liking to doing these little things for you, drawing from a deep well of knowledge she’d amassed. It had become an outlet for her, creativity to couple with her own ambition. She liked to practice different looks on you before paring them down to a more fitting style suitable to current trends, but each flourish of her brush warmed your skin.

You knew that duality well — of wanting to create and struggling to find the time and place. Ever since you were small, your parents had clung to the idea that singing lessons and dance classes were of utmost importance, even keeping them going during the war. They wanted you to excel, rise in standing, and it had honed you.

Unbidden, one of his old comments floats up in your mind, making your breath stutter. ‘You have the prettiest voice of all the girls in Panem, do you know that?’ And while you scoffed then, your ego bloomed under his praise. ‘Tell me more about how much you love my voice, Coryo…’

“Hey… come back to me, you better not ruin the hard work I’ve just done, I don’t do hard work for just anyone, you know?” Clemmie teases, but you can see a stern look in her eyes. You don’t have a lot of time, and she isn’t keen to waste it. “We have somewhere to be soon, okay?”

You nod. She’s right. The Capitol’s numerous galas and grand events throughout the year had kept going despite your broken heart, and tonight is the Rose Ball, an extravagant gala held in the grand conservatory with an orchestra playing and the guest list consisting of only the names of the highest esteem in the Capitol. And your name was still on it. Tonight, you intend to make sure it isn’t the last invite sent your way, no matter what.

Clemensia finishes with a lipstick red as wine, smiling as she puts her hands on your shoulders and turns you to the mirror.

“Look at you,” she says, tilting your chin up so the light catches the pearlescent shimmer dusted on your skin. “Everyone will be falling for you. And he will have no choice but to watch what he lost.”

You shiver in excitement.

You share the ride with some people Clemensia knows, and while they gossip away, you sit alone with your thoughts, the mask wavering for a moment. This is the first formal gathering you’re attending since the split… Several months of picking up the pieces to pretend like everything’s fine, to recoup as much of your image as possible, while still doing him the courtesy to not hurt his. You have been so good, and still people look at you as if you made a mistake and not him.

Tonight would be harder to find a bathroom to tuck away into, an empty study room to make your safe haven. No cover to hide behind, so you needed to don the appropriate armor, to appear unaffected. To tell a tale to outdo his. After all, Clemensia’s right, everyone can be made to want you. You will move on, and you will make him regret it while you do. You will remind him that your heart isn’t a delicate plaything, but a fire furious enough to match his.

You play with the pearls around your neck, the matching gold and pearl earrings bouncing against your cheek as the car passes over cobblestoned streets. They are the very same Coriolanus gifted you on your first anniversary, and weighted with memories. You thought about throwing them away immediately after the break-up, but that would have said something about him winning, and you can’t stand that.

Clemensia, hawk-eyed as ever, notices your nervous fiddling and nudges your foot with hers right as the car pulls up to the entrance. “Shall we then?” Clemensia offers you her arm and you take it gratefully. You revel in the sync of your heels clicking as you ascend the hard steps to your most important battlefield yet.

Past the heavy gilded doors, the gala’s milling crowd slows down as you enter, eyes drawn to you. You hold your head high, gripping Clemensia’s arm tight. No one here will get the pleasure of seeing you flinch. They announce your names, and you smile, brilliant and beautiful. The corset underneath your rose-red dress keeps your back straight, reminiscent of old elegances that has the old garde softening for you.

You think you spot him on the far end of the room, but the shadows are long and the lights dimmed. His gaze feels a certain way though, and there’s a wicked warmth in your chest that only he has ever made you feel.

“I’m going to do reconnaissance,” Clemensia says as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Let me get the lay of the land.”

“Go, go.” You wave her off, confidently stepping into a circle that parts to let you in amongst them, laughing at the right time. If there is one dance you know better than any other, it is this: the social graces and manners expected of you in these cutthroat places, where the marble runs red with lies and blood. Your heels know where to step even when sleepwalking.

While your mask does not waver, you sure feel bare under all the scrutiny, hungry gazes roving over every bared slip of skin on your arms. After what feels like hours of compliments, cruelties and layered comments, you find a brief escape in an alcove on the second floor, rubbing at your sore ankles as you catch your breath, head spinning. Roses weigh in on all sides of you, enchanting and heady. If you had to say something nice, it’s that Coriolanus knows how to work with the best event planners the Capitol has to offer.

You rip off a handful of petals, crushing them until the fragrant oils spill forth, and press them down the front of your dress before you get up to continue mingling.

The night is long: a dance with the Featherpillow boy a year your junior who easily dances circles around most of the men here; a glass of champagne with the Fairweather twins as you chat about the latest fashion trends and they enviously compliment your pearls; Clemensia whisking you away to a polite and stiff conversation with the Ravenstills. The night goes on for some time in this manner, gliding between dances, advances, and gossip. No one can seem to keep you in one place.

And everywhere you go, you feel the constant, unrelenting pierce of eyes on you. Not just the masses… his.

You are showing him up. Everyone knows it. Coming to his event with seemingly no hard feelings, dressed like a classical painting, fielding every conversation with natural ease and charisma. Everyone wants to see you, talk to you, be seen with you. It’s a move that will have lesser men folding their hands.

Coryo isn’t.

There’s no shortage of attention in his corner, the constant requests for a word from important political seats and fellow society greats, and invitations to dance which he only takes when you do. The undertow between you is palpable. He is an inevitability, you can feel it when you draw close during dances, gazes brushing past each other.

He is throwing you off, little by little, his smile blistering bright and dangerous across the room, and he catches you looking. Just once. And once is all he needs.

You swipe a glass of posca from a passing waiter, knocking it back in one go. This wasn’t part of your plan.

It definitely isn’t a part of the plan that Coriolanus appears in front of you, taking the empty glass away from you with a cool smile.

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, voice perfectly warm and polite. Every single eye watches the two of you with rapt attention as he offers his hand out to you.

He knows you can’t turn him down now, and he is relishing in it. His eyes are lit up, a fire in them you have not seen in months. You put your hand in his, beaming up at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, dragging out the last word until it drips like daggers from your lips.

The two of you assume the starting position, you with one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice that it is all too comfortable a role to slip back into: the perfect pair, polished and primed for the show. A lone pianist begins to play, and you recognize the tune as one of your very favorites… one you played for Coriolanus more than once on the grand piano in his penthouse.

Maintaining a polite expression, you shoot him a look. “Did you request this piece?”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?” He keeps it civil. More than civil, he keeps it warm, saccharine sweet even as he continues to lead you without a single misstep while giving the audience a perfect dance.

“I thought you’d forget about me,” you say, testing the waters. “Like you do to everyone who no longer interests you.”

“You think I’d be that cruel?”

“I know you would be.”

A hum rumbles in his chest and you feel it against your body, heating your cheeks. The dance goes on, gliding and spinning, the room growing dizzying either from the drinks or the way he won’t drop eye contact with you.

This much attention from him was not the plan, definitely not the goal, and as the tempo slows for the twinkling end of the piece, you think you might fall over if not for the sheer adrenaline coursing through you… and the firmness of his grip, fingers digging into the back of your corset.

As the music falls quiet, there’s a brief moment where you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air releasing as the audience applauds. You blush, bowing to him, simmering with the dual-edged feeling of having been made a spectacle of — and a part of you enjoyed it because it was him doing it.

He offers his arm to you and you hesitate, wanting to search out Clemensia in the crowd, but with the expectant eyes still on you, it’s hardly the time to turn him down.

Shit.

You take his arm with trepidation, chewing the inside of your cheek as he leads you to the upper level of the conservatory. As you pass by Clemensia you shoot her a pleading glance, but she cannot save you, and you both know it.

He knows the place like the back of his hand and leads you to a tucked-away alcove crowned with rose arches. The plush settee is comfortable but small, and you wind up pressed against his side when you sit down. Worse still, it’s like he delights in tormenting you as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” With a gentle huff, you finally speak your mind, voice hushed. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, of his entire body, and yours never forgot how good he could make you feel, aching for him like a traitor. “Did you want to make a fool of me?”

He does nothing to assuage the pained curiosity of your words, tutting as he reaches up to finger one of your earrings. “No need. You and I can both agree you made plenty spectacle of yourself all on your own tonight, darling.”

You hold back from chewing him out, refusing to align his glance to his. It always frustrated him back then and it still does, as he moves his hand to your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Hard time letting go?”

He knows just how to stoke the fire in you. “Of you? Never.”

“As you say.” He rubs the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. “You seemed all too comfortable letting everyone reach out to pull you around tonight, truly playing the belle of the ball, hm?”

“That’s how the Capitol landscape is and you know it. I was not trying to upstage you.”

He tuts at that. “You think that is why I’m upset?”

You furrow your brow. “What else would it be?”

“Because for all your flitting about tonight…” He lowers his voice, and you lean in instinctively. “You wouldn’t have deigned to give me the time had I not put you on the spot.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your mental game board in disarray. “You’re jealous?”

You’ve learned to not cry over him anymore. Even when it hurts, when the three years down the drain remind themself like a splinter under your nail, you’ve learned better control than that. But this time, you feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes. When one slides down your cheek, he wipes it with his thumb.

Damn it, damn him, damn it all. You swallow.

“After everything, you are jealous? I didn’t even come here with someone else.”

“You came here with Clemensia.”

“Yes, a friend.”

“She was my friend first.”

“Oh, don’t be a child.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his chest. He holds your hand there, and when the first feeling that runs through your heart is a sliver of hope, you know you’re done for.

“I’ve missed you.”

Check mate.

He wins again.

You try to pull away, but he resists, pressing you closer into him. For all that hurt, all the frustration, when you look into his eyes, when your gaze flits down to his lips, you still want to crush his lips with yours, to slot right into his life like you never left, and that thought gnaws at you. You hate yourself for it. And your mask is not that strong…

“You really could have thought about that earlier, Coriolanus. You had every opportunity.”

He seems content with not elaborating on why he froze you out, left you in the dark, and it frustrates you. His only response, in fact, is to act on the heat of the moment, pulling you into a kiss.

It’s greedy and hungry and he bites at your lower lip, causing you to whine. His lips are soft and taste of sugary pastries and finely aged wines and oh, it would be so easy to fall head first into how good it feels, how much you missed this, to climb on his lap right here…

You lick into his mouth, wanting all you can take before you part from him, unable to forget where you are, that there is no privacy in this place, and that you can’t risk everything for him — however badly you want to. When you pull away, you see the mess you’ve made of him, lipstick on the corners of his mouth, and it thrills to know he’s made one of you too.

“Not here,” you say. But it isn’t a no. It’s hardly a stop. It’s a challenge and you desperately want him to rise to it.

He waves over one of his attendants to assist in making you both presentable, leaving you in the seat once he is taken care of. You hold back a protest, ready to settle back into the shadows of his ambition, but then overhear him whispering about “ready the car” and “make sure they have a good time” before he turns back to you. There’s the fire that could burn the whole of the Capitol down if he wanted it. There’s the hunger that could have you willing to offer him of yourself just to sate him. It leaves you speechless. It leaves you burning.

He whisks you away out the back entrance to the waiting car and once seated in the back, partitions pulled up, you spare no time climbing on top of him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He fingers your earrings again, hand trailing down to your necklace. “Our first anniversary, hmm? Do you remember why I had the rose engraved in the gold?”

You aren’t interested in reminiscing anymore, you want the present moment, you want to burn your mouth on his. You kiss him again, rocking against him as you do, relishing in the way he tightly grabs your hips, helps you keep grinding down as he lifts up the skirt higher, skimming the top of your thigh-high stockings.

“Missed you too.” Your breath is hot and ragged against his skin.

You look over his face, bodies still slowly rocking together, and when your semi-glazed eyes meet his, you see nothing but fire, dangerous and warming, everything you have ever wanted from him. In a craze, you find yourself begging.

“Please… make me yours again.” It’s a romantic notion, and it will haunt you come morning, but now you are nothing but a bundle of nerves and want, all ripe for his picking.

“Patience,” he breathes against your neck, his lips on the pearls. “We’re almost there.”

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #corionlanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games x reader #tbosas fanfiction #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games

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wolken-himmel · 1 year

Text

In which (Y/n), affected by a love potion, falls head over heels for Kalim.

He should fix the problem, but he doesn't really want to.

Request by anon.

"(Y/n), are you alright? Say 'tuna' if you can hear me!"

"Ace, if you hadn't added that bay leaf, none of this would have happened!"

"Stop blabbering my ear off, Deuce... We need to find (Y/n) right now..."

The trio's concerned gazes were all fixated on the magenta fog that encircled your table. Fortunately, everyone had been able to flee from the explosion of your kettle — everyone but you. Now, most of the students cowered on the other half of the laboratory, and the alchemy professor approached the accident sight with quick strides.

Ace crossed his fingers behind his back, praying that you were alright — for the sake of his alchemy grade, of course.

"I'm right here!" you yelled out between wheezes. Your silhouette became clearer the more the fog escaped through the open windows. To everyone's relief, you emerged without a visible scratch. "Don't worry... nothing happened. My eyes just need some time to recover from the mist..." Your fingers rubbed away at your burning eyes, but it was nothing serious.

Crewel let out a low growl. "You're lucky, Spade and Trappola. If anything had happened to (L/n), you two would be in deep trouble—"

"But nothing happened, right?" Ace said sheepishly.

Before the situation could escalate more, the door was thrown open and hit the wall loudly. All eyes glanced into the direction of the exit — even you, whose eyes now had stopped burning. Perhaps the hasty movement had been a mistake on your part — because when you raised your gaze, your eyes were no longer (E/c) but magenta. And slowly but surely, your strained face softened up into a tender smile at the sight of the visitor: Kalim Al-Asim.

"Professor Crewel, I'm so sorry that I'm late—" the second-year cried out and ran a hand through his dishevelled white hair. "I must have slept in again..."

The professor clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Al-Asim, this isn't your class. You should be in PE with Coach Vargas right now," Crewel said without any hesitancy. Huh, so this must happen regularly if the professor had already managed to memorise Kalim's schedule.

"Oh— really?" Kalim let out a sheepish chuckle and bowed apologetically. "Then I'm terribly sorry—"

Just as he was about about turn around and leave the room, you happily chimed up, "Kalim! Kalim, you're here!" As quickly as your wobbly leg allowed you to, you rushed over to his side and wrapped yourself around his arm. Your eyes shone brightly when you smiled at him. "Did you come to check up on me? Oh, you're always so kind... That's what I appreciate about you the most."

"(Y/n), nice to see you here!" Kalim exclaimed obliviously. "Do you wanna hang out later? We could study together—"

"Yes, yes, yes! Always yes."

"I'm glad you're so eager to study with me! I also love spending time with you! You're always so fun to be around, (Y/n)."

The scene caused a stir of concerned murmurs from your fellow classmates — especially the trio of culprits. As if fascinated by the strange display of public affection, none of them could take their eyes off you as you peppered Kalim's face with innocent kisses. He merely laughed along, letting you do as you pleased.

Ace shook his head in disgust. "Something's strange about the prefect's behaviour."

"Was it your potion?" Crewel asked as soon as he had separated the two lovebirds.

"N-No! You're so funny, professor..." Ace said and laughed the whole situation off. "As if we idiots would have been able to brew a highly complicated love potion or anything like that!"

Deuce merely nodded along. "Y-Yes, that's right!"

Still, your three friends eyed you in concern when, after class had ended, you immediately stormed off into the direction of the Scarabia dorm.

"Alright, something is clearly wrong with (Y/n). Whatever it is, you need to fix it, Kalim."

Jamil hadn't been able to take it anymore — the way you clung to Kalim like a lifeline and always laughed so dumbly whenever he made a bad joke. He had promised himself to not question your strange behaviour because it seemed to make Kalim happy, but enough was enough. If he had to listen to you rambling about his dorm leader's beautiful and stunning ruby eyes again, he was sure he would throw himself to the snakes.

Currently, Kalim and you were lounging on Scarabia's balcony, playing a round of mancala. Well, it was obvious that you were letting Kalim win — whether you wanted to see him smile again or were just too distracted, no one knew.

"Relax, Jamil! The prefect is just in a good mood today!" The dorm leader let out a proud gasp when he won another round against you. So taken by happiness, he jumped to his feet and lifted you up by the waist. "Isn't that right, (Y/n)?" Your laughter was music to his ears when he spun you around in circles.

When he finally set you down, you fell into his arms and let out a tender sigh. "My mood is always sky-high when I'm with you, beloved."

Jamil buried his face in his hands, especially when his dorm leader continued to ignore him. "The prefect just called you 'beloved.' That's enough reason for me to worry," he grumbled under his breath.

An offended gasp escaped your lips at that remark. "Kalim, don't listen to Jamil! He's just a hater, so just ignore him," you huffed and wrapped your arms around your beloved's neck dramatically. Then, you scrunched up your nose at Jamil and shooed him away. "Nobody understands our love!"

Kalim continued laughing softly when you buried your face in his shoulder. "If you say so, (Y/n)— oh, I didn't know you were such a cuddler!"

Upon being ignored, Jamil stomped away in frustration.

A sly smile appeared on your lips when you pulled away to face him properly. Your magenta eyes flashed happily when you extended a hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into the gesture and closed his eyes. Now that the intruder was gone, your face softened into an expression of genuine adoration. "I love you, Kalim," you breathed out mindlessly.

His eyes snapped open in surprise, though that surprise quickly turned into delight. "Really? You do?" he asked in disbelief. When you nodded eagerly, he let out a joyous gasp. "We should get married, then! That would be like... an eternal sleepover!"

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, you were stopped by the appearance of three figures in the entrance of the balcony. You furrowed your eyebrows in dismay when Ace, Deuce, and Grim stormed over to you, each with a suspicious bucket of water in their hands.

"Woah, hold your horses!" Grim yelled and narrowed his eyes. "My henchhuman ain't getting married just yet."

The tension in the air was non-existent to Kalim, who merely laughed their worried expressions off. Instead, he continued to hold you gently, an excited smile on his lips. "Oh! You three came just in time," the dorm leader chimed dreamily. "Ace and Deuce, you can be the bridesmaids. And Grim, you can be the flower girl!"

A collective choke of disgust went through the round of first-years.

Your grip on your beloved was tight, like that of a boa. The furious glare you shot your friends caused them to step back in fear. "First Jamil and now you three!" Your gaze softened up when you grabbed Kalim by his shoulders and shook him back and forth desperately. "Kalim, we're such star-crossed lovers... The universe doesn't want us to be together, but that won't stop us, will it? Promise me we'll always stay together. I could never live without you."

Kalim started laughing lightly, flattered at your intense words. "Oh (Y/n)... You're adorable..."

"You do know that you're under the influence of a love potion, (Y/n)?" Ace asked with a quirked eyebrow. "None of this is real."

"...Really?" Kalim asked in surprise. His innocent expression fell in disappointment when he gazed into your cloudy magenta eyes.

Deuce rolled his eyes. "You could have been nicer about this, Ace."

"Is what they're saying true, (Y/n)?"

"No! Don't listen to those liars!"

So caught up in convincing your beloved of the realness of your feelings for him, you didn't notice when Ace yelled, "Now, Grim!"

"Here goes nothing!" At his signal, the cat lurched forward and threw the contents of his bucket at Kalim and you.

A loud scream escaped your lips, and you jerked back in shock when the frigid water came into contact with your skin. The shock somehow allowed your foggy mind to finally clear up. Your friend's sighed in relief when you opened your (E/c) eyes — no more magenta.

Your face was still contorted in confusion. "What... What happened? Why am I soaking wet?" Then, your gaze snapped over to your friends and the buckets in their hands. A low growl escaped your lips as you threw yourself at them. "Ace, Deuce— and Grim. Of course it was you who threw a bucket of water at me. Wait till I get you... You're dead..."

"Glad you're back to your normal self!" Ace teased while dodging your attack easily.

Eventually, a small water fight broke out between the four of you. With the need for revenge, you wrought the buckets of water out of their hands and let them taste their own medicine.

Somehow, all seemed forgotten when even Kalim joined in, throwing beams of water at you with his unique magic. He seemed to be having the time of his life when he finally exclaimed, "Oh, you four are always so much fun to be around!"

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #reader insert #y/n #disney twst #twst x you #kalim al asim #twst kalim #twst kalim al asim #twst kalim x reader #twisted wonderland kalim #kalim al asim x reader #gender neutral reader

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spectres-n-soap · 3 months

Text

Your Warmth is Fading - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - pregnancy complications, hospital stuff

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It was late at night, long past visiting hours but your nightmare still haunted you. The taste of bile still lingered on your tongue and sweat still stuck to your skin. At least your breathing returned to normal. The quiet of the military hospital room was off putting but the machine showed Soap was still alive. The pattern of his heart beat, the IV bags hung up and the soft breathing of his soothed you.

You slinked over to the chair next to his bed and sat down. Soap looked better, no longer on death's doorstep even if all the tubes and wires connected to him unsettled you. His face was relaxed despite the discoloration of his right cheek. You thought back to what the doctor who had first reviewed the two of you had said. The comment was still bitter in your mouth. The doctor had called you both lucky. What a load of shite. Luck would have stopped it all from happening in the first place.

You kept an eye on Soap a little longer until sleep started to pull at you again. You stood up and before you left, your lips grazed his forehead. At least he was still alive.

"You're joking." you say, looking at the doctor with your brows pinched so tight you could feel your skin pulling tight.

"You should be in bed rest for the last month of your pregnancy." the doctor reiterated. "For your safety and the baby's." Simon looks between you and the doctor. He wants to side with the doctor and also strangle him. How could he have not caught this sooner? "Your baby being positioned like this will only cause more harm to your body the longer you move around.”

You shake your head, anger making your face turn hot. Those fucking Braxton Hicks hadn't been all Braxton Hicks but a major sign of your baby, Johnny's baby, being sideways. If it wasn't so fucking terrible you might be laughing. "How did you not catch this sooner?" you snarl.

"This is why we insist on check ups every week. So we can catch things like this.”

"But what about all the other check ups?" you huff and sit up, grasping onto Simon's arm for a little extra support. "What if you had missed it completely?”

"Ma'am please, getting aggressive will not do any of us any good.”

"A month I have to spend doing nothing." you grumble and cross your arms over your chest. You wonder, a thing you've been doing often, how Johnny would react to all of this. Wonder if he would be spitting mad and yelling at the doctor with a thick Scottish accent. You can almost hear it. Pulling from memories of him training recruits or yelling at an insubordinate recruit.

"It's for the best." Simon says, physically stopping himself from adding a 'love' to the end. He was sure you would throw your shoes at him if he let it slip. You had always been a firecracker and pregnancy seemed to amplify how quickly your anger flared up. It would be cute, he thinks, if he didn't know that you could gut him like a fish.

You glare at Simon the entire trip back to the flat, refuse his help getting out of his truck and slam the truck door shut hard. The last few weeks you've struggled up the stairs to your flat and now you're marching up them like you weren't advised to keep exercise low. “Would ya fuckin’ wait?” Simon huffs. Your glare could melt steel and you slam the flat door behind you. Simon groans and opens it to find you pacing back and forth.

“Just sit down.” Simon says and grabs you by the shoulders. You push him away a little, stumbling yourself from the force needed to do such an act.

“Don't tell me what to do.” you snap and run your fingers through your hair. You were sure you would lose your fucking mind if you had to rest all day for a month.

“You should update Mrs and Mr MacTavish on the situation.” Simon suggests, “Maybe Mrs MacTavish has gone through this before.” You glare at him but pull out your phone anyway and begin to type.

You're there when he wakes up, this time not high on pain meds. “Lass?” he groggily muttered and tried to rub at his eyes. Soap hissed when he felt the IV needle in his arm at the movement. “What ‘re ye doin’ here?”

“Waiting for you to wake up.” you stated, voice cool and Soap sunk further into blankets and hospital bed. He knew that look in your eyes, you were on the verge of an explosion. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” you snapped and flicked his forehead for good measure. “Running into that building like a man with a death wish.” you tossed your hands up in the air.

“Well I'm not dead.”

“I had to perform CPR on your MacTavish!” you snarled, “Blood loss might've fogged that part over but I remember!”

“Lass-”

“Do not ‘Lass’ me.” you stood from your chair, the spot you had nearly grown roots into if not for the different appointments you had due to the wounds on your hands. “You nearly died and I had to watch it. Do you seriously think I wouldn't be upset?”

“Lass I'm fine.” Soap tried to say and sit up. He groaned and clutched his side when the pain shocked through his system. “Bleeding Christ.”

You sat back down in your chair and wiped at your tears so he wouldn't see them. “You pull that shit on me again MacTavish and I'll let the crows eat you.”

“I'm not on bed rest yet Simon.” you huff and nudge Simon away and out of the kitchen. “I can make my own food.”

“Never said ya couldn't.” Simon mutters as he takes a step back.

“Go finish setting up the baby changing station.” you say, swallowing the snarl. You keep reminding yourself that this isn't Simon's fault. Mrs. MacTavish has texted back, telling you that she once had a friend with the same complication but not to worry. The month would pass quickly. You had to also turn off your phone to stop from messaging something hurtful. The military had always kept you moving. Running courses, training recruits or deployed into the field. Pregnancy had already shown you down and put you on light duty until you took leave.

You tap your foot as you stir the soup and your eyes drift to the front of your hands. The scars had faded well thanks to treatments but sometimes you wish they hadn't. Just as a reminder, something to run your hands over that wasn't your bulging stomach. You reach and turn on your phone, holding your breath as well as you could bring 7 months pregnant as the brands sign flashes.

You stare at your lock screen, a group picture of the 141. Back when Soap was alive. A ding as a notification pops up, a message from Mrs MacTavish from several hours ago.

“Would you like a baby shower before you have to go on bed rest?”

A baby shower? You had a small one at four months. Just Price and Gaz, Simon wasn't invited. The baby clothes you had were from those two. You really didn't want another. So much stress and surely more people. You had seen the family pictures on the wall in their house.

I owe it to them, you think as you type up the one word response, at least I owe them this much.

“Yes.”

#ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap #call of duty #cod #john soap mctavish x you #mw3 spoilers #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #ghost x soap x reader

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chokchokk · 10 months

Text

𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 | choi san

a friends (?) with benefits!san series

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Were San and you friends, before the idea of sex was introduced? No; first, you were colleagues, then study-buddies and then, well, with the mastercraft of your words, then you had sex.

It shouldn't be as angsty as it is, maybe you should stop making things complicated, but maybe, just maybe there's a chance that San is willing to take.

He’s the people-pleaser after all, right?

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : angst, smut, fluff | alternate universe!university

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : commitment issues, post traumatic relationship syndrome, a lot of cussing, lack of communication, san and reader have fucked up ideas about relationships, substance abuse, please refer to each part for more specific warnings

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜 : on-going

crossposted on ao3

links are underlined!

PART 1: 𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬]

PART 2: 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩

PART 3.1 | PART 3.2: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 [𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬]