Summary: After an emotional proposal and tearful late-night calls with family, the reality finally sets in behind closed doors. With the ring firmly on your finger and the outside world locked out, you spend the rest of the night proving just how deeply you belong to each other.
Warnings: 🔞 content, mild body marking (hickeys), emotional vulnerability, soft aftercare, and Spanish language/slang.
Word count: 2.7k
Song playing: Stuck with U - Ariana Grande ft. Justin Bieber
<<Previous part
Being back home had been surreal, it might sound weird saying this but it felt like something shifted, positively.
You haven't been more than 10 centimeters away from him, and he hasn't let go of your left hand, thumb constantly tracing the smooth stone like he needed to physically prove to himself.
He didn't know how he didn't die from nervousness as soon as you said “ Sì ”. He was genuinely scared ‘cause you guys have been dating for a little over a year and a half therefore thought it might be too early for you.
Of course you seemed passionate about anything related to weddings and promised himself he was gonna give you one hell of a wedding, but he felt like it might be soon. But then he remembered what you had said to him sometimes,
“I love you fer, but do what feels right, especially for yourself. Stay truthful always to yourself first. ”
When the heavy wooden gates of the house slid shut behind the car, locking out the quiet night, the sheer weight of what had just happened finally crashed over the space.
Ferran didn't even make it past the front foyer. The moment the front door clicked shut, cutting off the night breeze, he turned and pulled you back into his chest. His hands slid down to the curve of your waist, lifting you slightly off your feet until your heels barely brushed the rug. His mouth came down on yours—a deep, bruised, possessive kiss that tasted of rich wine, salty tears, and the wild, dizzying relief of a man who had finally pulled off the greatest victory of his life.
"Come here," he rasped against your mouth.
He guided you toward the living room, stepping out of his trainers and dropping his cream jacket onto the back of an armchair. He sank deep into the plush sofa, bringing you straight down with him until you were completely curled into his side. His broad arm locked securely around your shoulders, holding you tight against his ribs, while his other hand immediately reached down to claim your left wrist. He brought your hand up to rest over his bare chest, his dark eyes entirely fixated on the diamond.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. "Look at it," he whispered, his lips pressing a lingering, tender kiss into the crown of your head. "Señora Torres. It sounds too good to be true."
"Not yet," you murmured, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you turned your hand, letting the warm yellow glow of the floor lamp catch the flawless cut of the stone. "We haven't even told a single person, let's keep it that way."
Ferran’s thumb stilled over your knuckles. He pulled back just enough to look down into your face, his dark brown eyes soft and intensely focused on yours. "Who do you want to call first?"
You sat up slightly, resting your hands flat against his chest, looking into the eyes of the man who had spent agonizing weeks hiding a ring in his sock drawers just for you.
"Just family. No team, friends, no posts. My head is still spinning. The second we tell our friends or let the internet know, it becomes public property. I just... I want to keep this in our bubble for a little while longer." You said, a tiny pout forming on your lips.
A long, shuddering breath escaped Ferran’s lips, a wave of visible, profound relief melting the tension from his shoulders. He reached up, his large hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the faint, dried tear tracks near your eyes.
"Whatever you want princesa" he breathed out, a genuine, quiet laugh bubbling up from his throat. "It's hard to keep this from the boys but it's fine, I'll survive."
"I know baby, sooner or later," you agreed softly, reaching down to grab your phone off the marble coffee table. "Let's call them. My mom hasn't slept a full night in three weeks because she was convinced I was going to drop the velvet box down the side of the cliff."
You burst into a breathless laugh as Ferran dialed his mother on FaceTime. The phone barely rang twice before the screen lit up, filling with the anxious, wide-eyed face of his mother, her curly hair pulled back into a loose night bun. In the background of her Valencia home, the faint murmur of the late-night news was playing.
"Cuéntame! ¿qué pasó?" she gasped, her face so close to the camera her forehead was completely cut off. “¿Le gustó?” (Tell me! What happened? Did she like it?)
Ferran didn't say a single word. A massive, victorious, deeply arrogant smirk spread across his face as he turned the phone screen toward you and held your left hand straight up into the camera's view, the oval diamond sparkling brilliantly against your rich complexion.
Dolores let out a sharp, choked gasp, both of her hands flying to cover her mouth as her eyes instantly filled with giant, heavy tears.
"¡Dios mío!* Oh, mi vida!" she sobbed out, her voice cracking into pure, unfiltered joy. "¡Arantxa! ¡Arantxa, ven aquí rápidamente! ¡Que ya le ha dicho que sí!" (Come here quickly, she said yes)
Within three seconds, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the speaker, and Arantxa practically tackled her mother to get into the frame. She let out a shriek so loud and high-pitched that the phone speaker clipped, her hands clapping wildly as she stared at the screen.
"I knew it! Look at that stone!" Arantxa squealed, leaning so close her nose almost touched the lens. "Welcome to the family, officially! I am so, so happy for you! Look at her face, Ferran, she’s literally glowing!"
"She's crying again," Ferran teased, his arm tightening around your waist as he pulled you flush against his side, burying his face in your hair to hide the fact that his own eyes were brimming with hot, emotional tears.
"Of course she's crying, you tonto, (idiot) it's romantic!" Arantxa shot back, laughing through her own tears. "Show me again! See? I told you this cut and colour was going to be superior! It looks stunning on her!"
"You were driving us completely crazy, Ferran," Dolores added, dabbing at her wet cheeks with a tissue, her eyes radiating so much maternal warmth through the screen it made your own throat tighten all over again. "Oh, you look so breathtaking. I am so deeply blessed to officially call you my daughter."
"Thank you, Dolores," you choked out, putting your head on Ferran's chest. "It was... he made it so perfect. It was the best night of my life, like i totally didn't expect that"
After ten chaotic, emotional minutes of listening to his mom plan hypothetical engagement dinners in Valencia and Arantxa threatening to leak the engagement photo if Ferran didn't let her help plan the venue, you finally hung up, your cheeks aching from smiling so hard.
"Okay," you breathed, letting out a shaky exhale as you wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "My turn."
Calling your mom, who was the only present parent in your life, was just as emotional. The moment she answered the video call, sitting on the living room sofa like the night owl she is, you didn't even give her time to say hello. You held your hand up to the lens, letting out a soft, chaotic laugh as the ring caught the light.
Your mother froze mid-sentence. Her eyes dilated, scanning the screen, before a low, trembling gasp escaped her chest.
"Wait... is that... Oh, my baby," your mother whispered, her voice immediately breaking into quiet tears as she leaned closer to the screen. "Oh, sweetheart..."
And suddenly seeing her cry like that made you start crying all over again. "Well, look at that. That is a serious piece of diamond. Come here, Ferran, let me see you." She said to the lather.
Ferran leaned into the frame, his posture instinctively straightening out of sheer respect, though a proud, deeply satisfied grin was painted across his sharp features. "Buenas noches," he said softly, his large hand coming up to rest securely over your shoulder.
"You did good, son," your mom said, her voice small yet steady, and full of adoration. "You did real good. Welcome to the family, Ferran. Again."
"Thank you, ma'am," Ferran answered, his voice full of solemn sincerity. "I promise you, I will take care of her for the rest of my life. She is everything to me."
"I know you will," your mother wept softly, looking at the two of you tucked close together on the sofa. "You two look so beautiful. Oh my babies"
“Does anyone know about this?” she asked, knowing how the internet was.
"No," you answered quickly, shaking your head. "No one else knows. Just you and Ferran's family, we just want it to be ours for a little bit."
"Good," she approved firmly. "Protect it. Keep the noise out."
When the call finally ended and the screen went black, the quietness settled over the house. The midnight air was still. The only sound was the soft, steady hum of the air purifier and the distant night bugs.
Ferran didn't say a word. He stood up from the sofa, walked over to the kitchen to get you a glass of water from all the crying.
He walked back into the living room, and after making you drink, he stepped right between your knees as you sat on the edge of the sofa, his broad hands coming down to rest firmly on your bare thighs.
He slid his hands up, taking the hem of your corset top, his fingers brushing the warm skin of your waist as he gently lifted you until you were forced to wrap your legs securely around his waist.
His large hands framed your face, his thumb softly tracing the high line of your cheekbone, his gaze dark, heavy, and entirely consumed by you.
"Yn, my fiancée," he whispered, his voice dropping into that quiet, possessive register that made your breath hitch in your chest. "I could get used to that.”
The word hit the living room like a physical touch—heavy, permanent, and absolute.
"Fiancée," you repeated, your hands sliding up his shoulders, your fingers tangling into the thick curls at the back of his neck.
Ferran smiled, his lips pressed a reverent kiss directly against the cold oval diamond on your finger before sliding up your hand, tracing a trail of heat over your wrist, up your inner arm, and back to your mouth. His kiss was unhurried, possessive, and thick with a raw, desperate affection that made your toe joints curl into the soft bed sheets.
The word “fiancée” hung heavy in the air, a permanent, unyielding promise that made your chest ache with a sweet, intoxicating weight.
"You're really mine," he rasped into your mouth, his large hand cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging firmly over your bottom lip until it parted for him. His tongue swept in, claiming you in a wet kiss that echoed through the silent room.
"I was always yours," you whimpered into the kiss, your fingers tangling his thick hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there wasn't a single breath of space left between your bodies.
Ferran let out a low, guttural growl deep in his chest, everything was hitting him all at once. The emotional high of the night, the agonizing weeks of hiding the ring, the tearful calls with his mother and yours, the absolute relief of your “sì”.
He didn't waste another second. His hands worked with a possessive, practiced efficiency, catching the hem of your top and sliding it up and over your head, tossing it onto the floor. His dark eyes swept over your bare skin in the pale moonlight with admiration.
"Look at you," he murmured, his hands gripping your waist so hard his fingers dug into your skin, leaving soft, temporary marks against you. He bent his head, burying his face into the side of your neck and inhaling sharply before dragging his mouth down to the curve of your shoulder. "So fucking beautiful, perfect for me."
"Fer—"
"I got you," he mumbled against your skin, his lips latching onto your flesh, sucking hard enough to guarantee a deep shade blossoming by the morning.
He effortlessly gathered you into his arms, lifting your as if you weighed nothing at all. He carried you toward the dim glow of the master bathroom, his broad shoulders blocking out the hall light, his dark eyes never leaving yours as the door clicked softly shut behind you both...
*Two and a half hours later...*
The quiet that filled the master bedroom was absolute, broken only by the soft, steady hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic, deep rise and fall of Ferran’s chest beneath your cheek.
The steam from the shower had long since dissipated, leaving behind the clean scent of sandalwood , coconut oil, and vanilla.
Ferran had refused to let you walk a single step after bringing you out of the bathroom. He had dried your skin with painstaking slowness, treating every inch of you as if you were made of fragile glass. He’d smoothed a generous amount of body lotion over your shoulders, arms, and thighs, his touch turning completely gentle, reverent, and protective as he soothed the sensitive skin he’d claimed throughout the night.
Now, tucked firmly into the center of the giant bed, you were drowning in comfort. He had dressed you in one of his old shirts that for whatever reason you didn't want him to throw out, using them to roam around in the house. It fell past your thighs and smelled manly like him. Ferran wore only a pair of dark gray sweatpants, his bare chest serving as your pillow.
His heavy arm was locked securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against his side so there wasn't an inch of air between you. Underneath the heavy duvet, his hands were caressing your lower back, he knew how that makes you fall easily asleep.
"Are you still awake, baby?" he asked you, leaving light kisses on your head.
You shifted, burying your nose deeper into the crook of his neck, taking a deep inhale. "Mm... barely. I feel like jelly."
Ferran let out a soft, knowing it was his fault from the past hours. He leaned down, pressing a long, tender kiss into the crown of your head, his lips lingering in your curls.
"Good," he murmured softly. "You worked hard tonight. You deserve to rest."
"You're the one who wouldn't let me go," you mumbled playfully, a faint, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you rubbed your cheek against his chest.
Ferran brought your hand back down to his chest, resting it right over his heart so you could feel the steady, powerful rhythm beating beneath his skin. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your knuckles.
"Do you need some water?" he asked gently, his large palm coming up to stroke the back of your hair, untangling a few loose curls with incredible patience. "Or another blanket? Tell me what you need, amor."
"Just you," you whispered, your eyelids growing heavier by the second as the warmth of his body completely wrapped around you. "Stay like this."
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, his grip tightening around your waist just enough to make you feel completely grounded, safe, and protected. "I'm right here. For as long as you want me."
He pulled the heavy duvet further up over your bare shoulders, tucking the edges around you securely. He continued to stroke your arm with long, rhythmic passes.
As your breathing slowed down, syncing perfectly with his, Ferran leaned down one last time, his lips brushing softly against the shell of your ear.
"Goodnight, señora torres," he whispered, a proud, beautiful smile resting on his face as he finally closed his eyes, holding his entire world tightly in his arms.
summary: After infidelity, cameron convinces you to take marriage counseling for the sake of your marriage despite you being dead set on leaving, which you see is no easy task.
warnings: extremely…extremely emotional. so please read very thoroughly because I really did my best with this.
word count: around 19k , probably 21. sorry lol
pairings: Cameron Cade x black!reader
AN: I don’t believe in cheating at all … if you gone take that nigga back make that nigga WORK for that shit. This is probably my favorite one shot I’ve written so far. Because it doesn’t show the trauma being magically fixed. it shows reconstruction which i think is very realistic in relationships.
——————————————————————
Rain in Dallas didn't feel like rain; it felt like a heavy, humid blanket smothering the highway. You sat in the driveway of a modern, cold-stone estate in Southlake—a house you hadn’t slept in for three months. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles mushed against the leather. In the passenger seat sat a thick, leather-bound folder. Inside weren’t photos of the two of you at the beach or ticket stubs from his bowl games at Texas. Inside were bank statements, text transcripts, and a retainer agreement for a top-tier family lawyer in downtown Dallas.
Six years of marriage. Ten years altogether, if you counted the college days when you used to wash his grass-stained jerseys in a tiny laundromat off campus, counting quarters just to make sure he had clean gear for practice. Now, Cameron Cade was the starting quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys. He was the golden boy. The face of the franchise. And, as of ninety days ago, a confirmed, serial liar.
The front door of the mansion opened. Cam stepped out, a towering 6'4" frame silhouetted against the grand entryway. He didn’t look like the confident leader who commanded seventy thousand screaming fans on Sundays. He looked smaller, his shoulders slightly hunched, wearing a plain grey hoodie and jeans. He looked like the boy from college who used to worry about maintaining his GPA, except the eyes that met yours through the windshield were heavy with a desperate, suffocating regret.
He walked to the passenger side, opening the door cautiously, as if he were approaching a stray animal that might bite. He saw the folder on the seat. His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek.
"You brought the paperwork," he said, his voice rough.
"I bring it everywhere these days, Cam," you said, your tone flat, devoid of the warmth he had spent a decade taking for granted. "Move it and get in. We're going to be late, and Dr. Harrison charges by the minute."
He picked up the folder like it was radioactive, placing it carefully in his lap as he slid into the leather seat. The scent of him—cedarwood, cologne, and pure familiarity—flooded the car. It used to make you feel safe. Now, it just made you sick.
"How have you been?" he asked softly, looking at your profile as you shifted the car into reverse.
"Don't do that," you snapped, keeping your eyes on the rearview mirror. "Don't do the small talk. Save it for the couch."
The office of Dr. Evelyn Harrison didn’t look like a therapist’s office. It looked like a high-end living room in the design district—all neutral tones, soft bouclé chairs, and abstract art that cost more than your first car. You sat on the far right of the oversized linen sofa, your body angled toward the window, your purse resting between you and the empty cushions. Cam sat on the far left. The expanse of fabric between you felt like a canyon.
Dr. Harrison, an elegant woman in her fifties with sharp, observant eyes, looked between the two of you. She didn’t smile; she just adjusted her glasses.
"Welcome back," she said. "It’s been two weeks since our last session. Cam, let’s start with you. How has the separation been treating you?"
Cam cleared his throat. He put his hands on his knees—large, scarred hands that had thrown touchdowns in the Super Bowl, hands that had also typed late-night messages to an Instagram model while you were asleep in the next room.
"It’s hell," Cam said bluntly. His voice cracked slightly. "The house is empty. I can't sleep. Every time I look at the schedule or look at my phone, I want to call her. I want to ask how her day was. Going to mandatory team workouts and then coming back to a dark house... it’s breaking me. I made a mistake. The biggest mistake of my life, and I’m just trying to figure out how to fix it."
You let out a sharp, ugly laugh. It wasn’t a giggle; it was a weapon.
Dr. Harrison turned her gaze to you. "What does that laugh mean?"
"It means he’s still a performer," you said, turning your head slowly to look at Cam. Your eyes were cold, drilling into him. "Look at him. He’s setting the narrative. 'I made a mistake.' A mistake is forgetting to turn off the stove, Cam. A mistake is throwing an interception on a busted route. You didn't 'make a mistake.' You systematically, intentionally dismantled our life for eight months because your ego needed a change of pace from a wife who actually knows who you are."
Cam flinched. "That’s not fair," he muttered, looking down. "I’m not trying to minimize it."
"Then don't use soft words," you fired back, leaning forward, your hands gripping the edge of the cushions. "Tell Dr. Harrison what you actually did. Tell her how you used the away-game hotel rooms. Tell her how you had your little marketing buddy handle the logistics so it wouldn't hit the main accounts. You aren't sad because you broke my heart, Cam. You're sad because you got caught, and for the first time in your life, you can't throw a touchdown to win back the crowd."
"That is a lie!" Cam roared, suddenly sitting up, his face flushing a deep red. The sheer volume of his voice usually silenced rooms. "I care about you! I love you! I have loved you since we were nineteen years old!"
"Then why was she in our bed in Austin during the off-season charity weekend?"
The room went dead silent. Cam’s mouth stayed open for a second, the words dying in his throat. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a gray, hollow look of pure exposure.
"You didn't know I knew about that one, did you?" you asked, your voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "You thought I only found out about the girl in Atlanta. No. I found the receipts for the boutique hotel near campus, Cam. The one right down the street from the apartment we shared when we couldn't even afford a couch."
Dr. Harrison watched the exchange, her pen poised over her notepad. "Cam, what is coming up for you hearing this?"
Cam covered his face with his hands. His broad shoulders began to shake. "Regret," he choked out, his voice muffled by his palms. "Just... pure disgust with myself. I don't even know who that guy was. I got lost in the fame. Everyone constantly telling me how great I am, everyone wanting a piece of me... I let the worst part of myself take over."
He dropped his hands, his eyes red and brimming with tears, looking at you with a desperate pleading. "I will give up the football, if that's what it takes. I'll retire. I'll walk away from the contract. Just please don't leave me."
You looked at him, completely unmoved by the tears. You had cried all your tears three months ago on the bathroom floor of a rented townhouse while your sister held your hair back.
"Keep the contract, Cam," you said coldly. "You're going to need it to pay for my alimony."
To understand why the blade cut so deep, you had to remember when the knife didn't exist. In college, Cameron Cade wasn't a brand. He was just a redshirt sophomore with a heavy arm and a terrible habit of bouncing his foot when he was nervous. You met him in a mandatory macroeconomics lecture. He had forgotten his textbook, and you had reluctantly let him share yours. He had smiled—that same lopsided, boyish smile that was now on billboards along I-35—and offered to buy you a terrible dining-hall coffee to make up for it.
Back then, love was simple because life was hard. You remembered the winter his scholarship check got delayed. The two of you had split a single box of Kraft mac and cheese in a drafty apartment, sitting on blankets because you couldn't afford furniture. You remembered him whispering into your hair that night, his arms wrapped tightly around you to keep out the chill, telling you that when he made it, he was going to buy you everything. He had promised he would never forget how you held him down.
He hadn't forgotten—not at first. When he got drafted in the first round, he didn’t hug the commissioner first; he hugged you so hard he lifted your feet off the ground, sobbing into your shoulder. When he bought his first house, the deed had your name on it before his. But the NFL is a force that grinds down reality. Slowly, the boy who worried about his macroeconomics grades was replaced by a man who had three different agents, a publicist, a personal chef, and an endless stream of people nodding at every word he said. You became the only person in his life who didn't look at him like he was a god. You were the one who told him when he was being arrogant, the one who reminded him to call his mother. You were his anchor. And apparently, a man floating in the clouds eventually grows to hate the anchor keeping him tied to the earth.
"Let's talk about the separate living arrangements," Dr. Harrison said, breaking the heavy silence of the office. "You're currently in a townhouse in Uptown. Cam is in the Southlake home. How is the distance affecting the communication?"
"It’s great," you said immediately. "I don't have to watch him check his film at three in the morning, and I don't have to wonder if the text he just received is from his offensive coordinator or a twenty-two-year-old with lip filler."
"I haven't touched another woman since the day you found out," Cam said, his voice rising in defensive panic. "I haven't even looked at anyone. I swear to God. I’ve been doing the work. I’m reading the books you gave me, Dr. Harrison. I’m trying."
"Good for you," you said, not even looking at him. "Do you want a medal, Cam? Do you want a little sticker for doing what normal human beings in a monogamous relationship do by default? I don’t praise people for doing the bare minimum."
"Why are you even here if you hate me this much?" Cam suddenly burst out, his frustration finally breaking through his remorseful facade. He stood up, pacing the small space between the sofa and the wall, his large frame making the room feel claustrophobic. "If you’re just going to sit there and tear me apart every single week, why did you agree to counseling? If you want the divorce, sign the papers! I’m begging you for a chance, and you’re just using this room as a torture chamber!"
You stood up too. You didn't yell, but the sheer, concentrated venom in your voice made him stop in his tracks.
"I am here," you said, each word a slow, deliberate strike, "because for six years, I built my entire life around your schedule. I moved when you got drafted. I spent my holidays in stadium suites pretending to smile at coaches' wives while my own family was hundreds of miles away. I took care of your image, your home, your emotional baggage after every loss. I agreed to counseling because Dr. Harrison told me it might give me closure. But if you think for one single second that I am here to make you feel better about being a coward, you are sorely mistaken."
You stepped around the sofa, getting right into his space. You had to look up to meet his eyes, but mentally, you were towering over him.
"You want me to sign the papers? I will. But I’m going to make sure the world knows exactly why the Dallas Cowboys’ golden boy is suddenly single. Your publicist can only spin so much, Cameron."
Cam’s eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," you whispered. "See how much your endorsements care about the receipts I have on that flash drive."
"Is that what this is?" Cam asked, his voice dropping, a look of profound heartbreak crossing his features. "You want to destroy me? After everything we were?"
"You destroyed us," you corrected, your voice cracking for the very first time, a flash of the old pain breaking through your armor. "I’m just cleaning up the debris. And I don't care if you get caught in the blast."
Dr. Harrison stood up gently, placing a hand on her notepad. "I think that’s our time for today. I want both of you to think about what was said here. Cam, work on accepting the anger without turning it into defensiveness. And for you, continue to honor that anger, but ask yourself if it’s keeping you tethered to the very thing you say you want to leave."
The ride back to his house was silent. The rain had stopped, leaving the roads slick and reflective under the Texas sun. Cam kept his hands on the leather folder in his lap. He didn't say a word until you pulled back into the long, gated driveway of the Southlake mansion. You put the car in park but left the engine running—a clear sign that he was to get out immediately.
He didn't move. He looked at the massive house, then turned to look at you.
"Do you remember the night before the draft?" he asked softly.
"Cam—"
"Just... please. One minute," he begged. "Do you remember? We stayed in that terrible motel near Radio City Music Hall because the NFL didn't pay for the extra rooms for family yet. We shared a single bed, and I couldn't stop shaking. I was so terrified I was gonna bust. I was terrified I wasn't good enough."
You looked out the driver's side window, your jaw clenching. You did remember. You had held him all night, whispering that he was the hardest-working man in the country, that no matter what team picked him, he was going to be greatness.
"You told me that night that you didn't care about the money or the fame," Cam said, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "You said you just wanted me. You said we were a team."
"We were," you said, your voice barely audible. "But you traded me for a lesser model, Cam. You cut me from the roster."
He let out a ragged breath, opening the passenger door. He stepped out onto the concrete, holding the folder tightly against his chest.
"I’m not signing those papers," he said, turning back to look at you one last time before closing the door. "I’m gonna keep fighting for you. Even if you hate me for the rest of my life, I’m not letting you go."
You didn't wait for him to walk to the front door. You slammed your foot on the gas, the tires screeching against the wet pavement as you sped out of the gates, leaving him standing alone in the massive, empty kingdom he had built on a foundation of lies.
_____________________
The heat of a Dallas July was different from the rain of May. It was a thick, oppressive, shimmering wall of air that vibrated off the concrete of the tollway. For six weeks, you had lived in the rented Uptown townhouse, a space that was entirely yours—decorated with furniture you chose without consulting a designer, stocked with food only you liked, and silent in a way that used to terrify you but had slowly become a sanctuary.
But the silence never lasted. Every Tuesday at 2:00 PM, the sanctuary was breached.
You sat in the same spot on Dr. Harrison’s linen sofa, your linen blazer crisp, your hair pinned back, your eyes fixed on the small bronze sculpture on the side table. You didn't look at Cam. You didn't need to. You could hear him breathing. In the six weeks since you had threatened to leak the contents of the flash drive, his presence had shifted from defensive desperation to a heavy, watchful grief. He looked like a man who had survived a crash but was still trapped under the wreckage, watching the rescue teams walk away.
"We’ve spent the last month focusing on the logistical day-to-day of the separation," Dr. Harrison began, her pen tapping lightly against her notebook. "But today, I want to look backward. To move forward—in whichever direction that takes you—we have to understand the foundation. Cam, in our individual session last week, you mentioned a specific turning point during your junior year at Austin. A moment where you felt the pressure shift. Can you share that?"
Cam shifted, the leather of his shoes scraping the hardwood. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt today, the fabric stretching across his shoulders, but he looked hollowed out. The dark circles under his eyes weren't from the grueling summer mini-camps; they were old.
"It was the Arkansas game," Cam said, his voice low, scraping against the quiet of the room. "Junior year. We were down by four with forty seconds left. I threw an interception in the red zone. Walked off the field, and thirty thousand people were booing me. My phone was blowing up with threats from boosters. I went back to the locker room, threw up in the sink, and just sat there until everyone left."
He paused, finally turning his head to look at you, though you kept your eyes fixed on the bronze statue.
"I called you," Cam whispered. "You were working a double shift at the diner on 24th Street. You walked out of your shift—lost forty bucks in tips that you needed for groceries—and walked three miles in the freezing rain to the athletic facility because my car wouldn't start. You found me in the back corridor. You didn't tell me it was just a game. You didn't give me some cliché speech. You just sat on the concrete floor with me, put your hands on my face, and said, *'They don't own you, Cameron. I own the real parts of you. They just bought a ticket to the show.'*"
A muscle in your jaw leaped. The memory hit you like an physical blow, pulling you back to the damp, bleach-scented hallway of the Texas athletic complex. You remembered the chill in your bones, the raw smell of his sweat and grass-stained pads, and the absolute certainty in your chest that you would have carried him across the finish line yourself if his legs had failed.
"I remembered that," Cam continued, his voice cracking. "And I think... I think that was the moment I started separating the two lives. There was the guy who had to be perfect for the crowd, and there was the guy who belonged to you. But as the crowd got bigger, the guy who belonged to you started feeling too small. He felt like the boy who threw the interception. He felt like the boy who failed. When I started... when I started looking outside our marriage, it wasn't because I didn't love you. It was because when I looked at you, you saw the raw parts. You saw the boy who threw up in the sink. And my ego couldn't handle being that small anymore. I wanted to be the god the stadium saw, all the time. With her... she didn't know the boy who threw the interception. She just knew the guy on the billboard."
The silence in the room was suffocating. Dr. Harrison let the words hang in the air, waiting for your response.
You slowly turned your head, your eyes meeting his for the first time in an hour. There was no pity in your gaze. There was only a cold, clinical understanding that had been forged in the embers of your grief.
"That is the most beautifully wrapped piece of garbage I have ever heard," you said, your voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel.
Cam flinched, his eyes darkening with a familiar, suppressed pain. "It’s the truth," he muttered.
"It’s an explanation, Cam, an excuse," you fired back, leaning forward, your hands flattening against your knees. "You’re rewriting history to make yourself the victim of your own success. You’re telling me that because I loved you when you were nothing, because I kept your feet on the ground, my love became a burden? You’re saying that because I knew your flaws, you had to go find a stranger to worship your perfection?"
"No, that’s not what I—"
"That is exactly what you just said," you interrupted, your voice rising, the mean, sharp edge you had cultivated over the last three months coming out in full force. "You were weak. Let's just call it what it is. You couldn't handle the weight of being a real human being with a real wife who expected you to do the dishes and show up for dinner on time. You wanted a cheerleader who didn't know your medical history or your credit score. You wanted a mirror that only reflected your highlights."
You turned to Dr. Harrison, your face a mask of bitter certainty. "This is why the counseling is a joke, Doctor. Because every time he speaks, he’s still trying to draft a press release. He’s still trying to make his betrayal sound like a psychological tragedy brought on by the pressures of fame. He didn't text that girl at two in the morning because he was 'confused about his identity.' He did it because he could, because he thought I was too invested in his life to ever walk away."
"I never thought that!" Cam shouted, his hand slamming down on the armrest of the sofa. The sudden movement made the bronze statue on the side table rattle. "I lived in terror of you walking away! Every single day for the last two years, I woke up with a knot in my stomach because I knew I was living a double life and I knew that if you found out, you’d kill us. And you did. You killed it."
"I killed it?" You stood up, the chair scraping back violently. The sheer absurdity of his statement broke through your icy exterior, and the rage that had been simmering under your skin for months boiled over. "I didn't touch another person, Cameron! I didn't erase six years of vows! I didn't leave you sitting in a house we built together while I went out and sampled the local nightlife! You killed it, you buried it, and now you’re mad that I won't sit by the grave and sing hymns with you!"
Cam stood up too, towering over you, his chest heaving under the black t-shirt. For a second, he looked like the terrifying athlete who could break through a defensive line by sheer force of will. But his eyes were wide, wet, and completely broken.
"Then leave!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the office. "If it’s dead, if I’m a monster, if you hate me this much, sign the papers and take the money! Why are you still showing up here every Tuesday? Why are you still driving to Southlake to pick up your mail instead of having your lawyer forward it? Why are you torturing me if you’re already gone?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and sharp.
You looked at him, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps. Your hands were shaking, but you clamped them into fists to hide it. You didn't have an answer that didn't make you look weak, and you refused to look weak in front of him ever again.
"Because I want to see you realize what you lost," you whispered, the anger dropping away to reveal something far more dangerous: pure, unadulterated spite. "I want you to sit in that empty twenty-million-dollar house every night and know that the only person who actually loved the boy from Austin thinks you're disgusting. I’m here to make sure you don't get to heal easily, Cam. Because I didn't get to."
Dr. Harrison quietly closed her notebook. "Our time is up for today," she said, her voice a calm, steady anchor in the wreckage of the room. "I suggest we take a break from the joint sessions for the next two weeks. You both have a lot of independent inventory to take."
You didn't wait for Cam to move. You grabbed your purse, turned on your heel, and walked out into the blinding Texas heat, the sound of his ragged breathing following you all the way to the car.
The two-week hiatus Dr. Harrison enforced felt less like a breathing room and more like a sudden drop in cabin pressure. In the quiet of your Uptown townhouse, the silence didn't feel like a sanctuary anymore; it felt like a cold holding cell. For fourteen days, you didn't see Cam's face, didn't hear his voice booming through a room, didn't have to steel yourself against the suffocating familiarity of his presence.
But you couldn't escape him. You couldn't escape him because the world wouldn't let you.
Every time you passed a sports bar, his face was on the television screen, sweat-streaked and determined as the sports analysts debated the Cowboys' upcoming training camp in Oxnard. Every time you scrolled through your phone, a headline or an algorithm-driven notification would pop up with his name. And then there were the boxes.
Every three days, a small, unbranded brown package would arrive on your doorstep. There were no notes, no grand declarations of love, no expensive jewelry meant to buy your forgiveness. Cam knew you too well for that; he knew a Cartier box would end up in the trash chute before he could even check the tracking number. Instead, the first box contained a small, battered silver thermos—the exact one you had lost three years ago during a camping trip in Wimberley, the one your grandfather had given you before he passed. Cam had tracking down the exact vintage model on eBay, spending weeks hunting it down just to replace a memory. The second box contained a single, handwritten recipe on a stained index card—his grandmother’s peach cobbler, the one he had refused to give you for six years because it was a "family secret." The card just said, It’s yours now. It always should have been.
He was yearning. He was bleeding out on your doorstep without ever showing his face, trying to find the microscopic cracks in the armor you had spent three months welding shut. And it pissed you off. It pissed you off because it was working, just a fraction of an inch.
When Tuesday finally arrived, the July heat had broken into a sticky, overcast humidity. You walked into Dr. Harrison’s office five minutes late, deliberately trying to project an aura of detached indifference.
Cam was already there. He was sitting on his edge of the sofa, but he looked different. He had lost weight. His jawline, usually sharp, looked hollowed out, and his skin had a gray tint beneath his summer tan. He was wearing an old, faded grey t-shirt—the one from his senior year bowl game, the one you used to steal and wear to sleep when he was away on road trips. It was a tactical choice, a visual reminder of the foundation, and you hated him for it.
"Welcome back," Dr. Harrison said, her eyes shifting between the two of you, noting the tight line of your shoulders and the way Cam’s eyes instantly locked onto yours the moment you stepped through the doorway. "Let’s start with the break. How did the two weeks apart feel?"
"Quiet," you said, sitting down on the far end of the couch, keeping your bag firmly in your lap like a shield. "And I prefer it that way."
Cam didn't look away from you. His gaze was heavy, desperate, like a man drowning who had just caught sight of a distant shoreline. "It was the worst two weeks of my life," he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual. "I spent every night in that house listening to the walls click. I looked at the things I bought, the things I thought mattered, and I realized none of it means anything if I don't hear your keys in the door at the end of the day."
"Oh, please," you rolled your eyes, leaning back, though your fingers tightened around the strap of your purse. "Don't start the poetry slam, Cam. You managed just fine without hearing my keys when you were entertaining guests in Austin."
The jab hit him visibly. He didn't fire back this time. He didn't get angry. He just took the blow, his shoulders sinking a little lower. "I deserve that," he whispered. "I deserve every single thing you throw at me. But I need you to know... I’m not playing a character anymore. I’m not trying to win a game. I’m just trying to survive the fact that I broke the only person who ever truly knew me."
"You didn't break me," you snapped, your voice sharp, but for the first time, a tiny tremor ran through the end of the sentence. "You broke us. There’s a difference. I am perfectly intact. I am just smart enough now to know when a structure is condemned."
Dr. Harrison leaned forward, her spectacles sliding down her nose. "Let's talk about the boxes, protectively. Did you receive them?"
You felt your throat tighten. You hadn't told anyone about the boxes, not even your sister. "They’re just things," you said defensively. "Manipulative tokens to make him feel like he’s doing something."
"They aren't tokens," Cam broke in, his voice cracking, a sudden wave of raw emotion breaking through his exhaustion. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, wrinkled piece of paper, placing it gently on the cushion between you. "I found this in the pocket of my old travel blazer last week. Do you remember when you wrote this?"
You didn't look down at the paper, but you didn't have to. You knew exactly what it was. It was a note from your sophomore year of college, written on a torn piece of notebook paper, slipped into his bag before his first major away game against Oklahoma. 'You’re the smartest guy on the field, Cameron. Don't look at the scoreboard, just look at the ball. I’ll be right here when you get back. Always.'
"I looked at the scoreboard," Cam choked out, a single, heavy tear escaping his eye and tracing a path down his hollow cheek. "That’s what happened. For the last three years, I stopped looking at the ball. I stopped looking at us. I got so obsessed with the score—the contracts, the fame, the validation from strangers—that I forgot who was waiting for me when the lights went out. I forgot that the only win that ever mattered was coming home to you."
He leaned toward you, his massive frame trembling, his hands open and palms up on his knees, a posture of absolute submission. "I am so sorry. I am so damn sorry for making you feel like you weren't enough, when the reality is, I wasn't enough for you. I was too small for the life we built, so I tore it down to my level."
You looked at the wrinkled note on the sofa. You looked at his trembling hands—the hands that used to hold yours under the table at the diner when you were both too stressed to eat.
For three months, you had been a fortress of ice. You had used your words like daggers, finding every soft spot in his ego and twisting the blade, because if you were angry, you didn't have to feel the howling, empty void of your own heartbreak. But looking at him now—stripped of the swagger, wearing a faded t-shirt, completely undone by his own regret—the first hairline crack formed in your shell.
A heavy, jagged sob tore its way out of your throat before you could stop it.
You covered your mouth with your hand, your shoulders shaking as the tears finally blocked your vision. You hated yourself for it. You hated him for making you cry in front of him, for breaking through the mean, beautiful armor you had built.
Cam moved instantly, sliding across the linen cushions, his hand reaching out instinctively to touch your shoulder, but he stopped himself an inch away, his fingers hovering in the air, trembling. "Don't," he whispered, his own tears free-falling now. "Don't cry. I’m sorry. I didn't mean to push you. I hate myself for making you cry."
"Shut up," you wept, your voice thick and broken, your hand still covering your face. "Just... shut up, Cam."
"Okay," he said immediately, his voice completely docile, his hand dropping back to his own lap but remaining close, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Okay. I’m quiet."
Dr. Harrison remained completely still, watching the space between you shrink by a matter of inches. "What is happening right now?" she asked softly.
You took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling a tissue from your bag and wiping your eyes, forcing the ice back into your chest, even if it was slushy and melting around the edges. You looked at Cam, your eyes red and rimmed with an exhaustion that matched his own.
"I’m still mad," you whispered, your voice shaking but steadying with every word. "I am still so angry that I can barely look at you without wanting to throw something. I don't trust a single word that comes out of your mouth, and I still think about the lawyer every single morning when I wake up."
Cam nodded, his face solemn, accepting the words like a sentence handed down from a judge. "I know. You should be."
"But," you paused, the word tasting like ash in your mouth. You looked down at your hands, then, with a slow, agonizing hesitation, you reached out and picked up the wrinkled college note from the sofa cushion. You didn't give it back to him; you slipped it into your purse. "I didn't throw away the thermos."
Cam’s breath hitched. A tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered in his eyes—not a victory, not even a touchdown, but a first down on a very long, very dark field.
"You kept it?" he breathed.
"It belonged to my grandfather, Cam. It would be stupid to throw it away just because you touched it," you said, the sharp edge returning to your voice, but the venom was gone, replaced by a profound, bleeding weariness. You looked at Dr. Harrison, then back to the window. "I’m not ready to talk about a future. I’m not ready to say we’re going to be okay. But... we can do the joint sessions for another month. That’s all I can give you."
Cam let out a breath that sounded like a sob, his head dropping forward as he nodded repeatedly. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with a yearning that felt like it might consume him entirely. "Thank you. That's more than I deserve."
You didn't smile. You didn't lean into him. You sat on your side of the canyon, but for the first time in ninety days, the canyon didn't feel completely bottomless.
The space between two people who have loved each other for a decade is never truly empty. It is crowded with the ghosts of who they used to be, the echoes of old arguments, the phantom warmth of hands that used to find each other in the dark without looking. In the weeks that followed that slight, bruising thaw, the dynamic between you and Cam shifted into something agonizingly tense. It was no longer a war of cold silence and sharp daggers; it was a high-stakes chess match where every sigh, every shift of weight on the linen sofa, carried the weight of an ultimatum.
He had stopped trying to defend himself. That was the most jarring change. The alpha-male quarterback who spent his entire life being coached to command, to take control of the narrative, to push through resistance with brute physical and mental force, had completely surrendered his playbook. He had become entirely reactive to your moods. If you walked into Dr. Harrison’s office looking cold, he shrank into himself, his large frame occupying as little space as humanly possible. If a flash of that old, bleeding sorrow crossed your face, his eyes would fill with a desperate, suffocating attentiveness, his body leaning toward you like a plant starving for sunlight.
He was yearning so hard it felt like a third person in the room. It was in the way he dressed—always in the clothes that belonged to your history, never the high-end designer pieces his stylist picked out for his public appearances. It was in the way he looked at your hands, his gaze tracking the bare skin of your ring finger where a five-carat diamond used to sit, a ring that was currently locked in a safe-deposit box in downtown Dallas. He looked at that empty space on your hand the way a man looks at a scar from a limb he lost.
But you weren't making it easy. Every time your heart twinged with a memory of his softness, your mind countered with the vivid, high-definition horror of the day the glass shattered.
It always came back to that Tuesday afternoon in April. The weather had been beautiful—too beautiful for what was waiting for you. Cam was supposed to be at a mandatory team charity golf tournament in Austin. You had stayed behind in Dallas to oversee the installation of some landscaping in the backyard of the Southlake estate. His iPad, which was synced to his personal cloud and usually lived in his home office desk, had started buzzing incessantly on the kitchen island. It wasn't a standard notification; it was an active sync error, a glitch in his secondary, private messaging application that he had foolishly linked to his old collegiate email address.
You had picked it up carelessly, expecting a notification from his business manager about a shoe contract. Instead, the screen had filled with a sequence of images. A modern, minimalist hotel room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Austin skyline. A woman’s hand holding a glass of champagne against the backdrop of the Texas state capitol. And then, the text that permanently rewired your brain: “The bed is huge, Cam. Hurry up, the media availability is over in ten minutes.”
Followed by his reply, sent from his verified phone three minutes later: “On my way up. Tell the front desk to give you the key for room 1402. Don't post anything until I leave.”
The memory of reading those words always brought a physical wave of nausea, a sudden, violent spike in your heart rate that made your fingers cold. You remember the exact sensation of the world tilting on its axis, the way the bright, expensive kitchen suddenly felt like a stage set that was being dismantled around you. You had driven to Austin that night. You hadn't called. You hadn't screamed. You had simply used your emergency key to enter the boutique hotel room while he was downstairs at the VIP dinner, and you had sat in the single armchair in the dark, waiting for him to come back up.
When the door had opened at midnight and he walked in, smelling of bourbon and expensive cologne, his face had gone a shade of white you didn't know a living human being could achieve. The girl wasn't there—she had left an hour prior—but the scent of her perfume still lingered in the curtains.
“It’s not what it looks like,” he had stammered, the oldest, most pathetic lie in the history of human betrayal.
And you had just looked at him, your voice dead and hollow. “You used the room number from your college jersey, Cameron. Fourteen. You really are a creature of habit.”
Now, sitting on the sofa, that memory was the anchor that kept you from drifting back into his arms. Dr. Harrison watched the tight, defensive posture of your body, her sharp eyes cataloging the way you subtly moved your purse to block Cam’s view of your face.
"We are approaching the end of our summer sessions," Dr. Harrison said, her tone quiet, measured. "And I sense a wall has been reached. Not a wall of anger, but a wall of exhaustion. You are both spending an immense amount of energy maintaining your positions. Protectively, you are working very hard to stay behind your shield. Cam, you are working very hard to lay down your weapons. But neither of you is actually communicating what is happening beneath the surface right now."
Cam swallowed hard, his jaw working. He looked down at his large hands, his knuckles raw from a recent practice. "I don't know what else to say," he muttered, his voice thick with that perpetual, heavy regret. "I’ve told her everything. I’ve given her access to every account, every device, every thought in my head. I’m living in a house that feels like a tomb because every room reminds me of how I failed her. I am doing everything I can think of to show her that I’m still the man she loved in Austin, but it feels like she’s already buried him."
"Because you did bury him, Cam!" The words left your mouth before you could filter them, your mean shell cracking open just enough for the raw, bleeding vitriol to pour out. "You keep asking me to find the man from Austin, but you killed him in room 1402! You expect me to just dig up a corpse and pretend it can still hold me? You want an epiphany? You want me to look at you and see hope? I look at you and I see a stranger who wears my husband’s face and uses his memories to manipulate me into staying!"
"It isn't manipulation!" Cam roared, suddenly sitting forward, his eyes flashing with a sudden, agonizing intensity that made the entire room feel small. He didn't look angry; he looked like a man who was being flayed alive. "I am dying over here! Do you want me to beg? I am begging! I will get down on my knees right now on this floor if it means you look at me for one second without that total, dead indifference in your eyes! I made a horrific, disgusting choice, but I am still the boy who split that box of mac and cheese with you! I am still the guy who held you when your grandfather died! You can't just erase ten years of my life because of eight months of my absolute worst mistakes!"
"Why can't I?" you screamed back, your voice cracking, the tears finally breaking through your defenses, hot and fast. "You erased me during those eight months! Every time you touched her, every time you sent a text, every time you looked at yourself in the mirror and decided that your fame gave you the right to break my heart, you erased me! You decided I didn't matter! You decided our struggle, our poverty, our small apartment, our late-night drives—that none of it was worth being faithful for! Why do you get to decide when the erasure stops, Cam? Why do you get to choose when we start rebuilding?"
"Because I want to save us!" he cried, his voice breaking completely, a ragged, ugly sob tearing from his chest. He reached across the linen cushion, his hand finally defying the invisible boundary, his large, calloused fingers closing around your wrist. He didn't pull you; he just held on like he was falling off a cliff. "Because I love you! Because if I lose you, there is nothing left! The football, the money, the stadium—it’s all bullshit, it’s all smoke! You are the only real thing I have ever done right in my miserable life!"
The touch of his hand sent a shockwave through your system. It was the first time in four months he had held you with that level of raw, unvarnished strength. Your instinct was to pull away, to lash out, to use the sharpest words in your vocabulary to make him let go.
But as you looked at him—as you saw his face completely ruined by tears, his broad chest heaving, his eyes begging you for a crumb of mercy—the epiphany didn't come with a flash of light. It came with a terrifying, heavy silence.
You looked down at his hand around your wrist. You didn't pull back. You felt the heat of his skin, the familiar rhythm of his pulse, the absolute terror radiating from his body. And in that quiet, devastating moment, you realized something that changed the entire dynamic of the room.
You were still here because you didn't want to let him go either. You were mean because it was safer than being vulnerable. You were cruel because if you stopped punishing him, you would have to face the terrifying reality of figuring out how to live with a love that had been permanently broken.
Slowly, deliberately, you looked up from his hand to his eyes. Your tears were still falling, but the sharp, defensive edge had completely vanished from your face, leaving you looking smaller, softer, and entirely exposed.
"I’m still not coming home, Cam," you whispered, your voice shaking so hard the words were barely audible.
Cam’s face fell, his grip tightening slightly in a panic. "Please..."
"Let me finish," you said softly, your free hand reaching up to wipe a tear from your own cheek. You didn't pull your wrist from his grasp. "I’m not coming home. I’m not signing the papers today either. But... you can buy me a coffee. A terrible, dining-hall coffee. Off campus. No drivers. No publicists. Just you."
Cam’s breath hitched in his throat, a ragged, gasping sound. He looked at you like you had just handed him a lifeline in the middle of a hurricane. He didn't let go of your wrist; instead, he bowed his head until his forehead rested against the back of your hand, his broad shoulders shaking as he wept with a profound, unburdened relief.
Dr. Harrison didn't say a word. She slowly capped her pen, watching the two of you sit in the quiet aftermath of the storm—the canyon between you still wide, still dangerous, but suddenly crossed by a single, fragile wire.
————————————-
The walk out of Dr. Harrison’s office that afternoon didn't feel like a victory lap; it felt like walking through the immediate aftermath of a tornado, where the air is strangely still and the sky is a bruised, yellow-green color, but you can still hear the distant hissing of broken gas lines.
Cam walked a step behind you, his large frame projecting an intense, hyper-vigilant aura. He didn't try to touch your hand again. He didn't try to fill the silence with the frantic, reassuring promises he usually used to patch over the cracks. He just walked, his eyes locked onto the back of your head, his boots heavy on the polished concrete of the hallway. When you reached the heavy glass doors of the building, he stepped forward quickly, his arm extending past your shoulder to hold the door open before your fingers could even touch the metal handle.
The heat hit you like a physical weight. The overcast sky had deepened into a flat, zinc gray, trapping the humidity close to the asphalt. You stopped by the edge of the brick planter, your purse tucked tightly under your arm, looking out over the parking lot where your car sat fifty yards away.
"Where?" you asked, not turning around to face him. Your voice was still rough from the crying, the skin around your eyes tight and hot.
"There’s a small place," Cam said instantly, his voice low and cautious, as if a single loud syllable might make you change your mind and call your lawyer right there on the sidewalk. "It’s not in Uptown. It’s not in Southlake. It’s out near Denton, off the old highway. A little diner with an old gravel lot. No one from the facility goes out there. No press. It’s just... it’s quiet."
You took a slow, deep breath, watching a corporate sedan pull out of the lower deck of the garage. "I’ll follow you," you said. "But don't speed, Cam. I’m not in the mood to chase your taillights through afternoon traffic."
"I’ll stay in the right lane," he promised softly. "The whole way."
The drive took nearly forty minutes. True to his word, Cam’s massive black truck stayed exactly three car lengths ahead of your bmw, never shifting out of the slow lane, even when the semi-trucks honked and bypassed him on the left. It was a bizarre sight—the highest-paid athlete in the state driving like a teenager who had just received his learner’s permit, completely submissive to the pace you set behind him.
Every time you looked at the back of his vehicle, your mind did that terrible, involuntary thing where it tried to reconcile the present with the past. You remembered when he didn't have a truck with blackened windows and custom leather seats. You remembered the 2004 Honda Civic he drove in college, a car with a passenger side door that only opened if you kicked the bottom panel while pulling the handle. You had spent three years riding shotgun in that car, your feet resting on old playbooks and empty Gatorade bottles, listening to the alternator whine every time he turned the air conditioning on.
You had loved that car because it belonged to him, and because it meant he was coming to pick you up from your late shift. Now, looking at the pristine, expensive machine ahead of you, you just felt a profound, exhausting sense of alienation. The money had changed everything, even the way he sinned.
The diner was exactly what he had described: a low, flat-roofed building with faded wood siding and a flickering neon sign that said EAT in pale pink letters. The gravel parking lot was mostly empty, save for a couple of old pickup trucks belonging to local utility workers. Cam parked in the far corner, near a line of overgrown scrub oaks that threw a heavy, dark shadow over the gravel.
By the time you shut off your engine, he was already standing outside your driver’s side door, his hands jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans, waiting. He looked incredibly out of place—too big, too polished, his shoulders too broad for the rural Texas backdrop—but the look on his face was entirely small.
You stepped out, the gravel crunching beneath your flats. "No drivers?" you asked, looking around the empty lot.
"I told the security detail to stay at the facility," Cam said, his eyes scanning your face with that intense, yearning focus that had become his default setting. "I told them if anyone followed me, I’d fire them before the plane hit Oxnard next week."
"Let's get this over with," you said, walking past him toward the screened door of the diner.
Inside, the air smelled of old grease, chicory coffee, and bleached linoleum. An old jukebox in the corner was dark, and a lone waitress with hair pinned back in a silver clip looked up from behind the counter, giving the two of you a brief, uninterested nod before returning to her crossword puzzle. To her, you weren't a celebrity couple going through a multi-million-dollar public scandal; you were just two tall people who looked like they had been crying in their car.
You chose a booth in the back corner, away from the windows. The vinyl of the seat was patched with black electrical tape, cold against your legs. Cam slid into the opposite side, his long legs instantly crowding the space beneath the small Formica table. His knees brushed against yours—just a brief, accidental friction—and you instinctively pulled your legs back, tucking your ankles beneath your own seat.
He noticed. He always noticed now. A shadow passed over his face, a deep, heavy line appearing between his eyebrows as he dropped his hands onto the table.
The waitress walked over, dropping two thick, white ceramic mugs between you and a glass carafe of dark coffee. "Menu?" she asked.
"Just the coffee, ma'am," Cam said, his voice dropping into that polite, southern cadence he had learned growing up in East Texas.
Once she walked away, Cam filled your mug first, his hand steady but slow, ensuring he didn't spill a single drop on the laminate. Then he filled his own. He didn't add sugar. He didn't add cream. He just wrapped his large, scarred hands around the mug, using the heat to warm his fingers.
"This is what it tasted like," he said quietly, looking down into the dark liquid. "At the athletic center. The machine in the lounge used to burn the beans every Tuesday. But you always drank it anyway because you said it was free calories."
"I drank it because I was starving, Cam," you said, your voice level, the mean edge replaced by a flat, clinical honesty. "I was working twenty hours a week at the diner, taking sixteen credits worth of classes, and trying to make sure your papers were proofread before your tutors checked them. I didn't care if the coffee was burnt. I just needed to stay awake long enough to see you before the morning walkthroughs."
Cam closed his eyes for a long moment, his chest expanding as he took a ragged breath. "I know. I know you did. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Every day, really. I look back at how much you carried, how much you gave up so I could have the perfect environment to grow, and I just... I don't understand how I became the person who forgot that."
"You became that person because it was easy," you said, taking a small sip of the bitter coffee. It tasted terrible—exactly like the dining hall. A strange, sharp ache blossomed in your throat at the familiarity of it. "When you're the star, everyone around you makes it their job to ensure you never have to feel uncomfortable. Your agents handle the money. Your coaches handle your time. Your publicists handle your mistakes. Eventually, you start believing that the rules don't apply to you because no one ever says 'no' to you. Except me."
"And I hated you for it," Cam whispered, his eyes opening, raw and bloodshot as they met yours. "That’s the sickest part of it. I look back now, and I realize that the moments I snapped at you—the times I told you that you didn't understand the pressure, or that you were being too hard on me—it was just because you were the only mirror in my life that wasn't distorted. You saw the lazy habits. You saw when I was being selfish. And instead of thanking God that I had someone who loved me enough to tell me the truth, I went looking for someone who would lie to me the way the rest of the world did."
You leaned your head back against the vinyl booth, looking at him through narrowed eyes. "The girl in Austin," you said, the name tasting like poison on your tongue. "Did she tell you you were a god, Cam?"
Cam flinched, his knuckles turning white around the ceramic mug. "She didn't know anything about me," he said, his voice dropping so low it was almost lost to the hum of the diner's refrigerator. "She knew the jersey. She knew the stats. It was... it was like talking to a fan who got past the gate. It was entirely fake. It was a transaction. I gave her the lifestyle, the access, and she gave me the version of myself I wanted to see in the mirror. A guy who never failed. A guy who didn't have any debts to pay."
"And what about the debts to me?" you asked, leaning forward, your voice dropping to a dangerous, clear whisper. "What about the ten years of my life I invested in that guy who threw up in the sink? Did you think that was free too?"
"No," Cam choked out, a single tear spilling over his lower lid, though his face remained still, accepting the weight of the question. "No. I knew exactly what it cost. That's why I hid it. That's why I used the separate accounts, the secondary phones... because I knew that if you saw what I was doing, the whole house of cards would fall. I was a coward. I wanted the premium life, and I wanted the anchor too. I wanted to have my cake and eat it on the private plane."
You looked at him for a long time, the silence stretching out between you until the waitress returned to refill the mugs, looking between your tears and his wet cheeks with a mild, sympathetic sigh before leaving the pot on the table.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the dead, frozen silence of Dr. Harrison’s office. It was a heavy, fluid thing, moving between the two of you like a current. Your mean shell hadn't vanished—you could still feel the hard, protective ridges of it beneath your skin—but the core of it had turned to mush. You were tired. You were so deeply, thoroughly tired of being the punisher. It took an immense amount of energy to hate someone this completely when you had spent half your life loving them with every fiber of your being.
"I moved the rest of my clothes out of the Southlake house yesterday," you said softly, looking down at your coffee.
Cam’s body went completely rigid, his breath catching audibly in his throat. "All of them?"
"Yes," you said. "The closet is empty, Cam. Your stylist can have the extra space for your suits."
He looked like he had just been hit by a safety at full speed, his chest collapsing slightly as he leaned back against his seat. "Is that... is that the end, then? This coffee... was this just a goodbye?"
"I don't know," you said, and for the first time in ninety days, the words were entirely true, free of spite or tactical calculation. "I honestly don't know, Cam. But yesterday, when I was standing in that closet, looking at the empty hangers, I didn't feel angry anymore. I just felt sad. I felt sad that a house that big could feel so small, and that a love that started in a kitchen with a broken stove could end up being discussed in a family court."
You reached out, your fingers hovering over the edge of the table, just an inch away from the space where his hands rested. It was a microscopic movement—a single baby step across the canyon—but to Cam, it looked like a bridge. His eyes dropped to your fingers, his breath coming in short, uneven hitches. He didn't dare move his hand to touch yours; he knew the rules now. He knew that if he grabbed for you too quickly, the ice would freeze over again.
"I’m going to Oxnard next week," he said, his voice trembling with a mixture of grief and a fragile, pathetic gratitude for the fact that you were still sitting across from him. "Training camp. It’s three weeks of isolation. No phones after ten. Just film and practice."
"I know the schedule, Cam," you said quietly. "I’ve lived it for six years."
"I’m going to leave my personal phone with Dr. Harrison," he said, looking up to meet your eyes with absolute, desperate sincerity. "I don't want the distraction. I don't want the risk. I told the front office that if there’s an emergency with you—if you need anything, if you even want to send a single word—they are to pull me off the field immediately. No matter what drill we’re in."
You looked at him, your fingers curling slightly against the Formica. "Don't do that for me, Cam. Do it for yourself. If you're going to fix whatever is broken inside your head, you need to do it because you're disgusted by the monster you became, not because you think it'll win me back by the third quarter of the season."
"It's both," he whispered, his eyes dark and wet, completely unvarnished. "It’s both. I hate that guy. I hate him more than you ever could. But the only reason I want to be better... the only reason I want to survive the next year... is the hope that one day, I can walk into a room and you won't look at me like I'm a ghost."
You didn't answer him. You couldn't. You just took another sip of the burnt coffee, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as the gray Texas sky finally broke, and the rain began to patter softly against the tin roof of the diner, sounding exactly like the winter nights in Austin when the world was small, cold, and entirely yours.
_______________________
It was the last session before the Cowboys flew to California for training camp, the last time you would be in the same room with Cam for nearly a month. The atmosphere in Dr. Harrison’s office didn't feel explosive today; it felt heavy, like the air in a vault that hadn't been opened in years.
You sat on your edge of the linen sofa, your legs crossed, your hands resting on your lap. You weren't holding your purse like a shield anymore, but your shoulders were still pinned back, your posture a deliberate statement of self-preservation. Cam sat on his end, his large frame dressed in a simple dark hoodie despite the heat outside, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. He looked up as you settled in, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of the woman who had shared a cup of burnt coffee with him in Denton. He looked tired—bone-tired—the kind of exhaustion that physical training couldn't cause and sleep couldn't fix.
Dr. Harrison let the silence settle for a long minute, her pen poised over her legal pad. She looked between the two of you, her expression gentler than it had been in previous weeks. "This is our last hour together before the separation of camp," she said softly. "We’ve spent a lot of time processing the trauma of the infidelity itself—the secrets, the anger, the shock. But today, I want to go deeper. Infidelity rarely happens in a vacuum. It is often the catastrophic explosion at the end of a very long, quiet rot. I want to talk about what was rotting before the hotel room in Austin ever existed."
You let out a slow, steady breath, looking out the large window at the Dallas skyline. "The rot started when the money arrived," you said, your voice quiet, devoid of the sharp venom that usually coated your words. "Everyone thinks money fixes the stress, but it just changes the shape of it. In college, we had nothing, but we had the same target. We were both running toward the exact same finish line. But the moment he signed his first major extension—that four-year deal after his second Pro Bowl—the finish line disappeared. He had won. And suddenly, I wasn't his teammate anymore. I became his employee."
Cam flinched, his head dropping slightly, his eyes fixed on his knuckles. "That’s not true," he muttered, though there was no fight in his voice. It was the tone of a man who knew he was about to be dissected and had agreed to let it happen.
"It is true, Cam," you said, turning your head to look at him, your gaze steady and clinical. "Think about it. Think about the year we moved into the Southlake house. You didn't mean to do it, but everything in our life became about optimization. Your sleep schedule, your nutrition, your media availability, your mental state after a loss. If you had a bad game, the entire house went into lockdown. I didn't get to have a bad day because my bad day might distract you from the film room. I stopped being a person with my own desires and anxieties. I became the curator of Cameron Cade’s peace of mind."
A memory flashed through your mind, sharp and biting. It was the winter of your fourth year of marriage, the year he suffered a grade-two ankle sprain three weeks before the playoffs. The house had been a circus of trainers, physical therapists, and representatives from his agency. You had spent four days cooking specialized anti-inflammatory meals, coordinating schedules, and managing the frantic phone calls from his mother. On the fifth night, you had broken down in the kitchen at midnight, dropping a glass jar of bone broth on the marble floor. It had shattered, splashing against your bare feet.
Cam had walked into the kitchen, limping heavily in his walking boot. He hadn't looked at your face to see why you were crying. He had looked at the mess, then at his phone, and said, “Can we get this cleaned up? The trainer is coming at six am and I can't risk stepping on a shard.” He hadn't meant to be cruel; he was just entirely consumed by the weight of his own career. But that night, as you knelt on the cold marble picking up pieces of glass while he limped back to bed, you realized that you were entirely alone in a house filled with people.
"I let myself become small," you continued, looking back at Dr. Harrison. "I thought that was what a good wife did. I thought that if I absorbed all his pressure, if I made myself invisible so he could shine, it would be our victory. But you can only be invisible for so long before the person you’re with stops seeing you entirely. By the time he started looking at other women, he hadn't seen me in years. He just saw the woman who kept his house running and handled his security gate."
Cam’s chest heaved under his hoodie, a ragged, choking sound leaving his throat. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands gripping his hair. "You never told me," he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing realization. "You never told me you felt like that. If you had just told me you were drowning, I would have stopped it. I would have fired everyone. I would have walked away."
"No, you wouldn't have, Cam," you said, and for the first time, there was a profound tenderness in your sadness, a soft pity that hurt him worse than any insult. "You were twenty-four, you were the king of the city, and everyone was telling you that your comfort was the most important thing on earth. If I had complained, I would have been the nagging wife who didn't understand the pressure of the NFL. So I stayed quiet. And my silence gave you the permission to take everything I had until there was nothing left but a shell."
Dr. Harrison leaned forward, her eyes locked on Cam. "Cam, what is it like to hear this? To realize that the sacrifice you thought was a partnership was actually a slow erasure?"
Cam lifted his head, his face entirely ruined by the weight of the truth. His dark eyes were wide, bloodshot, fixed on you with a look of such intense, desperate yearning that it felt like he was trying to pull you into his chest by force of will alone. "It makes me sick," he choked out, the tears finally overflowing, running down his jawline. "It makes me look back at the last three years and realize I wasn't just a coward for what I did in Austin. I was a thief. I stole your youth. I stole your peace. I let you carry every single piece of garbage my career threw at us, and then I had the audacity to feel lonely because you weren't smiling enough when I came home."
He slid down from the sofa, his knees hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy, dull thud. He didn't care how it looked. He didn't care that Dr. Harrison was watching. He crossed the small expanse of floor, stopping right in front of your knees, his large hands reaching out to hover over your ankles, desperate to touch you but entirely terrified of your rejection.
"I didn't know," he sobbed, his broad shoulders shaking violently under the dark fabric of his hoodie. "I swear to God, I didn't see it. I thought we were good because I was providing. I thought that because I bought the house, because I took care of your family, because I put your name on everything, that I was being a good husband. I didn't see that I was starving you. I didn't see that I was taking the girl from Austin and turning her into a ghost."
You looked down at him. The sight of the Dallas Cowboys' starting quarterback—the man whose face was currently plastered on a ten-story billboard downtown—kneeling on a therapist’s floor, weeping into his hands at your feet, should have given you a sense of vindictive satisfaction. But it didn't. It just felt like the final piece of the tragedy falling into place.
Slowly, your mean shell, the hard, defensive wall you had built to keep from dying of a broken heart, crumbled just a little bit more. You reached out, your fingers hesitant, trembling, before you gently placed your hand on the top of his head. Your fingers brushed through his short, buzzed hair, a gesture so deeply familiar it made your own throat close up with tears.
"I’m not a bird, Cam," you whispered, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over your lashes. "I’m damn sure not a push-over. I’m not going to sit in that Southlake house and wait for you to figure out how to be a man. The divorce is still on the table. The lawyer is still on retainer."
Cam nodded against your knee, his hands finally coming up to gently, reverently hold your shins, his touch light as feather, as if he were holding something made of spun glass. "I know," he wept. "I know. You should leave if it hurts too much. You have every right to go."
"But," you paused, swallowing down the dry ache in your chest, your hand remaining on his head, offering him the smallest, most fragile crumb of comfort before he left for California. "I won't file the papers while you're in Oxnard. I’ll give you those three weeks. Not for us. For you. Go out there, get the noise out of your head, and look at the real parts of yourself. Figure out if you actually want a wife, or if you just want a premium lifestyle with a safety net."
Cam lifted his head, his face wet, his eyes locking onto yours with a fragile, burning hope that looked like a dawn after a year of darkness. He didn't ask for more. He didn't beg for a kiss or a promise. He just took your hand from his head, pressing his lips gently against your knuckles, his breath hot and shaking against your skin.
"Three weeks," he whispered, his voice steadying with a sudden, fierce determination. "I’ll do the work. I’ll find the boy from Austin. I’ll bring him back to you, even if I have to crawl the whole way."
The session ended in that quiet, heavy space. When you left the building, the storm clouds had finally broken, letting the late-afternoon sun hit the wet asphalt, turning the entire parking lot into a blinding, shimmering mirror. You drove back to Uptown alone, the silence in your car still heavy, but for the first time in four months, it didn't feel entirely cold.
The three weeks of August crawled by like a slow, stifling fever. In the silence of your Uptown townhouse, you kept the schedule of the Oxnard training camp memorized in the back of your mind, a lingering habit you couldn't quite shake. You knew when he was on the practice field, when he was in meetings, and when the lights went out in the team hotel. True to his word, Cam’s personal phone remained entirely dark, locked away in a drawer in Dr. Harrison’s office. There were no boxes this time. No notes. Just a vast, echoing space where his constant yearning used to be.
When the Tuesday after the Cowboys flew back to Dallas finally arrived, the heavy summer heat had begun to yield to the first faint, crisp breeze of impending autumn.
You arrived at the medical plaza twenty minutes early, your chest tight with a familiar, low-grade anxiety. The elevator ride to the third floor felt longer than usual. When the doors slid open, you walked down the quiet, carpeted corridor toward Dr. Harrison’s suite, expecting to find the waiting room empty.
Instead, Cam was already there.
He was sitting in one of the low, leather armchairs in the corner of the reception area. He had his head leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. He looked different. The gray, hollow exhaustion that had masked his face before camp was gone, replaced by the clean, hard-cut lines of a man who had been pushed to his physical limits in the California sun. But beneath the athletic veneer, there was a profound, striking stillness to him. He looked grounded.
Hearing the soft click of your heels on the tile, his eyes snapped open. He stood up immediately, his massive frame filling the small waiting room, but he didn't take a step forward. He stayed exactly where he was, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a quiet, arresting intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough and deep, carrying the weight of twenty-one days of absolute silence.
"Hey," you replied softly, stopping a few feet away from him.
The receptionist was behind the glass partition, typing quietly, completely ignoring the two of you. The waiting room felt incredibly small, the air thick with everything that hadn't been said over the last three weeks. You looked at him, taking in the small details—the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the crisp white t-shirt that stretched across his chest, the way his hands were loosely hanging at his sides, completely still.
"You look... better," you admitted, the words leaving your mouth before your defenses could stop them. It was a tiny baby step, a small piece of truth offered into the space between you.
A faint, incredibly vulnerable smile touched the corner of Cam’s mouth, the first real smile you had seen on his face in months. "I feel different," he said quietly. "I did what you asked. I spent twenty-one days without the noise. Just the grass, the film, and the dirt. And a lot of time sitting in the dark, thinking about the boy from Austin."
You felt a strange, sharp ache in your chest, a sudden melting of the ice around your heart. "Did you find him?"
Cam took a slow, deliberate step closer. He didn't rush. He didn't reach out to grab you. He stopped just close enough that you could feel the familiar, clean warmth radiating from his skin, smelling faintly of cedarwood and the rain outside.
"He never left," Cam whispered, his eyes dark and wet with a sudden, profound emotion. "He was just buried under a lot of garbage I thought I needed. But I dug him out. I brought him back for you."
He slowly lifted his right hand, his fingers trembling just a fraction as he held it out between you, palm up, completely submissive to your choice. He didn't force the contact; he just offered it, a silent plea for a temporary truce before the heavy doors of the therapy room opened.
You looked at his hand—the large, calloused hand that had held yours through every milestone of your youth. You looked up at his face, seeing the absolute, unvarnished sincerity in his eyes, the total lack of the swagger or calculation that had ruined the last few years of your marriage. Your mean shell, which had been fracturing for weeks, felt incredibly heavy, a burden you were suddenly tired of carrying.
Slowly, deliberately, you slid your hand into his.
His fingers closed around yours instantly, a tight, convulsive grip that felt less like a romantic gesture and more like a man catching a lifeline above a jagged cliff. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling as he squeezed your fingers, his thumb gently tracing the bare skin of your ring finger. He didn't pull you into an embrace; he just held your hand against his side, his touch anchor-heavy and entirely real.
For three minutes, you stood together in the quiet waiting room, your hands locked, completely silent, letting the warmth of the connection wash away the cold, lonely static of the summer. It wasn't a resolution, and it wasn't a declaration that everything was fixed, but it was a quiet, intimate baseline. When Cam looked down at you, the heavy, desperate panic that usually defined his presence had vanished, replaced by a steady, quiet confidence that made him look like the husband you had lost.
The inner office door opened, and Dr. Harrison stepped out, her sharp eyes instantly dropping to your joined hands. She didn't smile, but a subtle warmth passed over her expression as she gestured inside. "Come on in."
Cam didn't let go of your hand until you reached the sofa. As you sat down, the dynamic of the room felt completely inverted from the previous months. There was no canyon between you today. You sat closer to the center of the cushions, your body angled toward him, your hand resting on the fabric just inches from his knee.
"Welcome back," Dr. Harrison said, settling into her chair and opening her notebook. "Cam, let’s start with you. You’ve just completed three weeks of intensive camp and total disconnection from your personal life. What came to the surface for you?"
Cam sat back, his broad shoulders relaxed, his eyes fixed steadily on Dr. Harrison. "An epiphany," he said, his voice resonant and clear. "The last time we were in this room, my wife told me that I had turned our marriage into a transaction. She told me that I had used my career to erase her, and that I was trying to draft press releases to excuse my betrayal. She was entirely right."
He paused, turning his head to look at you, his gaze steady and entirely devoid of the defensiveness that used to ruin his apologies.
"When I got to Oxnard," Cam continued, "I spent the first three days wanting to crawl out of my skin. Every time I walked off the field, my instinct was to look for a phone, to look for validation, to look for something to numb the guilt. But because I didn't have it, I had to sit in that dorm room and look at what I’d done. And I realized something disgusting about myself. I didn't cheat because I was lonely, and I didn't cheat because the pressure of the NFL was too high. I did it because I was terrified of being ordinary."
The words hit the room with a heavy, quiet thud. You leaned forward, your eyes narrowing, but not with anger—with a deep, profound curiosity.
"Explain that, Cam," Dr. Harrison said, her pen hovering.
"In Austin, when we were nineteen, being ordinary was fine because we were ordinary together," Cam said, his voice dropping into a lower, more intimate register, his eyes locked entirely on yours. "But the moment the money and the fame hit, everyone started telling me I was special. And I bought into the lie. I started thinking that if I was just a regular guy who went home to his wife, did the dishes, and lived a normal life behind closed doors, then the magic would disappear. I thought that to maintain the god-status the stadium gave me, I had to live a life that looked like a movie. The cars, the houses, the secondary women... it wasn't about the girls. It was about proving to myself that I was above the rules that govern regular people."
He reached out, his hand flattening against the sofa cushion, his fingers gently sliding over yours, anchoring you to his words.
"But standing on that practice field last week, looking out at eighty other guys who can throw a ball just as hard as me, I realized the terrifying truth," Cam whispered, a tear finally gathering in his eye but his voice remaining completely steady. "The football is the ordinary part. Anyone with the right genetics can play this game. The only extraordinary thing I have ever done in my life was convince a woman as strong, as beautiful, and as real as you to love me when I had absolutely nothing to offer but a box of mac and cheese. My marriage wasn't the anchor holding me down from greatness. My marriage was the only truly great thing I had ever built. And I threw it away because I was too stupid to see the difference between a spotlight and the sun."
The room went completely still. The silence that followed wasn't the bitter, weaponized quiet of June, or the exhausted slush of July. It was a clear, clean space where the truth had finally been stripped of its armor.
You looked down at his hand over yours, your chest heaving as a single, heavy sob escaped your throat. But this time, you didn't cover your face. You didn't push him away with a sharp dagger of a word. You looked at him through your tears, seeing the raw, unpolished boy from Austin standing completely transparent inside the body of the man who had broken your heart.
He had finally found the root. He wasn't apologizing for the symptoms anymore; he was diagnosing the disease.
"I’m still hurt, Cam," you whispered, your voice shaking but entirely free of the mean shell that had protected you for so long. "I still see those text messages when I close my eyes. I still sleep in a house that doesn't belong to us, and I’m still terrified that if I let you back in, your infidelity will just consume us again."
"I know," Cam said, his fingers tightening around yours, his entire body leaning into your space with that fierce, enduring yearning that felt like it could move mountains. "I’m not asking you to move back into Southlake. I don't want to go back to that house either. Let's sell it. Let's sell the whole damn thing and find something smaller. Something with a kitchen where we can actually hear each other speak. I don't care about the script anymore. I just want the you back."
Dr. Harrison slowly closed her notebook, a faint, genuine smile appearing on her face for the very first time since May. "I think," she said softly, looking between the two of you, "that the counseling has finally begun."
You didn't look at the clock. You didn't count the minutes. You just sat on the linen sofa, your hand enveloped in his, your forehead leaning forward until it touched his shoulder, letting the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart fill the empty spaces of the room as the storm outside finally passed, leaving nothing but the clear, bright Texas light.
The morning after the session, the sky over Dallas was a high, unbroken blue, the kind of clear Texas light that made everything look sharp and unforgiving around the edges. Exactly twenty-four hours had passed since you sat on Dr. Harrison’s sofa, since Cam had stripped himself of his armor and laid the raw truth of his ego at your feet.
It was 2:30 on Wednesday afternoon. You were standing in the middle of your Uptown townhouse, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes and the quiet hum of the air conditioner. On the kitchen island sat a cardboard cup of coffee. It wasn't from a high-end café, and it wasn't the burnt sludge from the Denton diner. It was just a regular black coffee Cam had dropped off on your porch an hour ago, leaving it with a small, typed sticky note that simply read: Nothing crazy. Just thought you might want a cup.
He hadn't knocked. He hadn't waited around to see if you'd open the door. He was executing the play exactly as agreed—giving you the space to breathe while ensuring you knew he was still standing on the sideline, waiting for the whistle.
Your phone buzzed against the marble countertop. It was a text from him. Your heart did that brief, familiar stutter before you picked it up.
“The real estate agent is coming by the Southlake house at four to do the initial walk-through for the listing. I told her I want it on the market by Friday. You don't have to be there, but I wanted you to know I'm following through. The keys to the gate are on the counter if you need anything from the safe.”
You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the glass. Selling the Southlake estate wasn't just a financial transaction; it was the symbolic demolition of the monument he had built to his own success—the house where the double life had thrived, the place where you had felt the most invisible. He was tearing it down himself, brick by brick, without you having to ask twice.
Slowly, you typed back: “I’ll be there. I have a few remaining things in the study I want to pack myself.”
The drive out to Southlake felt different this time. The crushing weight of the anger that usually fueled your trips to the mansion had subsided into a heavy, contemplative quiet. When you pulled through the iron gates, the massive stone facade didn't look intimidating anymore. It just looked large, empty, and slightly tragic.
Cam’s truck was parked in the circular driveway, but as promised, he was nowhere in sight.
You unlocked the heavy front door, the scent of expensive polish and stagnant air hitting you instantly. The house was dead quiet. You walked down the grand hallway toward the study, your footsteps echoing off the hardwood. But as you passed the open double doors of the kitchen, you stopped.
Cam was standing by the marble island, his back to you. He was wearing an old t-shirt, his broad shoulders slightly hunched as he went through a stack of old papers, sorting them into a shredder box. He looked like he was in his own world, completely detached from the quarterback persona the city worshipped.
You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a long, silent moment. The mean, protective shell you had lived in for months didn't snap back into place. Instead, you just felt a profound wave of reality. This was the man who had broken your heart, yes, but he was also the only man who knew the exact sequence of events that had brought you both here.
"Cam," you said quietly.
He turned around so fast he nearly dropped the folder in his hands. His dark eyes went wide, scanning your face with that instant, familiar yearning, his chest rising as he took a sharp breath. "Hey," he breathed, his voice dropping into that low, reverent register. "I didn't hear you come in. I can go to the guest house—"
"Stay," you said, stepping into the kitchen. You didn't approach the island, keeping a safe five feet of marble between you, but you didn't look away either. "You don't have to hide in your own house while we're selling it."
Cam slowly set the folder down, his large hands flat against the counter, his knuckles still raw from the week's practices. "It’s not my house," he said softly, his eyes locked onto yours with absolute sincerity. "It was just a stage. I’m glad we’re getting rid of it."
You looked at the empty space on the counter where his iPad used to sit—the exact spot where the illusion had shattered back in April. The memory didn't cause the usual spike of adrenaline this time; it just felt like an old scar, tender but closed.
"Dr. Harrison called me this morning," you said, resting your hands on the edge of the island. "She wants to schedule individual sessions for both of us next week before we do another joint one."
Cam nodded immediately, entirely compliant. "Whatever she says. Whatever you need me to do."
"I told her I'd go," you continued, your voice steady. "I think... I think I have some things I need to figure out on my own. About why I stayed quiet for so long. Why I let myself get erased."
Cam’s expression softened into a look of profound, aching regret. He leaned across the marble, just an inch or two, his eyes wet but clear. "I’m sorry I made it unsafe for you to speak," he whispered. "I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to hide your voice again. Even if you use it to tell me goodbye for good."
You looked at his hand, which was resting on the counter, his fingers completely still, waiting. You didn't take his hand this time, and you didn't step across the distance. The canyon was still there, and twenty-four hours hadn't changed the fact that trust was something that had to be built from scratch, one stone at a time.
But as you turned to walk toward the study to pack the rest of your things, you didn't feel the ice freezing over.
"Don't shred the college playbooks, Cameron," you said over your shoulder, your tone light but firm. "The boy from Austin might want to look at his highlights sometime."
Behind you, you heard him let out a ragged, emotional breath—a sound that sounded remarkably like hope.
————————————-
The solo session with Dr. Harrison felt entirely different from the ones shared with Cam. Without his heavy, physical presence filling the room, without the constant pull of his desperate, yearning gaze, the office felt massive and quiet. The neutral tones and soft lighting didn't feel like a stage for a confrontation anymore; they felt like a clean slate.
You sat in the center of the linen sofa, your hands wrapped around a glass of water, watching the small shadow cast by the bronze sculpture on the side table.
"How does it feel to occupy this room by yourself?" Dr. Harrison asked, her voice low and inviting, her glasses resting on her notepad.
"It feels lighter," you admitted, taking a slow breath. "But it also feels terrifying. When Cam is here, I can focus on his mistakes. I can focus on my anger, on his betrayal, on the logistics of what he did. It’s easy to be the judge. It’s much harder to sit here and look at my own reflection."
Dr. Harrison nodded slowly. "In our last joint session, you said something very profound. You mentioned that you let yourself become small, and that your silence gave him permission to take everything until you were just a shell. Let’s look at that. Why did you choose silence?"
You stared down at the water in your glass, the surface rippling slightly from the faint tremor in your fingers. "Because I thought our love was a currency," you whispered, the truth tasting raw and heavy on your tongue. "In college, when we had nothing, my sacrifice was the only thing of value I had to give him. I gave up my shifts, I gave up my sleep, I gave up my own ambitions to make sure he had a clear path. I built a habit of erasing myself because, back then, erasing myself was how I proved I loved him."
You paused, a sharp, aching memory rising to the surface. It was the night after he signed his rookie contract. You had gone to a diner in Austin—not the one you worked at, but a slightly nicer one down the road—to celebrate. He had been staring at the numbers on his phone, his face a mix of awe and sheer terror. You had reached across the table, taken his hand, and told him that no matter how big the numbers got, you would always be the person who kept him grounded. You had promised him that you would handle the background noise so he could just focus on being great.
"I re-read that promise a thousand times in my head over the years," you continued, looking up at Dr. Harrison, your eyes stinging with fresh tears. "Every time he forgot an anniversary, every time he came home too angry to speak to me, every time his career demanded that I change my entire life to suit his schedule, I told myself that this was just me keeping my promise. I thought that if I complained, if I asked him to carry my weight for once, it meant I was failing as a partner. I didn't stay silent because I was a pushover. I stayed silent because my entire identity was wrapped up in being the woman who could handle the pressure."
Dr. Harrison leaned forward, her expression intensely focused, her sharp eyes holding yours with an immense, steady weight.
"And when you found out about the infidelity?" she asked. "What did that do to the currency?"
"It made it worthless," you said, your voice cracking, a single, hot tear slipping down your cheek. "It showed me that all those years of making myself invisible didn't buy me safety. They didn't buy me respect. It made me realize that while I was busy protecting the boy from Austin, he was busy growing into a man who didn't think he needed protecting anymore. It broke my heart, but it also made me mean. The anger became my new armor. If I was mean, I wasn't invisible anymore. He had to look at me. He had to feel the pain I was carrying."
Dr. Harrison let the silence stretch out, letting your words settle into the quiet corners of the room. She didn't write anything down. She just watched you, her posture calm and observant.
"You told Cam that the divorce is still on the table," Dr. Harrison said softly. "But you also haven't signed the papers. You agreed to let him buy you coffee. You let him hold your hand in the waiting room. Tell me about the part of you that wants to stay."
You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the sofa, your chest heaving with a deep, shuddering sigh. "I want to stay because I still love him," you whispered, the admission feeling like a total surrender. "And I hate myself for it. I want to stay because when I look at him now—when he’s stripped of the swagger, when he’s selling the house, when he’s looking at me with that absolute, desperate honesty—I see the person I built my entire life with. I don't want to throw away ten years of history if there’s a chance that the man he’s becoming is the man he was always supposed to be. But I’m terrified that staying means going back to the old dynamic. I’m terrified of becoming small again."
Dr. Harrison stood up slowly, walking over to the small table in the corner to pour a fresh glass of water. She didn't speak until she sat back down, her gaze locked onto yours with a sudden, striking clarity.
"You are looking at this choice as a binary," Dr. Harrison said, her tone carrying the weight of an epiphany. "You think that staying means returning to the old marriage, and leaving means protecting your dignity. But I want you to realize something very important, right now: The old marriage is already dead. Cam killed it in Austin, and you buried it when you walked out of that Southlake house. You cannot go back to it, even if you want to."
You opened your eyes, frowning slightly, your heart rate spiking at her words. "Then what am I doing here?"
"You are deciding if you want to build a completely new relationship with a man who has finally learned your value," Dr. Harrison said, her voice ringing with an absolute, undeniable truth. "Your silence didn't protect him, and your anger isn't protecting you now. The epiphany you need to have, today, is that you are no longer the curator of Cameron Cade’s peace of mind. You are an equal partner with a veto power. If you stay, it is not because you owe him your history, and it is not because you are keeping an old promise. It is because you are choosing to let him earn a place in your future, on your terms, with your voice completely intact."
The words hit you like a physical wave, knocking the breath straight out of your lungs. The room seemed to shift, the heavy, suffocating weight of the past suddenly detaching itself from your shoulders.
You looked down at your bare ring finger. For months, you had viewed the choice to stay as a sign of weakness, a failure to punish him enough for what he had broken. But Dr. Harrison’s words rewired the entire equation in your mind. Choosing to stay didn't mean you were a bird or a pushover; it meant you were powerful enough to dictate the terms of the reconstruction. You weren't a victim waiting for him to fix himself; you were the architect deciding if his foundation was strong enough to support the life you wanted to live.
A slow, deep sense of clarity washed over you, the last remaining pieces of your mean shell melting away to reveal something far more durable: absolute, unshakeable self-possession.
"He's waiting outside," you whispered, looking at the door that led to the reception area.
"I know," Dr. Harrison said, a genuine, quiet smile touching her face as she closed her legal pad. "Go tell him what the new rules are."
The heavy wooden door of Dr. Harrison’s private office clicked shut behind you, the sound sharp and final in the quiet corridor.
Cam was standing by the tall windows at the end of the hall, his large silhouette framed against the blinding glare of the afternoon sun. He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dark hoodie, his shoulders rigid, staring down at the microscopic cars crawling along the highway below. The moment the latch clicked, his entire body went taut. He turned around slowly, his chest rising as he took a deep, stabilizing breath, his dark eyes instantly locking onto your face with that fierce, almost painful yearning that had become his second shadow.
He didn't speak. He just watched you approach, his jaw working silently, waiting for the verdict. He looked like a man standing before a jury, entirely resigned to whatever sentence was about to be handed down, but desperately praying for a sliver of sky.
You stopped three feet away from him, the distance deliberate but no longer frozen. The mean, icy armor that had carried you through the grueling summer months felt completely gone, replaced by the profound, steady weight of the epiphany Dr. Harrison had just laid in your lap. You weren't here to punish him anymore; you were here to lay down the law of a world that didn't exist yet.
"She told me the old marriage is dead," you said, your voice quiet, clear, and perfectly steady.
Cam flinched, his eyes darkening as if he had just taken a physical blow to the sternum. He swallowed hard, his hands clenching inside his pockets. "I know," he choked out, his voice rough and thick with a sudden, suffocating grief. "I know I killed it. I’m so damn sorry."
"Stop," you said, lifting a hand slightly to cut him off. "I don't want the apologies anymore, Cam. I don't need you to keep bleeding out on the floor to prove you feel sick about what you did. I know you're sorry. I see it every time you look at me. But being sorry doesn't change the fact that I spent six years making myself invisible so you could be great."
He closed his eyes, a single, heavy tear escaping his lashes and tracing a path through the stubble on his jaw. "I know," he whispered. "I was a thief."
"You were," you agreed, completely unvarnished. "But I was the one who let you hold the bag. I stayed silent because I thought my sacrifice was the only thing keeping us together. I thought that if I complained, I was failing us."
You took a step closer, closing the gap between you until you could feel the immense, radiating heat of his body. You looked up, your eyes drilling into his, completely devoid of the defensive malice from before, leaving only a raw, terrifying power.
"If I stay, Cameron, it is not because I owe you my past. It is not because we shared a draft night or a box of mac and cheese in Austin. It is because I am choosing to see if you are strong enough to build something completely new from the ground up. The Southlake house is going on the market on Friday, and the woman who kept your secrets and curated your peace of mind is staying in that empty closet."
Cam’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping open, wide and wet, staring down at you with a sudden, breathless hope that looked almost feral. "What are the rules?" he breathed, his voice trembling violently. "Tell me the play. I'll run it exactly how you want."
"There is no playbook," you said, your voice dropping to a fierce, intimate whisper. "That's the point. From this day forward, I am an equal partner with a veto power over every single aspect of our life. If your career demands that I become invisible again, you walk away from the field. If your ego needs a stranger’s validation because my reality is too heavy for you, you pack your bags and you never see my face again. I am not your cheerleader, and I am not your safety net. I am your wife. And if you can't handle the weight of a real woman who sees your flaws and expects you to carry her weight too, tell me right now so I can go sign the papers."
Cam let out a ragged, broken sob, his hands flying out of his pockets. He didn't grab you, he didn't pull you into his chest; instead, he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, his massive frame shaking violently as he wept into the fabric of your blazer. His hands came up to hover just above your waist, his fingers curling into tight fists as he fought the desperate urge to hold you, completely submissive to the boundary you had set.
"I can handle it," he choked out, his voice muffled against your shoulder, raw and undone by the sheer force of his own relief. "I want the weight. I want all of it. I don't want the god-status, I don't want the noise... I just want to carry you. Please. Just let me carry my half."
Slowly, deliberately, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around his neck, your fingers tangling in the short, crisp hair at the nape of his neck. You pulled him close, feeling the solid, thunderous beat of his heart against your chest—a rhythm you had known for ten years, but one that finally felt like it was beating at the same pace as yours.
"Three weeks in Oxnard was just the warmup, Cam," you whispered into his ear, your own tears finally blurring your vision as you held him tight against the blinding Texas sun. "The real season starts now."
The shift from the quiet, clinical sanctuary of Dr. Harrison’s office back into the blinding glare of the public eye was instantaneous and unforgiving. The Dallas Cowboys were a religion, and Cameron Cade was its high priest; a fractured marriage at his level was never just private baggage—it was a national news cycle.
When the news broke that Friday morning that the twenty-million-dollar Southlake estate had officially hit the market, the media vultures didn't just circle—they descended. Speculation ran rampant across sports networks and tabloid blogs. Speculation morphed into a frenzy when Cam’s publicist released a brief, joint statement confirming that the house was being sold as part of a personal restructuring, and that the family requested privacy. Privacy, of course, was the one thing the machine refused to grant.
By late September, the Cowboys were four games into the regular season, standing at an undefeated 4-0. Cam was playing with a terrifying, razor-sharp focus that the analysts couldn't stop praising. They called it "the maturity of a franchise leader." They didn't know that the intensity on the field was the direct result of a man who spent his nights in a modest, unlisted three-bedroom house in Plano, sitting at a wooden kitchen table, learning how to speak to his wife again without a script.
The real test came on a Tuesday evening in October. It was the annual Blue Diamond Gala, a massive, mandatory charity event held at the Omni Hotel downtown. Every player, coach, and executive was expected to attend, walking the blue carpet flanked by hundreds of flashing cameras and reporters holding microphones.
For the last four months, you had lived in a protective bubble of anonymity in your Uptown townhouse, but tonight was the public execution of the old narrative. It was the moment you stepped back into the arena, not as a silent fixture of his entourage, but as the woman holding the veto power.
Inside the dressing room of the townhouse, the silence was thick. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the fabric of a sleek, long-sleeved emerald silk gown. It was elegant, high-necked, and completely devoid of the flashy, designer-labeled excess your old stylist used to force upon you. You wore no diamonds around your neck. Your hands were bare, save for a simple, thin gold band you had bought yourself at a vintage shop—a placeholder for a future that hadn't been fully earned yet, but a sign that you were still at the table.
A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door. It opened, and Cam stepped inside.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching audibly in his throat. He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, his massive frame imposing and immaculate, looking exactly like the man the billboards promised. But his eyes—dark, wide, and entirely undone—belonged completely to you. The sharp, confident quarterback persona vanished the moment the door closed behind him.
"You look... unbelievable," he whispered, his voice rough and deep, carrying a heavy wave of emotion that seemed to vibrate through the small room. He stayed by the door, his hands resting flat against his sides, respecting the invisible boundary you still maintained when the world got too close.
"Thank you," you said softly, turning around to face him. You looked at him—really looked at him—noticing the tight line of his jaw and the slight tremor in his fingers. "Are you ready for this?"
Cam took a slow, deliberate breath, his chest expanding under the crisp white shirt. "I don't care about the red carpet. I don't care about the reporters. The only thing I care about is making sure that when we walk through those doors, everybody knows I'm walking in your shadow. Not the other way around."
You walked over to him, the silk of your dress whispering against the floor. You stopped just inches away, looking up into his face. The mean, defensive shell was entirely gone now, replaced by a calm, absolute self-possession. You reached up, your fingers steady as you adjusted the lapel of his tuxedo jacket, your touch lingering for a brief, warm second against his chest.
"We are a new team, Cameron," you murmured, your eyes locking onto his with an unshakeable clarity. "If anyone asks a question that crosses the line, I'm walking away. And you're coming with me."
"On the first step," he promised, his voice thick with a profound, aching reverence. He lifted his hand, pausing to ask for permission with a glance, before gently sliding his fingers between yours, locking his large, calloused hand with yours.
The Omni Hotel ballroom was a sea of flashing lights, expensive champagne, and the deafening roar of media chatter. The moment the black SUV pulled up to the curb and Cam stepped out, the noise level doubled. The cameras clicked in a synchronized, blinding rhythm. Then, he turned, reaching back into the vehicle to offer you his hand.
As your heels hit the blue carpet, a collective gasp and a surge of reporters pressed against the velvet ropes. The headlines had spent months speculating about a bitter, multi-million-dollar divorce; seeing you standing beside him, regal, calm, and entirely composed, threw the entire press core off balance.
A prominent sports anchor leaned over the barricade, thrusting a microphone toward Cam. "Cameron! Cameron! A phenomenal start to the season, but the rumors surrounding your personal life have been standard fodder all summer. The sale of the Southlake home—can you comment on where you and your wife stand tonight?"
Cam stopped. The public relations representative stepped forward to block the reporter, but Cam lifted a hand, stopping the handler in his tracks. He turned slowly, his large frame shielding you from the worst of the camera flashes, his eyes fixed on the reporter with a cold, steady authority.
"My wife and I stand exactly where we’ve always stood when things mattered," Cam said, his voice carrying clearly over the din of the crowd, resonant and entirely unbothered by the script his handlers had prepared. "We are handling our life privately, with the guidance of people who actually care about the truth. The Southlake house was just a building. Our marriage is a real life. I spent a long time forgetting the difference between the two, but my wife was strong enough to remind me. Anything else regarding our relationship is off the record, permanently."
The reporter blinked, stunned by the absolute lack of standard PR fluff. Cam didn't wait for a follow-up. He wrapped his arm firmly around the small of your back—not pulling you, but presenting a solid, protective wall against the crowd—and guided you through the double doors into the ballroom.
Hours later, the gala was a blur of polite nods, corporate handshakes, and coaches' wives smiling just a little too brightly. You had held your ground, speaking with a quiet, sharp intelligence that left no room for pity or gossip. Cam had stayed glued to your side, refusing to enter the VIP player lounges or slip away for a drink with the boosters. Every time someone tried to pull him into a football conversation, he expertly threaded your name into the dialogue, forcing the room to acknowledge that he was not an isolated entity.
By midnight, the townhouse was silent again. The heavy green silk dress lay draped over the chair, and the tuxedo jacket was gone.
You sat on the edge of the bed in a soft, oversized cotton t-shirt, your hair down, staring out the window at the quiet Uptown streets. The adrenaline of the public arena had faded, leaving a deep, liquid exhaustion in your bones.
The door opened quietly, and Cam walked in, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, his broad chest bare, the dark ink of his tattoos catching the dim lamplight. He looked at you, his expression raw, vulnerable, and entirely stripped of the celebrity armor he had worn so flawlessly at the hotel.
He walked over to the bed, dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor right in front of you—the exact same posture he had taken in Dr. Harrison’s office, the posture of a man who knew his only sanctuary was at your feet. He rested his large hands on your knees, his thumbs gently sweeping across the fabric.
"Did I do okay tonight?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a childlike vulnerability that broke your heart in the best possible way.
You looked down at him, seeing the fierce, enduring yearning in his dark eyes—a yearning that was no longer a frantic panic, but a steady, lifelong commitment to earning back the space he had broken. You reached down, your hands framing his face, your fingers sliding into the short hair at his temples.
"You did perfectly, Cam," you whispered, a soft, genuine tear slipping down your cheek, though a small, beautiful smile touched your lips.
Cam let out a ragged, trembling breath, his head dropping forward until his forehead rested against your lap. His large arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, his entire body shaking as he held onto you in the quiet room. There were no cameras here. There were no publicists, no fans, no stadium lights. There was just the boy from Austin, completely undone, and the woman who had finally found her voice to lead him home.
"I love you," he choked out into the fabric of your shirt, the words heavy, real, and finally unbreakable. "I'll spend every day proving it. Every single day."
You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of his head, letting the silence wrap around you both—a silence that was no longer an erasure, but the beautiful, clean foundation of a brand new world.
Summary: The internet seems to have a problem with how weird and whimsical you are. Michael makes it very clear that he doesn’t play about you.
Part I. Part II. Part III.
Lovergirlnote: This installment is a love letter to all of my weird black girlies who love the weird, gross, and macabre. I know that a lot of people in the black community tend to like to shun our interests or claim that its “white washed” but truthfully, black women aren’t just one thing. We’re a multitude of different and beautiful personalities. I hope that you all like it, and let me know what you think!
Sometimes, Michael wonders if you’re real. Like, were you born here naturally, or did some ethereal being from another plane of existence drop you off here on Earth? He plays the scenario over more and more in his head and concludes that you’re definitely on a different wavelength than everyone else here.
One of the things that Michael enjoys about dating you is just how carefree and connected you are with yourself, your body, and nature. For him, it was always this bright light that surrounded you. Even now, as you’re casually twirling around in his yard and dancing to Solange. The shorts that you’re wearing shape your legs as his shirt on your body fans out.
“Come dance with me, Kari,” You call out, flashing him a bright smile.
Michael’s never been one to tell you no. He walks over to you and grabs your hand in his as he twirls you around. You laugh loudly as you crash back into his chest. Next, “No Plan” by Hozier croons through the speaker as you move your body. You run your hands up your body and into your hair as you sing the lyrics to Michael. He smiles in response and pulls you closer.
“You know I love you, right?” He questions, pressing his forehead against yours.
You give him a teasing smile, “You may have mentioned it a couple of times. But I’d love to hear it again.”
He kisses you softly, “I love you. I love you so much that I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.”
A wide grin settles over your glossy lips, “I love you too, Kari. I’ve never been happier than being with you.” Michael smiles and leans down to press his lips against yours again. The song changes to something slower and more intimate. The soft and powerful crooning of Donny Hathaway’s “I Love You More Than You’ll Ever Know” radiates through the backyard. Michael pulls you closer to his chest as you drape your arms across his shoulders.
You both sway together as the song serenades the moment.
In that moment, nothing matter except the two of you and how much you love each other.
Michael’s been in the industry for a long time. He knows the ins and outs of what comes with the fame. From his last relationship, he’d been a bit more private and protective of this one with you.
Of course, he would still post pictures of you in his collages on Instagram or in his stories, but he still wanted to protect your space and peace. He knew how cruel and parasocial people could get when their favorite celebrity was dating someone new.
When he’d first started to post glimpses of you on his page, he’d caught about of the headlines and blogs speculating about his ‘new beau.’
When you and Michael had finally made your first public appearance together, the internet was in shambles.
You stood by Michael’s side on the red carpet with so much confidence and grace. He held some form of contact with you throughout the night—whether that be holding your hand or keeping his arm around your waist.
It was his way of making sure that you knew that you would always be safe with him.
Little did you know, your presence provided Michael with a lot of comfort that night as well. Even after being in the industry for so many years and attending all of events, he still got nervous.
You’d clocked the subtle twitch of his hand and the way that his eyes darted around the space.
“Hey,” you muttered to him softly.
Michael turned his head to look at you. Your worried eyes meet his, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just a little nervous,” Michael answers. You nod while giving him that same bright smile, “Shouldn’t I be the one that’s nervous?”
He chuckles, “Probably. I just still get nervous at events like these.”
“It’s okay. I’ll right by right your side the entire night,” you said, grasping his fingers tightly between yours. You bring your conjoined hands up to your lips where you press a soft kiss to back of Michael’s hand.
If it was possibly to melt in the carpet, he would. He looks down at you and the world fades away. He leans down and presses his lips to yours as the camera flash around you both.
“I love you so much, baby,” Michael whispers against your lips. Unbeknownst to you both, fans and cameras alike catch the moment closely.
It doesn’t take long for the video to blow up and become viral. All of the lip reader experts are called in to decode what Michael is saying to you. Once they get get a clear read of him declaring his love to you, it sends everyone into a frenzy.
It also doesn’t help that most of the pictures from the night have Michael looking down at you like you were the sun, moon, and stars. But to Michael, you’re all of those things and more.
There’s an increase in people that start following you online and speculating about your relationship with Michael. There’s a lot of people rooting for you both as they can obviously see how in love Michael is with you.
But naturally, with the good, there’s always bad. The negative comments start to roll in.
user1234: the fact that y’all can’t see that this is a PR relationship is crazy
tinamarie1: he doesn’t even look happy with her
donadondon: he looked way better and happier with Lori
jeremystacks: how he downgrade? his new girl ain’t got nothing on Lori
mbjfan: yall I got tea. According to a friend of mine that’s close with Michael, his whole family doesn’t even like her. They think she’s weird and just using Mike for clout
@mbjfangirl: @mbjfan ugh that makes me so sick! Somebody needs to get her away from Michael bc he obviously can’t see that she doesn’t have good intentions
You weren’t clueless. You’d seen most of the comments and even received some rather less than polite DMs. You wouldn’t let it affect you or your relationship with Michael.
You knew what you had with him was real and special. You took the initiative to private your account and keep it moving.
But the haters just aren’t ready to let you be great.
You know that you’re weird. It’s a title that you’ve always embraced even as a kid. You’ve always just kind of had weird and unique interests in things.
Michael knows that you like to collect unique buttons, but he soon learns very early in your relationship that you like to collect odd items, such as preserved bugs, animal bones, and antique items.
Which is what you both to this moment.
“So what’s the name of the event again?” Michael asks.
“It’s the Oddities and Curiosities Expo. It’s where a bunch of different vendors who make and sell weird and unique collectibles,” you explain, swiping lip glass on your lips as you look into the mirror.
“And it’s usually stuff like bugs and dead animals?” You can hear the hesitation in his voice and it makes you chuckle internally. You know that Michael’s trying to be supportive, but he can’t hide how squeamish he is about blood and creepy things.
“Mhmm, it can be things like that. I’m taking the taxidermy class, but they also sell other stuff like buttons, pins, and shirts. There’s one vendor who sells vintage medical equipment that I want to get my hands on.”
Michael’s heart warms at how excited you are about this whole thing. Even though stuff like this would typically creep him out, he finds himself pushing the fear to the side because he knows how much this means to you.
Truthfully, Michael would do anything if it meant that he got to see you be happy.
He nods, “Do you mind if I come with you?”
You raise your eyebrows, “Are you sure? I know this isn’t typically your thing. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Michael shakes his head, “Baby, you’ve been enduring red carpets with me these past few months, and you’ve been doing it with a smile. I’d love to come to something that you’re passionate about.”
“Awww, Kari. Of course you can come, just let me know if you’re ever uncomfortable,” you said, leaning up to kiss him. Michael takes the chance to peck your lips a few more times before grabbing his keys.
As he drives, he stops to get you an iced coffee before driving to the location of the event.
You both walk hand-in-hand, and Michael can feel you buzzing with energy. The first booth that you drag him to is the preserved bugs.
“Ooo look at this one Kari,” You said, pointing at the brightly colored butterfly in the box. You ooo and awe at all of the various specimens in the container.
Michael has to admit to himself, this is actually some pretty neat stuff. You point to one box in particular, “You remember the Silence of the Lambs movie? This is the death heads moth species that Buffalo Bill uses in the movie.”
The vendor smiles at you, “She knows her stuff.” You both hop into an animated conversation where you gush over bugs and things.
Michael watches the excitement on your face the entire time. It’s nice to see you in your element. Before long, you’re purchasing the moth, and the girl boxes it up for you. You carefully place it into the tote bag that you brought with you.
You turn to Michael, “So..what do you think?”
“I think it’s pretty cool, baby. Thank you for letting me come,” He said, pulling you closer to his side.
You and Michael continue your journey throughout the expo, stopping by different booths and surveying everything. As you both go to the taxidermy class, he has to hide the fact that he’s squirming in the inside.
Though, he is fascinated. You both end up in a wet specimen class, where the girl leading it is teaching you both how to preserve a baby octopus in a jar.
You clock the look on Michael’s face, “Are you okay?”
“Mhmm. I’m fine,” he responds, trying to play cool.
You laugh, “You know it’s okay to say you’re feeling squeamish, baby. I’m not judging you. How about we go sit for a while?”
Michael nods and you grab your jar containing the preserved octopus as you both go to sit down at a nearby table.
You lay your head on Michael’s shoulder as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “What made you start collecting?”
“I’ve always liked to collect weird and unique things. Most people would find things like bugs and bones to be weird or gross, but I think it’s quite beautiful. Here’s this living that used to be alive on this Earth with us and now we get to honor it even in death. Plus, who wouldn’t want to collect something that someone put so much love and hard work into making?”
“Huh, I guess I never really thought about it like that. I’m glad that I get to be with you, babygirl. It’s like you keep introducing me to these new parts of life, and I can appreciate them even more now,” Michael said, looking down at you.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for not judging me. I’ve had people in the past try to make me feel guilty about liking stuff like this.”
You think back to all the times where you’d tried to show your interests to others, only for them to treat you like an outcast. Even growing up in a black family, you understood that you weren’t supposed to go outside of the status quo.
You weren’t supposed to like “weird” or “odd” things. And if you did, you would often be labeled as “trying to act white” or engaging in “something demonic.” So you hid those parts of yourself that enjoyed the weird and macabre.
It wasn’t until you got older that you decided not to care about what others thought. You embraced your weird and whimsical nature because it was you.
There was nothing wrong with you, and you weren’t about to change yourself to make others comfortable.
Being with Michael helped you to embrace more of that. Unlike most of your past partners, Michael was on board to support you through whatever.
“You know I’d never judge you for your interests. I care about what you care about. And if that just so happens to be this, then I’m fine with it. I love you, baby. I’d do whatever I could to make you happy,” Michael said, staring deeply into your eyes.
“I love you too, Kari,” you reply.
Soon, you both are off again to explore. Of course, there are a few stares at Michael and a few people approach him for autographs or pictures. But for the most part, people are respectful enough to keep their distance that he can enjoy the event with you.
Eventually, you and Michael end up at the table that you were most excited for: the vintage medical equipment.
You gasp in excitement as you run your eyes across all of the various tools. Your eyes widen even more when you spot the vintage medical bag.
“Are you gonna get a few?” Michael asks.
You pluck at one of the tags and immediately put it back down, “Probably not. This stuff would cost me an arm and a leg. But I’m glad that I got to see it up close.” You look back down at the equipment wistfully. You grab Michael’s hand and start walking off, “Come on, let’s go look at the teeth.”
Michael catches you looking back at the table. Once you both make it to the teeth table, he turns to you, “You look around at these. I’m about to run to the bathroom right quick.”
“Okay, I’ll wait here for you!” Michael gives you a quick kiss before walking off.
Little did you know is that he makes a beeline back to the medics equipment table. The girl running the booth looks up at him, “Hi, nice to see you again. Was there something that caught your eye?”
Michael looks at all of the tools on the table and the bag in the corner. “How much for all of these and the bag?”
The girl’s eyes widen in surprise, “You want to buy all of these tools and the bag?”
“Yeah, my girlfriend is in love with stuff like this and she seemed really happy when she saw all of your stuff. I just want her to know that I care about her and all of her interests,” Michael explains. The girl’s gaze softens as she looks at Michael.
She can tell just from the look and tone of his voice that he really loves you.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll let these all go for $1,500 and a picture of you holding my business card,” she negotiates.
“Wait..that’s it. Just $1,500 and a picture. I know all of the equipment costs more than that,” Michael inquires.
The girl smiles, “I have way more medical equipment at home than this. This is only half of my inventory. You said that your girlfriend is passionate about this, so I know she’ll take care of them. Plus, having a picture with you and you buying from me brings way more business in. It’s a win win situation.”
“Deal. I’ll throw in a video too and repost it on my stories. Thank you so much. It means a lot,” Michael said.
The girl smiles and types the total in the card reader. Michael swipes his card without any qualms. In his mind, the $1,500 is light work. He’d pay any price for anything if he knows that it would put a smile on your face.
The girl bags all of the item up and places them into the medical bag before putting them into a box and tying a big bow around the box.
She and Michael takes the pictures and he films a quick video. “Thank you again,” Michael states before quickly going outside and hiding the box in the back of the car.
When he walks back to the table that you’re standing by, you smile brightly at him, “Hey, was the line long? I was worried that you got lost.”
Michael shrugs, “It was pretty crowded.”
You start hopping up and down on your heels excitedly, “I have a surprise for you. Since this is your first oddity expo, I wanted to have something for us to commemorate the memory together.”
You reach inside the bag and pull out a necklace with a tooth attached to the end of it. You smile widely, “It’s a shark tooth. I got us both one. That way if you’re away and filming, you still have a piece of me with you.”
Michael looks at you and then the necklace. He smiles, “I love it. Thank you, baby.”
“Yay! Now turn around so I can put it on you,” you said, to which Michael obliges.
He leans down so that you can clasp the necklace around his neck. The tooth sits perfectly in the middle of his chest. He looks down at it before gesturing to you, “Let me put yours on you.”
You turn and move your curls while Michael returns the gesture. You turn to face him again as you look at your matching necklaces.
“We’re twins now,” you said excitedly.
Michael steps closer to you and cups your face in his hands, “Thank you again for letting me share this with you, baby. I couldn’t have imagined a better way to spend my day than being with you.”
You lean into his touch and press a kiss to his hand. You both spend the rest of the day looking at other booths before heading out to go eat together.
You don’t realize the sneaky pictures and videos being taken of you both.
By the time that you and Michael are at his house, you’re both cuddling on the couch with your shark necklaces still around your necks.
“M’gonna go run to the bathroom. Watch Mikey,” you tell Michael before giving him a quick kiss. The tortoise in question is sleeping peacefully in his little bed with his silk bonnet on his shell. While you’re gone to the bathroom, both yours and Michael’s phones start buzzing incessantly on the table.
Michael reaches out to grab his and navigates to Instagram where you both are being tagged in posts.
@theshaderoom: Roomies, looks like Oscar Winner, Michael B. Jordan, was spotted out and about with his girlfriend, YN YLN. The two were seen looking cozy and comfortable at the Oddities and Curosities Expo. One of our fellow roomies sent us a few pictures and videos of the happy couple casually strolling. In one of the pictures, you can see YN gifting Michael a necklace with what appears to be a tooth on it. Sources say that the pair looked rather in love. What do we think roomies? Is there love in the air, or a possible proposal in the future?
View comments..
@mbjfanpage: ew..why did she have him going to some weird convention?
@mbjbiggestfan: look at his face, you can tell that he’s not into it. He would’ve been better off going back to one of his old girlfriends
@georgiapeach: ugh…can he please end this PR relationship. He doesn’t even look like he likes her
@johnny2x: bro she got this man going to this white people stuff! Not Mike got a white washed girlfriend
@biamia: she’s not even cute and she got my man out here looking crazy
@donthedon: a tooth necklace?! what kind of witchcraft is that? She too broke to buy him something else?
Michael feels sick to his stomach at reading all of the hateful comments directed to you. He picks up your phone and navigates to your social media. The DMs you receive are even worse than the comments.
He swallows down the sick feeling, and soon the only thing that he feels is anger. He’s angry that people felt comfortable enough with disrespecting you and your personality.
You walk into the room and catch Michael frowning at both of your phones. “Baby, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
He looks up at you with a pained expression, “It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”
You cross the room and reach for your phone. Michael moves the phone out of your reach, “Baby, I don’t want you seeing any of that.” You frown and wrestle the phone out of his hand. You look down at the open social media page and read the comments.
Your face drops. You glance down briefly at your necklace and at Michael’s. He immediately notices the pout as it crosses your lips, along with the tears that line your eyes.
You look at him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten you the necklace. It’s weird, right?”
Michael frowns and crosses the room to stand in front of you. He places his hands around you, “Baby listen to me and I want you to listen closely. There’s nothing wrong with the necklaces. I love them and I love you. You’re my everything, baby. I’d do anything to see you happy and there’s nothing that I want to change about you. Princess, you’re the most authentic person I’ve ever met. You make me want to be the best version of myself. I love you, okay? And I’m not about to let anybody disrespect you.”
He leans down to press his forehead against yours, “I love you. I won’t ever get tired of saying that. Sure, you have some weird little quirks, but I love all of that about you. You’re my little weirdo baby.”
You laugh softly as the tears trail down your face. They’re less about being upset and more about your love for the man. You press your lips to his, “I love you too, Kari. Thank you for always letting me be myself around you.”
“You can’t always be yourself around me, babygirl. You get as weird as you want to around me and I promise to match you one hundred percent.”
He pulls you into his chest as you hold him equally as tight. You both allow yourself to hold each other.
When you pull back, Michael takes your phone out of your hand, “Don’t worry about anything else, I’ll handle it. But in the meantime, I have a present for you.”
He ushers you to sit down as he comes back with the black box. He sets it down carefully in your lap. You carefully unwrap the bow before lifting the top.
You gasp as you see the medical bag from earlier. You look up at Michael, who smiles at you, “Open it up. It’s more.”
Your jaw drops as you open the bag and see all of the medical tools from earlier. Your teary eyes meet his, “You went back and got all of the tools?”
“Yeah, you were really excited about them and you wanted them, so I didn’t want you to miss out on your chance to have them,” Michael explains.
“This must’ve costed you so much money.”
Michael shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that. There isn’t a price on making you happy, babygirl.”
You throw your arms around him and press multiple kisses against his lips. “I love you. I love you. Thank you so much, baby.”
“Anything for you, baby.”
Mikey wakes from his sleep and you pick him up and point him towards the bag, “Look at what you daddy got me, Mikey.”
Michael watches you as you carefully explain each and every tool the tortoise, who he’s 100% sure doesn’t understand, but none of that matter.
He continues to look at you and that same warmth returns to his chest. It only further solidifies the fact that he knows that he wants to marry you.
But first, he needs to set the record straight to anyone who feels comfortable with disrespecting you.
He takes his phone from the table and opens up the camera app. He points the camera in his direction before pressing record.
“What’s up, everybody. Mike here. I don’t usually do stuff like this, but I felt that it was necessary. Today, my girlfriend and I went to an event that meant the world to her. I had the privilege of tagging along with her. Now a moment that should be special for us is being turned into an opportunity for people to degrade and diss my girlfriend. So I just wanted to come on here and set the record straight. I love my girlfriend. She’s gonna be the woman that I make my wife soon. What will never be okay is people who claim to be fans of mine feeling like they can disrespect her. So this is my one and only time letting y’all know that if you disrespect her, then you disrespect me. Thats it and that’s all. Y’all be easy.”
He ends the video and immediately uploads it on Instagram. He isn’t surprised that his phone starts buzzing like crazy, but he doesn’t care.
The only thing that matters is spending time with you.
He turns and finds that you’re already staring at him. You smile, “You really meant that?”
“I meant every word that I said, I wanna marry you, baby. I love you and I plan on spending the rest of my life with you.”
“Don’t forget Mikey.”
Michael laughs, “Yeah, I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you, Mikey, and any kids that we have.”
Synopsis: Mrs Min is persistent, she wants her son to get serious about dating and takes the matchmaking process in our own hands. Min Yoongi doesn't think he has the time or the space for a relationship, but it all changes after a few annoying texts from his mother and an elevator ride.
Genre: Idol Yoongi AU, FLUFF, a lot of FLUFF, boyfriend Yoongi, some smut, two people trying to figure out their feelings for each other. Art curator OC, it's just a lot of fluff with some smut because I am terribly single.
Word Count: 25K+
AOC Link: here
Link to Epilogue: here
"Mom, I don't want you intervening in my dating life anymore!" Yoongi's voice carries down the hallway the moment his phone buzzes with yet another contact saved under a name like Park Soomin - nice girl, works in finance, very pretty ♥. He stares at it for a long second before tossing the phone onto his bed. "I don't want you to help me find a girlfriend. I don't have time for a girlfriend."
He yanks open his closet and pulls out the last of the clothes he needs to pack, draping them over his arm with the practiced efficiency of someone who has lived out of suitcases for the better part of a decade. New York. Weeks of back-to-back schedules, press runs, radio slots, and performances and his mother was out here playing matchmaker like he was a man of leisure.
"I'm sure they're all great," he continues, softer now, more tired than annoyed. He means it, genuinely. It's never about the girls. "I just don't have the time." He pads out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where he'd heard her shuffling around not twenty minutes ago, the familiar sound of her rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.
But the room is empty. Yoongi stops in the doorway, a dress shirt still folded over his forearm, and looks around. The television is off. Her reading glasses are sitting on the arm of the sofa. A half-drunk cup of tea steams quietly on the coffee table.
He blinks. "…Mom?"
He walks further in, checking the kitchen, empty, then their bedroom. Nothing. He stands very still for a moment and replays the last several minutes in his head. The bedroom, the closet, the hallway rant. Had she even been home? Had he just been pouring his heart out to an apartment?
He drags a hand through his hair and exhales slowly through his nose. His phone buzzes again on the bed, distant but audible. Probably another one.
Her phone rings for a while before she picks up, “Where are you?” Yoongi speaks to the phone as he continues packing. "I'm at the Lee's place." Her voice is bright, unbothered, the voice of a woman who has done nothing wrong in her entire life. "Their daughter is visiting. You should come over." A brief pause, then, as though it's a perfectly reasonable addendum: "Now."
Yoongi stops folding. "Their daughter," he repeats. "She's very sweet. She works in the arts world too, works as-" "Mom." He sets the shirt down. "I leave for the airport in twenty minutes"
"It won't take long, just come and say hello, what is twenty minutes-" "Why are you even there?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You went to the Lee's just… did you plan this? Did you leave so I couldn't argue with you in person?"
The pause that follows is a fraction too long. "Their daughter got some amazing desserts from Spain" she says finally, with great dignity. He laughs before he can stop himself, a short, disbelieving exhale and sits down on the edge of the bed amidst the half-packed chaos. "I'm not coming over."
"Just to say hello -" "I'm not coming over, I'm going to New York, and when I come back we are having a real conversation about this." He stands again, reaching for the shirt. "Enjoy the desserts"
"She has a very nice smile, so beautiful, perfect height for you" "Bye, Mom, I’ll see you in two weeks" He hangs up. Stares at the open closet for exactly three seconds, then gets back to packing. His phone buzzes again, information for the Lee’s daughter, like he’s really convinced by the hard sell his mother gave.
The elevator dings and slides open, and Yoongi steps in without looking up, wheeling his carry-on in front of him. He adjusts his mask, tugs his beanie down a little further, and stares at the floor numbers like they owe him something. He does not notice, at first, that he is not alone.
She's standing in the corner with her coat half-buttoned and her bag hiked up on one shoulder, the posture of someone who had also left a situation slightly faster than was polite. She'd walked into her parents' living room an hour ago expecting a quiet visit and had instead been subjected to an unsolicited slideshow. Her mother and Mrs. Min, two women who clearly missed their calling as matchmakers, had walked her through approximately twenty photographs. Career highlights, candid shots, one that looked suspiciously like a press photo with the watermark cropped out.
So she recognizes him from a maternal ambush conducted over barley tea and the good plates. She says nothing at first. The doors slide shut.
"Congratulations on the album," she says, pleasantly, the way you'd say it to a colleague in a lift. "My mother played me three songs from it this morning. Without warning."
That gets him, his head turns. Not just the sideways glance he'd given her when she shifted her bag a proper turn, eyes finding her face with something between confusion and alertness. The look of a man trying to locate the context.
"She what?" "The one with the soft intro," ___ continues, thinking back. "She said it proved you were sensitive. I think that was meant to sell me on you."
There’s complete silence from Yoongi’s side, he just stares at her. She can only see his eyes above the mask but it's enough she watches the exact moment the pieces assemble themselves.
"The daughter," he says slowly. "You're ___ Lee?" he recalls from the last contact information his mother sent. "And you're the son" She tilts her head. "Twenty pictures, by the way. I counted."
He makes a sound that isn't quite a word, more of a groan. His hand moves to the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry," he says, and he means it with his whole chest.
"It's fine." She smiles, and there's no edge in it, just genuine amusement. "Honestly the album part was good. I'd have preferred to find it on my own terms but-" she lifts one shoulder, "-here we are."
"Well, great to meet you." She steps out of the elevator first, one hand coming up absently to tuck a piece of her bob behind her ear before it falls back against her jaw anyway. Her coat is oversized, something vintage-feeling in a warm camel tone.
"I saw you guys in concert in 2019 and now we're being set up." She glances back at him with a grin that's more amused than anything else, fingers brushing through her bob again, a quick, unconscious sweep. "Funny how life works."
Yoongi follows her out into the basement, and for a moment he just looks at her. The way she says it, not starstruck, not awkward, just stating a fact, like it's a mildly interesting observation about the weather, catches him somewhere off guard.
He's used to two kinds of reactions. The overwhelmed kind, and the overcorrected kind, people who perform so hard at being normal around him that it becomes its own thing. She is neither. She's just standing there in her excellent coat, bag slouched on one shoulder, apparently entirely comfortable with the absurdity of the situation in a way that he, who has been mentally managing this airport run since Tuesday, is decidedly not.
"I'm sorry about my mother," he says again, because it warrants repeating. "You've said that already." "It deserves two apologies."
She laughs at that a real one, quick and unguarded, her hand going up to push her hair back from her face. It falls forward again immediately. She doesn't seem to mind. "She means well. They both do."
"I didn't know any of this was happening," he says, and he needs that on the record somehow. "I found out when she sent me your contact details. I was in the middle of packing."
"My mother sent me a voice memo," ___ offers. "Forty seconds. Very thorough." He closes his eyes briefly. "What did she-" he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know."
"She called you a great catch." ___ says it with complete neutrality, like she's reading from a grocery list. "Said you're the perfect husband material." A small pause. She tilts her head. "She mentioned the cooking specifically. Twice."
Yoongi stares at the concrete floor of the basement parking lot and says nothing for a moment. "The cooking," he repeats. "She seemed very proud of it."
"I made her one birthday dinner-" "Apparently it was very good." ___ is visibly enjoying this now, just slightly, the corner of her mouth giving her away.
He looks up at the ceiling. "I have to go to New York," he says in the tone of a man who has never wanted to board a flight more in his life. ___ laughs, warm and bright in the dim parking lot. "Go," she says, waving a hand. "Your perfect husband reputation is safe with me."
"Please forget everything she told you." "Absolutely not." She hoists her bag up and turns toward the exit, one hand ruffling to find her car keys "Have a good flight, Yoongi-si."
She disappears around the corner, still smiling.
His manager is at his elbow. "The car's ready." "Yeah." Yoongi watches her go for just a beat longer than necessary, the camel coat disappearing around the corner. "Yeah, okay."
The private lounge is quiet in the way airports never quite manage to be anywhere else — insulated, dim, the chaos of Incheon existing somewhere beyond the frosted glass. Their bags are lined up near the door. Someone has already claimed the couch. There's coffee on the table that Yoongi is already on his second cup of.
He sits down, sets his phone face down out of habit, and looks around at the others.
"Are your mothers also aggressively trying to set you up with someone," he says, with the careful delivery of a man who has been sitting on this all morning, "or is something wrong with mine?"
Namjoon looks up from his phone slowly, the way you look up when you want to assess the energy of a room before committing to a response. Jimin, who has been reorganizing his carry-on for the past ten minutes, stops and looks up. "What happened?"
"She left the apartment," Yoongi says. "While I was in my room packing, I thought she was in the living room… I was talking, going on and on-" he gestures vaguely, "-and she was already gone. At the neighbor's place."
"Doing what?" Hoseok asks. "Setting me up." He says it flatly. "Their daughter was there too. She sent me her contact details before I even knew any of it was happening. Then called me and told me to come over." He pauses.
"What did she do to sell you?" Seokjin asks, because he knows how mothers operate and he wants the full picture. "Apparently she played her our music." Yoongi stares into his coffee. "To prove I was sensitive. And she told her I could cook."
"She said I was the perfect husband," Yoongi continues, with the energy of a man reading from a police report. "To a stranger. That she had never met before."
"To be fair," Hoseok starts. Yoongi looks at him, Hoseok closes his mouth knowing when to not fan the flames.
"And then," Yoongi says, "I ran into her. The girl. In the elevator on the way down."
The lounge goes very still. "The girl your mother set you up with?" Namjoon says slowly.
"In your elevator." "Yes." "She was just, there?" "Apparently she left early too." He wraps both hands around his cup. "She must have been flustered by the set up too."
Then Taehyung, who has been sitting in the armchair with his chin in his hand and the expression of someone watching a very satisfying drama, asks the only question that matters.
"Was she cute?" Yoongi opens his mouth, closes it, looks down at his coffee, sets it down, picks it back up, like he doesn’t know what to say or what to do with his hands.
"We're boarding soon," a manager says. “Let’s get going” but none of the members move, waiting for Yoongi’s answer
“Hyung!!" Jimin says, slowly, the way you speak to someone who has already given themselves away. “We should go, board" Yoongi offers as he stands up.
"Was she cute?" Taehyung repeats. "She was- " Yoongi stops to clear his throat, "It was a thirty second elevator ride."
"That's not a no," Hoseok observes. "That's not what I-" He picks up his coffee again even though he's not drinking it, just to have something to do with his hands. "She was normal. She was a normal person. Can we drop it."
"He's flustered," Jimin says to Namjoon, delighted. "I'm not flustered, I'm tired, there's a difference-" "Hyung." Taehyung is grinning now, fully, without shame. "Just say she was pretty."
Yoongi stands up, reaches for his carry-on, and says nothing. Which is, somehow, the loudest answer in the room.
Every month’s second Friday dinners with Sunhee and Wonik are non-negotiable. They have been, for years, the kind of standing plan that survives busy seasons, travel schedules, and the general chaos of three people who probably have no business being as close as they are given how differently their lives run.
They're halfway through the meal when ___ sets down her chopsticks. "I want to tell you guys something," she says, "but you need to swear on your life and mine that you won't overreact."
Wonik looks up. "That is the single most alarming way to begin a sentence." "Swear first." "I'm not swearing on anything until I know the category of information I'm dealing with," Wonik says reasonably. "Is this a work thing, a family thing, or a-"
"Swear." Sunhee is already sitting up straighter. She has the posture of someone whose instincts are firing. "I swear," she says immediately. "Wonik, swear."
"Fine, I swear, I swear." "Okay." ___ picks up her glass, takes a sip, sets it down. "My mother set me up this morning. With the son of her friend Mrs. Min."
Sunhee's chopsticks hit her bowl, the sound is very loud in the small restaurant. "Say the full name," Sunhee says, in a voice that is very carefully controlled. "Say his full name out loud right now."
"Sunhee-" "___." Her eyes are very wide. "Say. The name."
___ looks at her. "Min Yoongi." Sunhee puts both hands flat on the table.
"I met him in the elevator," ___ continues, talking over whatever is happening on Sunhee's face, "for about thirty seconds. It was fine, he was normal, we were equally mortified because his mother had already sent him my contact details-"
"What about you?" Wonik asks. "Did you get his number?" "No." ___ shakes her head. "I mean…he's. You know how famous he is. That's not really something you just-" she gestures vaguely. "I have his mother's number. That's it."
"You have his mother's number," Wonik repeats. "She put it in my phone herself. Before I could leave." "Resourceful woman," Wonik says, almost admiringly.
"You were in an elevator," Sunhee says slowly, still processing, "with Min Yoongi." "For thirty seconds, yes-" "Of BTS."
"Sunhee-" "SUGA!" "I need you to not do that-" "How are you this calm right now? How are you sitting there like that?"
"Because it was thirty seconds in a basement parking lot and then he left for the airport," "Did he seem interested?" Wonik asks, cutting straight through it.
___ opens her mouth and closes it, well she couldn’t see much of his face other than the eyes, and his eyes were more irritated at his mother than interested, "He apologized twice for his mother."
"That's not what I asked," Wonik says. The table is quiet for a second. "He watched me walk away," ___ says finally, very casually, into her drink.
Sunhee makes a sound that is not words, close to a manic laugh. "You said you wouldn't overreact," ___ reminds her.
"I SWORE I WOULDN'T OVERREACT, I DIDN'T SAY I WOULDN'T HAVE FEELINGS-" "Same thing" ___ says with an incredulous laugh as she downs her shot of soju.
"It is absolutely not the same thing!" Sunhee shouts as she downs her drink. Wonik refills everyone's glass quietly, the expression of someone who knew from the word swear that it was going to be a long dinner.
Yoongi thinks about ___ the way he thinks about songs that aren't ready yet, circling it, not touching it, waiting to see if it still feels like something after enough time has passed.
It does. The contact has been sitting in his phone since the morning he left for the airport. ___ Lee. His mother had sent it with a string of hearts he had not acknowledged. He'd told himself he saved it by accident. He'd told himself a lot of things.
He's in the back of a car heading to some schedule. His life is mostly cars heading to schedules, he's come to understand, when he opens the contact and stares at it for long enough that the city outside the window blurs entirely. It's the jacket that does it in the end, or that's what he tells himself.
He picks up his phone, puts it down and picks it back up.
Yoongi: Where did you get the jacket you were wearing?
___ is in Hong Kong, sitting cross legged on her hotel bed with client notes open on her laptop, when her phone buzzes. Unknown number, she frowns at it slightly.
No hello. No name. No context whatsoever. Just that, from a number she doesn't recognize, as if the conversation had already been happening somewhere she wasn't aware of.
___: Who is this?
His response comes quickly, even if it’s pretty late in New York, mostly because he had been on his phone watching something when he couldn’t sleep. Yoongi immediately sits up, realizing what he’s done, just asked about a jacket without introducing himself, of course she’s skeptical.
Yoongi: from the elevator
She stares at that for a second. Then it lands, all of it at once, the basement parking lot, the beanie, the mask, the carry-on, their mother’s voice doing their best to convince her.
She puts her laptop to the side, the client notes can be taken care of later in the day.
___: It's vintage. There's no link I can send you
She has a ghost of a smile as she helpfully types.
___: I can lend it to you
___: No you’re rich rich, buy it from me
In New York, Yoongi reads that last message and something in his face does a thing he's glad nobody is around to see. He is not good at whatever this is, that’s what he’s realizing.
Yoongi: How much
___ reads that and laughs, a real one, sudden enough that it surprises her. She pushes her hair back and looks at the ceiling for a second.
___: I'll think about it
In New York, Yoongi chuckles as he turns around in bed, a real laugh, like he’s amused, like he wants to talk more, like he’s fascinated.
Yoongi: Take your time
He puts the phone on his chest and stares at the ceiling of his hotel room, the city humming its endless New York hum somewhere beyond the glass, and he thinks that this is perhaps the most words he has willingly initiated with someone new in a very long time.
He also thinks that I'll think about it is not a no. He falls asleep twenty minutes later with the phone still in his hand, which has not happened in recent memory either.
___ thinks about that for a moment. The hour it must have been in New York. The fact that he had her number this whole time, sitting there, and this is what finally made him use it. A jacket. An excuse so thin it was practically transparent and he'd sent it anyway.
She wasn't even looking, she rarely is when she finds the best things. She'd ducked into the thrift shop on a whim, killing twenty minutes between a gallery visit and a lunch she was already slightly late for, and there it was. Black leather, clean lines, interesting hardware on the collar. The kind of jacket that looks like it has a history without looking tired.
___ takes the mirror selfie without thinking much about it. One hand holding the phone up, the other shoved in the jacket pocket, her hair slightly disheveled from pulling it on. She looks at it for approximately one second to confirm it's not blurry.
___: Tan will wash you out a bit
___: How about something like this?
She sends the message with the image as she’s already buying the jacket, something in her telling her that she just needs to get this today.
Yoongi is somewhere over the Pacific, when the flight's wifi finally decides to cooperate. His phone loads a backlog of messages and he's scrolling through them automatically, half asleep, when he sees her name.
He sits up as the picture loads. The jacket is perfect. He knows it immediately, the same way he knows when a song is working, something just settles.He stares at the photo for longer than necessary.
In the seat beside him Namjoon is reading, headphones on, entirely in his own world. Across the aisle Jimin is asleep, nobody is watching as he smiles at his phone like an idiot. He makes no effort to mask the smile as he types back.
Yoongi: I like it
Yoongi: Where are you?
Her reply doesn’t come instantly, it comes as he’s being driven home from a long flight, trying to stay up to fight the jet lag.
___: Hongkong for the Art Basel event
___: I was there, now I am at the airport, waiting for my cab to pick me up
___: Do you like it?
Yoongi doesn’t stop to contemplate as he types, Jimin looking at him suspiciously as he does so with a faint smile.
Yoongi: Yes
___: Good, then you can pick it up from my studio when you’re free
He reads that once and then again.
A studio. She has a gallery. She was at Art Basel. He turns that over quietly, this small new piece of her that just landed without ceremony in the middle of his exhausted morning, offered the same way she offers everything, casually, like it costs her nothing, like she isn't handing him a reason to see her again wrapped in a sentence about a jacket.
He's smiling again as he mutters, "I think I've done something stupid," he mutters, to nobody in particular, to the window, to the general concept of his own decision making.
"Yes," Jimin says from approximately four centimeters away, "flirting via jacket is stupid." A beat. "It's also very you." Yoongi turns to look at him. Jimin is gazing out the window with the serene expression of someone who has absolutely been reading every message off the bright screen this entire time and feels no guilt about it whatsoever.
Yoongi: I can come by monday morning if that works for you
Yoongi: Send me the address
He locks his phone for a brief second before it buzzes again.
___: Perfect, but don’t come in too early, I’m useless before 10
Yoongi: I’ll be there by 11 then
Yoongi puts his phone in his jacket pocket and closes his eyes, the city still moving outside, home getting closer. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't particularly try to.
___ spends a bit longer getting dressed that morning, which is not the case on a monday morning when she doesn’t have any clients to meet, she doesn’t even go into work on a monday most weeks. She straightens the pale white dress one last time when she drops her handbag and goes around switching on the studio lights.
“Where are you off too? I thought you didn’t have any schedule” his mother asks as he continues to fix his hair, “Just some work came up, I’ll be back by dinner” he announces as he tries on three different pairs of glasses, landing on the same dainty one’s he’s been wearing for weeks now.
Yoongi is there quicker than imagined, parking the Mercedes quietly as he puts on a mask on, he doesn’t know who all are going to be there, and he’d much rather not have this visit becoming a bigger deal than it needs to be. The studio is located in a quaint neighbourhood, plants all around the glass door entrance as he walks up, coffees hand, he didn’t want to show up empty handed.
The door announces him, not a bell exactly, just the particular sound of glass and marble connecting, his footsteps suddenly loud and deliberate in the quiet of the space. He slows instinctively. His sunglasses are on his head, pushed up to get a proper look, and his eyes move around the room the way they do when he enters somewhere new, taking inventory, settling, trying to understand a space before the space understands him.
"You're early." He turns.
She's coming from the back of the gallery, and he stops. Not visibly, not in any way she'd necessarily catch, but something in him just pauses for a moment and takes inventory of her the same way he did with the room.
The dress is pale linen, short, simple in the way that only works when someone has a very good eye for what suits them. Her hair is pinned away from her face today. She looks entirely at ease in the space, the way people look at ease in places they've built for themselves.
And then he notices the tattoos. He doesn't stare. He notices, the way he notices the jacket, the coat, the glasses she isn't wearing today and darts his eyes away
"Traffic was light," he says. She glances at the carrier in his hand and one brow lifts slightly. "That's more than one coffee."
“Uh yeah, I didn’t know how you take your coffee, there’s an iced americano, hot latte and an iced latte” he explains and ___ smiles, picking up the hot latte for herself. “Thank you” she murmurs and he hums to himself, picking up the americano for himself.
“So, this is my uncle’s gallery, I’ve been working with him for god, ten years now” ___ explains as she walks a few steps ahead of him, showing him around, he hums every once in a while, he’s not very talkative, as she’s noticed.
He does the mental math quietly. She would have been young when she started, almost 20.
"We work with private collectors mostly. Finding them legacy pieces, introducing them to new artists, hosting shows sometimes." She pauses in front of a series of smaller works along the eastern wall, studying them for a second like she's seeing them for the first time. "It's quite fun, actually. Every collection is different. Every collector is different." A small smile. "Some of them are insane, but in the best way."
He looks at the series she's stopped at. Three pieces, related but not matching, a conversation between them rather than a repetition. "How do you find the artists," he says.
She turns, slightly surprised, not that he spoke, but at the specificity of it. Most people ask about the collectors. "Everywhere." She leans against the wall beside the series, arms crossing loosely, the tattoos catching the track lighting. "Art fairs. Studio visits. Sometimes someone sends me something and I can't stop thinking about it." She tilts her head. "Sometimes I find them in thrift shops in Hong Kong."
He looks at her then, and there it is again, that sideways almost-eye-contact, landing just adjacent to direct. The corner of his mouth does something small.
She pushes off the wall and keeps moving. He follows, hands in pockets, in no hurry, taking everything in.
"Your uncle started it?" he asks, after a moment. "Mmhm. Thirty years ago, almost." She stops at a large photograph mounted simply, no frame. "He took me to my first auction when I was nine. I didn't understand any of it." She pauses. "But it did flame the fascination inside me”
He looks at the photograph. Then at her, briefly, the way he does, quick, considered, like he's filing something away.
Yoongi’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, he knows that it’s his manager checking if he’s on the way to practice. They’re currently in the beautiful backyard, what Yoongi’s leart is that this used to be ___’s grandparents home before it was turned into a gallery. She’s on the other end of the bench as she places her empty coffee cup down.
“Anything that caught your eye in there?” ___ asks and he briefly looks at her before he looks away, his eyes falling on her red heels, quite high for a monday.
“A few things” he confesses with a faint smile as he looks around, at anything but her. “I’m not cultured enough to understand art so haven’t bought much as of late” he offers more, he knows that she’s been the one leading the conversation, he doesn’t want her to think that he’s not listening.
"I don't think people need to be cultured to understand art," she says. "There's art in almost everything." She says it without any weight to it, not a lecture, just a thing she actually believes.
He looks back down. At the floor, at the middle distance, briefly at her hands where they rest against her knee, the tattoos more visible from here, something intricate in the design, leaves or maybe something older than that, he can't quite tell without looking properly and he's not going to look properly.
She's in the middle of saying something about the artist, a story beginning to take shape, her hands moving slightly the way they do when she's getting to the good part of something when his phone rings.
Loud with no respect for the moment whatsoever. He pulls it out and silences it immediately, the name on the screen requires no explanation. He closes his eyes for approximately one second.
“You need to leave don’t you?” ___ asks as she stands up, “I do, we have a tour starting in two weeks” Yoongi offers as she leads them back in, her heel slipping in some mud before he catches her briefly.
“Thank you” she murmurs, steading herself as she fixes her posture, all he does is softly smile as he drops his hand from her arm.
“So, the jacket, it’s a vintage Ralph Lauren jacket” ___ speaks as she appears from her office, a bag in her hands. “Thank you, I don’t think I own any vintage pieces” Yoongi shares as she hands him the bag, their fingers brushing just for a second.
“Um, how much-” “Please, no, consider it a gift” ___ says with a soft smile, the smile that is making Yoongi late for practice. He holds the bag and looks at it and then looks at her. She can see him trying to find another angle on this and coming up short.
“We have a few concerts in Goyang, you should come,” Yoongi suggests and she presses her lips together like she’s thinking long and hard about it. “You got me a jacket, let me get you concert tickets, our come by rarely” he brags a bit, trying to sell her on this.
“Sure, but can I get a plus one on that?” ___ asks knowing full well Sunhee would quit on the friendship if she doesn’t get him a ticket. The plus one confuses him, like there’s someone already in the picture and she catches that confusion almost immediately.
“My friend, she’s a huge fan, she wasn’t able to get tickets” she says and he huffs, not quite a laugh but adjacent to one and looks away, and she watches him do it with the ghost of a smile that she doesn't bother hiding because he isn't looking at her anyway.
“Of course, I’ll text you the details?” he asks as he mentally prepares himself to leave. "Thank you," she says. "I really enjoyed the 2019 concert." She turns one of her rings, slowly, around her finger. Then another. He glances at her hands briefly. "And Sunhee fainted, which in this situation I think counts as a good sign."
He looks up at that. "She fainted?" "Briefly. She was fine." ___ pause, looking up at him "Mostly fine." The almost-laugh again, slightly more this time. He looks away before it becomes anything. "Okay." He takes a small step toward the door. "I'll see you. I really, really need to go."
He still doesn't turn around, she notices. "Yes, please." There's warmth in it, no edge. "You're a busy man, Yoongi-si." He turns then, just slightly, and there's something in his expression that she hasn't seen yet, something a little looser than his usual careful composure.
"Let's just -" he starts, stops and tries again. "We should talk informally. I'm not that strict, and not that much older than you"
She looks at him. He looks somewhere adjacent to her, the way he does, the tips of his ears faintly pink in the studio light, and she realizes with some delight that this small thing, dropping the formality, asking for it plainly, has cost him something, not much.
She tilts her head. "Okay," she says simply, no teasing. She gives him that much.
He nods once, like something has been settled. "I'll text you," he says.
"Go," she says. He is almost jogging out of the gallery. The glass door swings shut behind him and she stays exactly where she is for a moment, rings still warm from where she'd been turning them, the studio quiet around her.
Yoongi’s mother has made something good, as promised. The table is full and warm and she is asking about his week with the particular casualness of someone who has decided not to ask about anything specific, which means she is asking about everything specific indirectly.
He answers in the usual way. Fine, busy, yes he ate properly in New York. No he doesn't need her to call his manager about the schedule. His phone is face down beside his bowl.
He picks it up, checks it once, puts it back down. His mother says something about his aunt. He nods. She says something about the weather this weekend. He nods again.
His phone buzzes twice in quick succession. Then once more when he finally turns it over.
___: So I see you sunday?
___: I have to meet this client in Dubai and I fly in late afternoon on saturday, can I come to the stadium with a suitcase?
___: Can’t do saturday because Sunhee has a scheduled c-section for a patient
He reads them once, then again. He's smiling at his phone before he's decided to, the particular involuntary kind, and he catches it and schools his expression back to neutral approximately one second too late.
His mother is looking at him. "What," he says. "Nothing," she says, in exactly the tone she used that morning about the glasses. She turns back to her food with the serenity of a woman who has already won something and knows it.
They've been texting for two weeks now. Properly, not just the jacket, not just small talk, but the kind of texts that start about one thing and end up somewhere else entirely an hour later. She's funny over text in the same way she is in person, dry and quick, and she asks him questions that are more specific than people usually bother with.
He'd much rather call her. He knows that about himself already, that he'd rather hear her voice than read the words, that a call would be easier and faster and better in almost every practical sense. He's not ready to call her yet. He's not entirely sure what that means but he knows it's true.
Yoongi: I’ll have someone from the team meet you, they’ll take care of everything
Yoongi: Your friend is an OB-GYN?
___: Yes, she’s also my doctor, and will be for free for the rest of my life so I gotta treat her right. Also because I love her
He reads that and something about it lands warmly, the easy way she says it without any performance in it. He's about to type back when , "Have you reached out to any of the girls I sent you?"
He looks up, his mother is across the table, expression pleasant, chopsticks down, in the posture of someone who has been waiting for a natural opening and has decided this is it.
"No," he says. "None of them?" "None of them." She considers this with the gravity of a woman receiving disappointing quarterly results. "There was a very nice one, works in finance, you said you wanted someone independent"
"Mom." "And the architect, you didn't even look at her profile-"
"I looked." "For how long?" He doesn't answer that. She sighs with her entire body. "The concerts are this week?"
"Thursday, Saturday, Sunday." "Which day can we come? Me, your dad and your aunt-" "Saturday," he says immediately with no hesitation whatsoever.
She blinks. "Saturday? Not Sunday?" "All the parents will be there on Saturday" Yoongi says this like it’s a sure think which he knows isn’t, but he’s going to have to plan it so that it is.
"Your aunt was hoping for Sunday" He picks up his chopsticks with great authority. "I’ll have to check, but I already have your tickets for Saturday”
“Okay, but what about the Lee’s daughter? Mrs. Lee said she's very busy with work, always travelling, very independent, the hair cut was a disappointment to the parents but she’s still such a pretty woman, and she’s short enough for you” “I’m not that short mom” “It’s my fault, I should have married a taller man” His mother says with complete sincerity and Yoongi stares at her.
"That's" he stops. "What does that have to do with " "Your father is a good man." She picks her chopsticks back up serenely. "But the height. I should have thought more carefully."
"Dad is right there." From the other end of the table, his father, who has been eating in peaceful silence through this entire conversation with the practised serenity of a man who checked out of these discussions some years ago, looks up briefly.
"She's not wrong," his father says. "Dad." "I'm just agreeing with your mother." "You're agreeing that you're too short"
"I'm agreeing that she should have thought more carefully." He goes back to his food. "Very different thing." Yoongi looks between them. His mother is eating with great satisfaction. His father has returned to his bowl.
___ hasn’t changed in a bar’s bathroom before, so this is a first as she slips herself in a black dress right from the airport. Her hair is not the best, but that’s the good part about having a bob, it doesn’t need a lot of styling. What does need help is her face.
“How do you have no makeup?” ___ asks with disappointment as she slides back onto the bar stool, she’s swapped the beer for hard liquor because the dress she packed doesn’t allow for a beer belly.
“I have chapstick, but it’s not hygienic to-” “I have like five lip products but nothing for my face, I need to start carrying around a cushion foundation or a tinted sunscreen or something” ___ says as she she downs her drink, third drink of the night and with the little amount of rest she’s had all week, she knows she’s going to be hitting a wall soon.
“___ are you nervous?” Sunhee finally asks as the food comes, it would be normal for Sunhee to be nervous, but ___ is never nervous. “I don’t know, I am mostly tired” ___ offers as she stuffs her face with the fries, food should help her. She’s about to speak up again when her phone buzzes loudly against the table.
Yoongi: I’ve forwarded your contact to my manager, he’ll find you and get you guys to your seats
Yoongi: I’ll see you after the concert
___: All the best for the concert, I’m sure it’s going to be great
She types as Sunhee pays the bill, ___ might be nervous but Sunhee is anxious to leave this pub and be at the venue as soon as she can
Yoongi: Thank you, I’ll see you soon
___ doesn’t have a change to respond back before her phone is already ringing. It’s all too quick from there, they barely find a cab to the event, which Sunhee spends meditating like she does before operating, this is as she says, a spiritual experience for her.
“Why am I the only one that drank?” ___ asks as they sit down in their seats, the massive crowd all around her leaves her awestruck for a second. “I am on call” Sunhee answers, her eyes wandering, her short answers give her away.
“Come on, chill out, we’re going to be having a lot of fun” ___’s just the right kind of drunk now, the four drinks when everything is amazing and all you can think about is a drunk cigarette. The crowd around her is the kind of happy that's collective and contagious and she can feel it getting into her bloodstream alongside the liquor.
"Sunhee, your hand is shaking." Sunhee looks down at her hand. Places it flat on her knee with great effort. “That's adrenaline," she says. "It's a physiological response, it doesn't mean-"
The lights drop all the sudden, Sunhee grips her arm so hard ___ loses circulation for a moment. The crowd becomes something else entirely, a single enormous sound, and ___ feels it before she hears it, in her chest, behind her eyes, somewhere wordless and immediate. She stops thinking about the cigarette immediately as the music starts playing.
Between the singing and dancing that ___ and Sunhee have been doing, they almost miss Sunhee’s phone going off. She reads the message and is immediately a different person, “My patient just went into labour” she announces to ___ as she’s picking up her bag.
“How’ll you get back?” ___ yells over the music, "I'll call a cab-" "Are you sure-"
"___." Sunhee stops for a second and looks at her properly for one second, the exit forgotten. Her expression does something warm and knowing and slightly unbearable. "Stay."
"I was going to stay-" "I mean after." She squeezes her hand once. "Stay after."
___ opens her mouth and closes it, not able to form any words at the moment. The crowd surges around them as the last few songs begin to play, enormous and bright, and Sunhee is already moving toward the exit, bag on her shoulder, phone to her ear, slipping through the crowd with the quiet efficiency of someone who has somewhere more important to be.
___ sees him, her eyes almost involuntarily finding him every now and then, smiles to herself seeing him so happy on stage, his cute mannerism that she’s finding too endearing. How the crowds cheer for them, the heart that they sing and dance with, this kind of passion could move anyone.
The final note ends, the roar that comes after is physical, a wall of sound, and the boys walk back out for their bow, all of them, together, the stage lights warm on them, and the crowd sends everything it has left toward the stage in one long unbroken wave.
___ stays seated as the people around her continue to gather their stuff and move around, ready to leave. She's not sure where to go or what the protocol is or whether there even is a protocol, the text that said see you after suddenly very present in her mind now that after is here.
She's still sitting when someone appears at the end of her row. Yoongi's Manager, the same one who met her outside the venue, was efficient and unhurried, with the quiet competence of someone who has done this exact thing many times.
"Ms. Lee." He nods once. "If you'll follow me."
She picks up her clutch and stands too quickly, smoothing her dress in one swift motion, she walks as she reapplies her lipstick, hoping this can mask the lack of makeup.
She follows him through the emptying stadium toward the back, the crowd thinning around her, the stage growing closer, the noise of the night shifting into something quieter and more specific the further in they go.
The hallway outside the green room is not what she expected, though she's not sure what she expected exactly. It's busy in the contained way of post-show logistics, staff moving with purpose, and people. Guests, she realizes, a few of them, recognizable faces standing in the particular way that recognizable people stand when they're in a space that isn't quite public, relaxed but not fully, aware but performing unawareness.
Jimin notices her first as they emerge from the resting room, having caught their breaths after the concerts and now ready to greet their guests. His eyes land on her and then move to Yoongi in the same second, quick and unnoticeable to anyone not watching for it. She catches it.
The group collectively greets a few people as ___ stands on the side, not wanting to be in people’s way when Yoongi stops right in front of her.
Still slightly out of breath, towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, his eyes find her sneakers first. They make her considerably shorter than him and she watches him register this, his gaze traveling up slowly before it finds her face.
"Hi," he says softly, a small smile spreading on his face, she’s about to say something when he pulls her by the arm, away, in another quiet room, away from the people.
"Oh my god, you guys were incredible. I think my throat actually hurts from how much I was cheering, which has never happened to me before in my life-" Yoongi sets his water bottle down and disappears behind a curtain at the far end of the room, changing, and she can see his silhouette moving and hear the quiet sounds of someone pulling off a jacket, a shirt, the efficient undressing of someone who just wants to be in normal clothes as quickly as possible.
"-the production, the stage is so massive, and the crowd, every one having the best times of their life, my hearts still beating like crazy, I can’t even imagine what yours is doing” she talks naturally, like a person who had a life altering experience and needs to share it. There’s a faint laughter from his end as he continues behind the curtain.
“Seriously, the scale of this is crazy, you guys were amazing” He says nothing for a moment. She can hear him pulling on something.
He's tired, she can hear it underneath the silence, the particular quality of exhaustion that has gone past the point of showing itself and become something quieter. He performed for three hours, he's been doing this for days and he's here, behind a curtain, listening to her talk about the lighting.
She stops talking suddenly, very aware of how much she’s rambled on, "Sorry," she says. "You're exhausted." “I want to hear everything you have to say ___” he speaks softly as he emerges from behind the curtain.
“I always have a lot to say Yoongi,” she stops, copying the same emphasis he just placed on her name, “You might get tired of how much I have to say” she continues as he stops by a table, dropping all the clothes he was just wearing now that he’s in a simple jeans and black shirt.
Yoongi isn’t just tired, he’s exhausted, exhausted enough to do what he’s done each night after a show, and rush home. But he simply takes a seat on the sofa opposite to hers, he wants to continue listening to her voice.
“Seriously, it was amazing, congratulations, I would have brought flowers or something if I didn’t directly come from the air-” “You have freckles around your nose, they’re um” Yoongi interrupts. It comes out before he's made a decision about it. The exhaustion, probably. The way tiredness removes the small delay between thinking and saying, the buffer he usually relies on.
The briefest pause where his senses catch up with his mouth and he considers his options and decides on honesty anyway. "Very pretty."
The silence between them is the particular kind that has too much in it to be comfortable and too much in it to break carelessly. “Your friend? I didn’t see her-” “Oh her patient went into labour so she had to rush out, but she caught most of the concert and is now probably prepping to deliver a baby”
“Oh” that’s all Yoongi can muster now that the buffer of a friend is gone, when Yoongi was imagining seeing her after the concert, he kept imagining the friend. “Yeah, but I should get going too, you must be tired”
“I am tired, but I can still drop you home?” Yoongi asks, knowing full well that he should have probably asked her for dinner, given the thin smile on her lips. “Please, I can find my way-” “There’s going to be a lot of traffic ___” Yoongi offers and she smiles briefly as he says her name again, the particular softness that he uses.
"It's late," she says. "Which is why there'll be traffic."
"Yoongi-" "My car is already outside." He says it simply. "It's not out of the way." She looks at him for a moment. He looks her straight in the eyes for a second, like he really means this and isn’t offering this out of some formality.
“You don’t know where I live” she says with a teasing tone as they both stay seated, not quite ready to move onto what comes next. “Today I learn your address then”
The car is quiet, not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind where neither of them knows what to say. None of them imagined the string of events that led to this, it almost makes Yoongi chuckle to himself as he thinks about how vehemently against this he was, his mother can’t know any of this yet. Not until he knows why he keeps reaching for his phone for her text back, why he saved her address without thinking about it, why he's sitting in a car at midnight when he should be in bed.
He doesn't know yet. He'd like to figure it out quietly, without his mother's involvement, which is the only way anything survives in its early stages.
“So, the tour, you guys must leave soon” ___ speaks up as they stop at a red light, the traffic is indeed awful. “Yes, Japan, then the US, Mexico, back to US and then back in Korea around mid June” Yoongi hears himself say it. All of it, laid out in sequence, the shape of the next several months suddenly made concrete in the quiet of the car.
Somewhere in the middle of the list he understands, clearly and exactly why he told his mother he didn't have time for a girlfriend. Why he'd meant it. Why it was true then and remains true now regardless of freckles or the jackets or the way she says his name.
He can't do this to someone. The disappearing, the timezone math, the months of existing primarily as a name on a phone screen. He knows what that looks like from the inside and he knows what it asks of the person on the other end and it's a lot. It's always been a lot.
"Mid June," she says quietly, doing the math the same way he just did. "Mid June," he confirms with a long exhale.
"Do you get used to it?" she asks. "The schedule."
He thinks about it for a few seconds, deciding on how honest he should be, "You get used to moving," he says. "You don't really get used to leaving."
The car stops at another light. Somewhere outside a group of people are spilling out of a restaurant, loud and warm on a Sunday night, and she watches them through the glass.
She’s almost thirty two, a gallery she loves, clients she's spent years building relationships with. A life that moves exactly the way she designed it to move. She doesn't need to complicate that. ___ knows this.
She can't quite bring herself to be realistic about this, even if she has been realistic about way less complications in the past.
"What are you thinking about," he says, he needs to know just what she’s thinking because he knows it can’t be good.
She glances at him, he's looking ahead at the road, not at her, but his attention is entirely on her answer. "The tour," she says. Which is true but not all of it.
He nods, something in his jaw shifts slightly, the way it does when he's decided not to say something.
"Yoongi." "Mm."
"It's a long time to be away." "It is," he says, simply with no argument, he knows there isn’t one.
The light turns green. "Do you…" she starts and stops to try again "Is there ever a point where it gets easier? The coming back. Picking things back up."
He's quiet for a moment. "Depends what you're picking back up," he says.
She looks at him. He's still looking at his hand now and the city lights are moving across his face in slow intervals and she thinks distantly that this is an unreasonable amount of person to have discovered in an elevator.
She looks back out her window. "I'm not twenty anymore," she says, mostly to herself.
"Neither am I." "I mean-" she turns her rings once. "I used to be better at not thinking ahead."
"What do you see?" he asks. "When you think ahead." She's quiet for a long moment, outside Seoul continues, indifferent and bright.
"A very long tour schedule," she says finally. He exhales through his nose. Not quite a laugh, almost a laugh like he’s had this discussion before, "Yeah, that’s just the first leg" he says quietly.
The car moves through the city and neither of them solves anything and somehow that's alright, the silence settling back around them like something they've agreed to for now, the kind of quiet that isn't an ending, just a pause.
The car stops outside her building and they both get out, the night air cool after the warmth of the car. She tilts her head back slightly to take in the street, familiar and quiet, and he falls into step beside her naturally, walking her to the entrance the way he'd stood up to walk her out of the green room.
They stop at the entrance. The streetlight catches everything, her hair, her rings, the white sneakers. He's still in his cap and mask pulled down, hands in his pockets, adjusting his cap without meaning to, forward, back, forward again.
Neither of them starts the conversation. She looks up at him and he looks somewhere just past her, and the comfortable quiet of the car has followed them out onto the pavement.
"I think we should go on a date," she says. He goes very still as his eyes find her.
"A real one." Even, practical, like she's proposing something with a clear agenda. "Before Japan. Before our rational sides catch up with us and decide this is a terrible idea." A beat. "An experiment. To find out if there's actually anything here before we decide there isn't."
He knows what he should say. He's been doing the math since the car, since she said mid June in the quiet way she said it. He knows what this looks like, the beginning of something, the successful experiment she's predicting, and he knows what comes after that too, what he'd be asking her to sign up for.
___ deserves someone who comes home on a regular basis. Yoongi knows this.
"You know it won't stop there," he says quietly. "If the experiment works."
"I know," she says. "The tour is-" "I know, Yoongi."
"I'm just saying you might-" "I know." She says it gently, firmly, the way she says things when she's already thought them through and doesn't need him to think them through on her behalf. "I'm aware of what I'm suggesting."
He looks at her for a long moment, the way she’s fidgeting with her rings, "Okay," he says.
"Okay?" "One dinner." He holds her gaze. "Before Japan."
She nods once, that's when he looks down.
The height difference from here, standing on the pavement, is… notable. He does the mental calculation of exactly what his mother said and feels the smile coming.
"What," she says immediately. "Nothing." He presses his lips together and fails entirely. "My mother said you were short enough for me."
She stares at him. "She said that."
"Among other things." "Short enough for you," she repeats.
"Her words, not mine" "And what do you think?" He looks down at her from the full, considerable distance of his height, cap crooked, mask around his chin, and says with complete straightness,
"I think she was right." She laughs brightly and he lets himself smile properly this time, all the way, and for a moment they're just two people standing outside a building at midnight laughing about height and mothers and the specific absurdity of how they got here.
She steps back and looks up at him one last time. "Goodnight, Yoongi." "Goodnight, ___."
She turns and goes inside, the door closing quietly behind her, he stands there a moment longer than he needs to. Reaches up and adjusts his cap.
Gets back in the car and looks at the ceiling for a long moment, the city moving quietly around him.
He knows how this goes. He knows himself well enough to know that one dinner won't be one dinner, that the experiment is going to tell them both exactly what she predicted it would, and that she said I'm aware of what I'm suggesting with the confidence of someone who has never actually done this before. Not with someone like him. Not with a schedule like his.
She'll be realistic about it eventually. Everyone is, eventually. He just hopes she is the anomaly in the experiment that his dating history has been.
"-so you just decided, so young, that music was your calling?" "I didn't decide anything." He turns his glass slightly on the table, a small rotation, thinking about how to explain it to someone who hasn't lived it. "It was more like…the decision had already been made somewhere and I was just catching up to it."
She rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, the way she settles in when she's properly interested in something. She's been doing it on and off all evening and he's stopped pretending not to notice. "That's how it feels with the work I love too," she says. "Like you didn't choose it so much as recognize it."
He looks at her. "Exactly that." The restaurant is quiet around them, the kind of quiet that Tuesday buys you, a handful of other tables, low light, no one paying attention to anyone else.
"Okay," she says, picking up her glass. "Worst part of the job. Honestly." He thinks about it and she waits, turning the stem of her glass between her fingers, patient.
"The losing yourself of it," he says. "Not in a dramatic way. Just…" he pauses. "You're performing a version of yourself for long enough and you start to lose track of where that version ends."
She's quiet for a moment. "Does it come back?" she asks. "The original version."
"I'm still figuring that out." She nods slowly, like she's filing that somewhere careful. Not with pity. He'd noticed pity immediately and she seems to know that.
"Your turn," he says. "People assume I do this because I come from money," she says, the same even tone she uses for everything. "That it's a hobby dressed up as a career. Something for a well bred woman" She pauses to take a sip of her wine. "I would have done this regardless of the money. The money just meant no one could stop me from starting early."
He nods. That he understands, the specificity of a thing choosing you rather than the other way around. She looks at him for a moment. Something shifts slightly in her expression, a decision being made.
"Can I ask you something personal?" she says. "We’ve been doing that for some time now" Yoongi notes with a light chuckle.
"More personal." He leans back slightly, arms loose. "Okay."
"Do you actually want this? Not the date, not…" she gestures between them. "In general. A person. Do you want one or do you like the idea of wanting one?"
The table goes quiet. He looks at her steadily and she looks back, unhurried, leaving the question exactly where she put it.
"That's a good question," he says. "I know."
He takes a sip of his wine as he prepares to talk, "I miss it," he says simply, like something admitted for the first time in a while, to someone actually listening. "Having a girlfriend. Having someone who… knows your schedule well enough to know when you're tired before you say it. Someone to call when something happens. Good or bad." He pauses. "Someone to just, be there."
She's quiet as she leans in, like she wants him to know she’s listening. "I've told myself that life makes it impossible," he continues. "And it's not untrue. It's hard, it's always been hard." He glances up at her. "But I think I've been using it as a reason not to try. Which is different from it actually being impossible."
"That's honest," she says. "You asked."
"I did." ___ says with a small smile. "Your turn. Same question."
She exhales softly, "Yes," she says, without hesitation, which means she's known it for a while. "I'm not complicated about it. I just want someone, I've always wanted someone." She turns her ring once. "I've just been spectacularly unlucky."
He looks at her., and then her glass, and then the residual of her lipstick on the glass, "Unlucky how?"
She laughs, short and genuine, the kind that comes from a story that has lost its sting and kept its absurdity. "The last person I was serious about decided to move to London for work and forgot to mention it until two weeks before he left." She picks up her fork. "Before that there was someone lovely in every way except that he was still in love with his ex. Which he also didn't mention."
"I have good instincts about art," she continues, "and terrible instincts about men. Which is a very specific combination of traits to be living with” He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to suppress a smile.
"You can laugh," she says. "I'm not laughing."
"You're doing the thing where you're not laughing." He looks away briefly and then back at her, the wine really helping him look at her, "I'm not laughing at you."
"I know." She sets her fork down. "It's tiring, mostly. Being caught off guard by people when you're not someone who gets caught off guard easily."
The table settles into a quiet with something real in it now. The lightness still underneath but something more honest sitting on top as their plates get cleared, signaling a clear end to their date, or at least their time at the restaurant.
"How's the experiment going," he says, after a moment as he quietly places his card in the bill book.
She looks at him, steady and warm. "Terribly," she says with a pleasant smile.
He smiles into his glass. "Yeah," he says. "Same." Yoongi reaches into his pocket for his mask as they step outside, pulling it up with the practiced ease of someone who has done it ten thousand times, adjusting it once.
The street is empty and still. Tuesday midnight belongs to no one in particular. "I'll walk you home," he says, naturally, already falling into step beside her. “It’s a long walk” ___ retorts as they walk, hands brushing every now and then.
“It’s a two minute walk ___” Yoongi offers plainly as he doesn’t move away. They fall into step together and talk as they walk, nothing important, nothing that needs to be, she says something about a show she's been meaning to see, he says something about a track he's been sitting on for weeks, small things, the kind of conversation that exists just to keep the evening going a little longer.
It’s all light and breezy till they reach a crossing, he reaches out and takes her hand. His hand just finds hers as they step off the curb, the way you do something you've been doing for years. Fingers wrapping around hers, already looking both ways, already moving.
She looks straight ahead, hoping her hair masks some of her blush. They cross, but he doesn't let go.
She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. They just keep walking, her hand in his, and she looks at the street ahead with the expression of someone being very deliberate about not smiling and not quite managing it.
He looks at the building and looks back at her. Her hand still in his, the evening sitting between them with nowhere left to go, he leaves for Japan tomorrow, the night air cool and still around them.
She tilts her head up at him. "Do you want to come up?" she says. "I have dessert. Ice cream" she says as she tries to tug her hand to gesture with her hand, which he doesn’t let go.
He's looking at her with the particular expression she's learning, the one that isn't quite a smile but is adjacent to one, the one that lives mostly in his eyes, quiet and certain and slightly devastating at close range.
"Ice cream," he repeats. "Yes."
"What kind?" "Does it matter?"
He considers this with complete seriousness. "Somewhat."
"Yoongi." "I'm asking a reasonable question-"
"Come upstairs and find out," she says, and turns toward the entrance, and this time he lets her hand go, only to hold the door open for her, which she walks through without looking back at him because her face is still doing the thing and she needs another three seconds before she can be a normal person again.
Her apartment is exactly what he would have guessed and nothing he was fully prepared for.
Organized chaos, the particular kind that has a system even if the system isn't immediately visible. Paintings leaning against the walls in clusters, some framed, some not, some wrapped in brown paper with labels in her handwriting. Books on every surface, some closed, some splayed open face down. Magazines stacked in a way that suggests they're referenced rather than decorative.
It's lived in. Genuinely, thoroughly lived in, and it suits her so precisely. They end up on the sofa without deciding to, the way they keep ending up places without deciding to. Her legs tucked under her, turned slightly toward him. Him at the other end, bowl in hand, looking at the painting propped against the wall directly across from them.
They talk. The ice cream disappears somewhere in the middle of a conversation that moves from her uncle to his producing to a collector in Geneva who cried when she found him a specific work he'd been searching for for eleven years. He tells her about what it feels like when a track finally becomes what it was supposed to be. She listens the way she always listens, fully, without waiting for her turn.
It's past one when his phone lights up on the cushion between them. Mom.
She sees it the same moment he does. He reaches for it. "Pick up her phone," she says sternly, the tone of teasing right there.
"I'm not -" "Do not cut your poor mother’s phone, she might be sick and worried" ___ adds dramatically and he huffs and picks up the call anyway.
"Mom." "Where are you?" She’s wide awake, unbothered by the hour. "You're never out this late, are you sick-" "I'm not sick-"
"Have you eaten?" "I had dinner" "With who-"
___ opens her mouth with that same teasing smile and his hand moves before he's decided to move it, swift, certain, palm covering her mouth completely, cutting off whatever she was about to contribute to this situation as he closes the distance between them.
She goes still as he keeps his eyes forward, continuing the phone call, entirely composed. "With a friend, Mom, I'll be home soon"
___ looks up at him over his hand. She very aware, in the specific silence of having nothing to say because there is a hand preventing her from saying it, of his hands. The size of them. The warmth. The way it covers most of her lower face with a kind of easy certainty that she is finding deeply inconvenient given the current context of a first date and his mother on the phone and her own heartbeat which has made a unilateral decision she hasn't approved.
"You sound strange," his mother says. "I'm fine."
"Which friend?" "Mom -" ___ raises her eyebrows at him. He finally looks at her, briefly, and whatever he sees makes him look immediately back at the painting on the wall across the room.
His hand stays and she stays still beneath it.
"Come home soon," his mother says. "Soon," he confirms. "Go to sleep"
He hangs up with a huff and neither of them moves. His hand is still there, warm against her face, and the apartment is very quiet around them, the painting on the wall offering no commentary whatsoever.
Slowly, with the careful deliberateness of someone making a considered decision, he lowers it. She looks up at him. He looks back at her, right beside her.
"You were going to say something," he says shyly as his hand comes to rub his neck.
"I was going to be helpful," she says. "You were going to be a problem." "Same thing," she says with a smile, and her hands come up without much deliberation and fix his hair which the sudden movement moved out of place.
He goes very still, not uncomfortable. Just, very still. The way he goes still when something catches him off guard in a way he wasn't prepared to be caught. Her hand drops back down, briefly touching his thigh when she leaves them.
He's looking at her now, properly, the full direct version he allows himself in small increments, and from this close it's a lot. “I didn't expect to have this much fun," he confesses, his voice quieterl, like he's admitting something he hadn't planned to. "Not that I doubted you, I just-" he pauses, choosing the words carefully the way he does, "I haven't been on a first date this good in a while."
He looks at her when he says it, waiting for her reaction with the particular stillness of someone who has said a true thing and is now at the mercy of what happens next.
"I know," she says, and there's warmth in it, no teasing yet, just the honest version first. "I was kind of rooting for you to be this brooding, nonchalant musician, actually. Would have made it all much easier."
"Easier," he repeats. "To not like you," she says simply, reaching for her glass of wine. "I had a whole plan. You'd be aloof and a little difficult and I'd think, well, lovely person, interesting work, not for me." She takes a sip. "Very clean. Very uncomplicated."
"I almost cancelled," he says, after a moment. She raises an eyebrow. "Not because-" he stops, tries again. "I almost talked myself out of it. On the way over." He turns his glass slightly on the table, the small rotation she's noticed he does when he's thinking. "I do that. Find the practical reason not to."
"What changed your mind?" she asks. He's quiet for a moment, looks at the table, at his glass, briefly at her hands where they rest near her wine. “I really liked the feeling of seeing you after the concert," he says. Simply, without dressing it up, the way he says true things when he's decided to say them. He pauses. "I kept thinking about it on the drive over and I couldn't find a practical reason that was bigger than that."
She looks at him for a moment, this careful, deliberate man who thinks before he speaks and means everything he says and had apparently spent an entire car ride arguing with himself about her and lost. "The feeling of seeing me," she repeats, softly.
"Yes," he says. He's looking at her now, noticing how she looks in these dim lights.
They talk for a while, about something and nothing in particular, the night settling into the easy rhythm that has become theirs without either of them formally deciding. She tells him about an artist she'd found earlier in the year, eccentric beyond what that word usually covers, a man who'd moved deep into the woods over concerns about wifi radiation and could only be reached by a forty minute hike up an unmarked trail. "I showed up in the wrong shoes," she says, gesturing at her feet like the memory is still personal. "He didn't apologize. Just handed me a cup of something that tasted like tea and started showing me the work." She pauses. "It was extraordinary. The work, not the tea, the tea made me sick."
He's smiling properly now, elbow on the sofa back, chin in his hand, watching her the way he watches things he finds genuinely interesting. "Did you sign him?"
"I'm working on it," she says. "He doesn't have a phone so it's mostly letters." A beat. "Actual letters. With stamps." He laughs, low and warm, and she tucks her feet further under her, satisfied.
He talks about tour, stories that surface easily now in the comfortable quiet of her living room, the way they don't always in interviews or in rooms full of people waiting for something quotable. A night in São Paulo where the rain came down so hard they could hear it over the speakers and the crowd stayed anyway, every single person, standing in it. The particular feeling, he says, quieter now, of standing in the wings before a show when everyone is there together, all seven of them, and the noise of the crowd coming through the walls like something alive.
"You miss them," she says, not a question. "It's different performing without all of them," he says simply. "It'll be good to be back."
She looks at him for a moment, the lamp throwing everything soft and warm, his profile against the dark of the window, the city quiet beyond the glass. She's been thinking about something, something which is a lot to ask on a first date, but asks anyway.
"How does it work?" she says. "A relationship. With you on tour." She says it evenly, no weight of accusation in it, just the genuine question, the one that has been sitting underneath the whole evening. "Practically. What does it actually look like?"
He's quiet for a moment, turning his glass slowly. "A lot of texts," he says. "Voice notes when there's time. Video calls that get cut short because of schedules." He pauses. "Having them fly out for tour dates, as often as I can, as much as they can" He looks at the glass, talking in hypotheticals.
“The hardest part isn't the being away," he continues. "It's not being there for the small things. The ordinary ones." He glances up at her briefly. "Someone has a bad day and you're in a different timezone and a text isn't the same as being there."
She's quiet for a moment, turning her ring. "No," she agrees. "It isn't."
"I'm not going to pretend it's easy," he says, and she can hear the care in it, the way he's choosing honesty over reassurance because he thinks she deserves the honest version. "It asks a lot of the other person."
"It asks a lot of both people," she says. He looks at her then. "You'd be the one leaving," she continues. "That's not nothing either." He holds her gaze for a moment, something shifting slightly in his expression, like she's said something he hadn't expected to be said. "No," he says quietly. "It's not."
It’s about three am when Yoongi yawns for the first time, ___ chuckles as she stands up, they’ve talked for a while, they could keep going, but he also leaves for the tour tomorrow.
“What time do you leave tomorrow?” ___ asks as she walks over to the kitchen and refills her glass, “Around 7 pm” Yoongi says as he checks his watch, very aware of the time. He stands up, swiftly putting on his jacket.
“I should go, we both have stuff in the morning” He says as he stands awkwardly, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye, or if he even wants to.
“Yeah…yeah we do” The silence that follows is different from the ones before. He shifts slightly, hands sliding into his pockets, then out again, like he can’t quite decide what to do with them.
He’s not usually like this, but there’s something about this, about her, that’s throwing off his usual rhythm.
“Tonight was…” he starts, then stops, he exhales lightly, glancing away for a second before meeting her eyes again. “A successful experiment” ___ adds as she walks over, stopping just a few steps away from him.
“___,” he starts again, quicker this time, like if he hesitates he won’t say it at all. “I’d like to see you again.”
The words land between them, steady but unpolished, so painfully honest. “My life is complicated,” he continues, glancing at her briefly before looking back, like he’s choosing not to hide behind anything. “But I feel like we’ve got something good.”
He pauses there, watching her, trying to read her before he goes any further. He continues quietly, “something real”
For a second, she just looks at him, and then her smile grows. “I was hoping you’d say that,” she admits, closing the small distance between them.
Now they’re close, closer than before, close enough that she can see the growing blush on his face, “Because I was about to say the same thing.”
That catches him off guard, just slightly, his expression shifting to relief and something more warm. “Good,” he says, softer now.
“You know,” she adds lightly, her voice dropping just a little, “for an experiment, this went pretty well.”
“Mm.” “Almost like we should repeat it.”
That earns the faintest hint of a smile from him. “I was planning on it.”
Her eyes flick briefly to his lips before returning to his eyes, the movement subtle and quick, but not quick enough to escape him, and in that fleeting moment something in him settles, something quiet but certain, like a decision finally catching up to a feeling he’s been circling all night.
His hand lifts again, more deliberate this time, coming to rest at her waist, fingers curling slightly as if he’s grounding himself, or maybe holding onto the moment just a little longer, like he’s aware of how easily it could slip past them if he rushes it.
He doesn’t rush, and he doesn’t overthink it either, which for him is saying something, because there’s usually a pause, a calculation, a reason to hold back, but not now.
He stops just short of her, close enough that the space between them feels intentional rather than hesitant, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, to give her the chance to pull away if she wants to, to change her mind, to set the boundary before he crosses it.
But she doesn’t, instead, she closes that last bit of distance herself, leaning in just slightly, just enough to meet him halfway, and that’s all the confirmation he needs.
When he kisses her, it’s softer than expected, not because he’s unsure, but because he’s choosing to be careful with it, choosing to let it build rather than take, and there’s something in that restraint that makes it feel more intentional, more real.
Her hand comes up almost immediately, pressing lightly against his chest, not to stop him but to steady herself, or maybe to feel something tangible in the middle of everything that suddenly feels a little too charged, a little too new.
And that’s what shifts it, that simple contact. It deepens the kiss, not dramatically, not all at once, but enough to change it from something tentative into something that lingers, something that holds, something that neither of them seems in a hurry to end.
___ didn’t know how to feel when Yoongi sent her the flight tickets. She isn’t even sure if they’re in a relationship, how does one qualify this as a relationship when it went from a phenomenal first date to flying across continents for the second one.
They’ve been constantly in touch with each other, texting, calling, even video calling a few rare times, each sending pictures from their day, and usually ___ would have classified this as something too difficult for 31 and moved on, but he’s just charmed her. His soft laughter, sending her flowers to the gallery, song samples that he genuinely wants her thoughts on.
She's found herself laughing into her phone more than she has in recent memory. While she drives to work and he's somewhere between cities, still half asleep, voice low and unhurried. While he eats dinner and she scrapes together a lunch at her desk, their schedules overlapping in whatever small window the timezones allow. The video call where he talked her through using a power drill for twenty minutes with the focused patience of someone who genuinely could not rest until she could hang the paintings in her living room.
___ pushes all the doubts aside as she moves through the airport, it’s still early morning and a significant amount at the San Francisco airport. ___ spots Mr Shin right away, Yoongi’s manager standing there with a warm smile as he waves his hands to greet her.
"Morning, Ms. Lee." He's quick, stepping forward to take her bag before she's even fully registered the intention. "How was the flight? Did you eat?" "I'm fine, really-" but the bag is already gone, and he's already moving, and she has learned enough about the people in Yoongi's orbit to know that efficiency is a personality trait they share collectively. She falls into step beside him.
The car is black, tinted, parked just beyond the terminal in the kind of spot that suggests someone made a phone call. Mr. Shin rounds the front of it and she follows, and that's when she sees him.
Yoongi is standing on the far side of the car, away from the flow of arrivals, away from the small clusters of people watching the arrivals gate. He's in a cap and a mask, hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, she isn’t sure if he’s smiling, but his eyes light up for sure.
She stops for just a second. Then she keeps walking and he straightens slightly, the way he does when he's trying to look like he wasn't just waiting, and she would tease him about it if her own face wasn't currently doing something she'd prefer it didn't.
"Hi," she says, stopping in front of him. "Hi." His eyes move over her briefly, the way they do, quick and considered. “Long flight?" Yoongi asks, almost instinctively taking the massive handbag from her hand, their fingers brush, the simple touch is enough to wake him up.
“Yeah, there was so much turbulence, I didn’t get a minute's sleep” ___ shares as they stand a few steps away from each other, none of them ready to be bold this morning. “How do you look this beautiful after fourteen hours of no sleep?” Yoongi comments, a compliment filled with genuine curiosity.
___ blinks once. Then she breaks into that familiar laughter, the real one, sudden and unguarded, her hand coming up to hit his arm softly. "That's not-" she starts, still laughing, shaking her head. "You can't just say things like that."
"I'm just asking," he says, and he's smiling now too, the full version, the one that takes over his whole face when he's not paying attention to stopping it. "You're not just asking, you're-" she gestures vaguely at him, at the general situation, at whatever this is, and he watches her do it with quiet satisfaction.
“Mr Min, we’re ready to leave” Mr Shin speaks before he gets into the driver seat, they’re in the car quickly, ___ is the first to yawn then Yoongi when she laughs again, there isn’t much being said, both of them just glad to be in each other’s presence.
“Is there anything specific you want to do before you fly to LA?” Yoongi asks after three complete minutes of silence, he has five days before their dates in Stanford, but ___ has combined this trip with some work trip.
“Golden gate bridge for sure, lots of coffee” ___ talks as she looks ahead at the GPS, it’s going to be thirty minutes till they reach the hotel, “and eat all the food we can in Chinatown” she turns to face him, Yoongi is currently taking very serious mental notes, hoping he remembers this all.
"Everything," she adds, because she means it. "Dim sum, noodles, everything." "Everything," he repeats, solemnly, like he's committing it to memory.
The city slides past in the early grey light, the fog sitting low over everything, soft and unhurried. ___'s exhausted in the particular way that crosses the point of feeling like exhaustion and becomes something closer to weightlessness, the fourteen hours and the turbulence and the airport and the adrenaline all catching up at once now that she's finally still.
He's warm beside her, warm and solid and here, actually here, not a voice through a speaker or a name on a screen, and she is tired enough and brave enough that when her head tips sideways and finds his shoulder.
“Is this the shoulder with the surgery?” ___ snaps out of it, lifting her head slightly just to confirm things. Yoongi is still for a second, "No," he murmurs. His arm comes around her, slow and easy, like it's the most natural thing, settling at her back with a gentleness that she feels all the way through the exhaustion.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi shares a few moments later, knowing she’s fully awake. “Even more glad that you can stay a month” he murmurs softly into her hair as his hand gently rubs her shoulder. Her hand finds the fabric of his hoodie, fingers curling lightly against it, too tired to talk. Yoongi rests his cheek gently against the top of her head and looks at the road ahead with the expression of a man who is trying very hard not to think about how much he already doesn't want this month to end.
___ feels like a zombie dragging herself, barely awake yet fully awake, full of food, desserts and coffee that they kept stuffing each other with. Yoongi walks back to the park bench, water in hand and he too feels like he’s ready to call quits on the day even if it’s only 6 pm yet.
“You don’t look too well, do you have a fever?” Yoongi asks as he hands her the bottle, wiping his hand against his jeans before checking her temperature. ___ almost immediately falls into his touch, her eyes closing, her whole body leaning slightly into his hand like she's been needing to rest against something for a while now and this is close enough.
"I am just-" she starts, then stops, organizing her words with some effort. "I can see how much you've planned, I know you looked things up and I know you had the whole route figured out and I genuinely loved today, all of it, the food and all of it-" she opens her eyes and looks at him, earnest despite the exhaustion, "-but can we just go back to the hotel and sleep." A pause. "You should stay out," she adds, because she means it, "get some air, do something, I just really really need to crash."
He looks at her for a long moment. His hand has moved from her forehead to the back of her neck, resting there lightly, and she hasn't moved away from it. “Let me call a car, we can go to that restaurant some other time” he whispers mostly to himself as ___ sighs with relief, going back to resting against the bench back.
“I promise I’ll be a lot more fun tomorrow morning, I just need to sleep” ___ mumbles and Yoongi can’t help but be fascinated by this new side to her, the extremely exhausted that makes her whiny. "Why didn't you say anything sooner?" he asks, looking at her sideways, and his arm comes around her naturally, his hand finding her far shoulder and drawing her back toward him, her head settling against him with the ease of something practiced.
"I hadn't seen you in so long," she says finally, her voice quiet and honest, the filter that exhaustion removes making everything simpler. "I didn't want to waste time sleeping."
He goes still, not visibly, not in any way she'd catch in the state she's in, but something in him just stops for a moment and sits with that. “Please just tell me the next time you’re too tired” Yoongi pleads as a car rolls in, hoping it’s theirs.
"Come on," he says gently, standing and bringing her with him, his hand steady at her back. She goes without complaint, leaning into his side, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk toward the car, her steps slow and his matching them without thinking about it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything? Room service? Have food picked up?” Yoongi talks as he swipes the key card, “I can’t, I feel nauseous already” ___ answers with great delay as she picks up the pace, walking up to it but struggling to open it.
“Need any help?” Yoongi asks and ___ simply nods walking to the washroom, she is optimizing the time, going straight to washing up while Yoongi finds her pyjamas. He helps her out, wiping her face that she left damp, helping her remove her rings and watch, and is almost fascinated by the speed in which she gets into bed.
Yoongi slips into bed approximately twenty minutes later, hoping she’s already asleep and it seems to be true until she stirs towards him. “I am so sorry” ___ mumbles and Yoongi’s eyebrows knit as she moves even closer, or he does, Yoongi’s not sure.
“___ you flew across continents for me, you’re allowed to be tired” Yoongi speaks softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s just that I thought we’d be having sex and instead we’re falling asleep at 6 pm” she speaks against his arm and something in his chest does a complicated thing and he presses his lips together and looks at the ceiling for a moment, and the laugh that comes out of him is low and quiet and completely helpless, the kind that sneaks up on him.
“We have an entire month” Yoongi reassures her, he isn’t sure what the move is, this is technically their second date, but he also wants to cuddle her, maybe even kiss her if he could be just a bit braver. “I counted, and with your work and mine, we only have 17 days together”
He pulls her in, properly, his arm coming around her, and she goes without stirring, fitting against him with the ease of something that has been doing this for years instead of days.
"Seventeen days is a lot," he says softly, into her hair. She makes a small sound, almost agreement, almost already dreaming. “We can still have a lot of fun, just tell me the next time you’re tired like this" he says, quieter now, his head leaning down but ___ seems to be fast asleep against his chest.
Yoongi has rules about this sort of thing. No sleeping in the same bed before the fifth date. No inviting someone on tour before you're actually together. No cuddling before, he looks down at her, well.
He looks back at the ceiling. The rules were built for a specific kind of situation. A careful, sensible situation where feelings arrived in an orderly fashion. The rules had not accounted for ___ specifically, which in retrospect was a significant oversight in the design.
He exhales slowly, a bit scared of how much he’s already feeling but also very excited but it all, no one has been like her, she’s truly the anomaly to the experiment.
“Come here, we should take pictures together as well” ___ gestures towards Yoongi who turns towards his security personnel with her phone. She’s banned pictures on his samsung, something about them just not looking right. Yoongi jogs beside her, the sun peaking through the golden gate bridge, the soft morning glow on her face, he can’t help but smile.
“You look very pretty in the morning” Yoongi compliments her, posing awkwardly beside each other. “You think I look pretty after a 14 hour flight, I don’t trust you” ___ teases as she shifts closer, the security guard continuing to take pictures.
“Well you’re always pretty to me,” Yoongi continues nonchalantly, like this is the most natural thing in the world, ___’s blush growing deeper. “Am I just that, arm candy Yoongi-si?” ___ teases as she looks up at him.
“Well that, also you're so terrifyingly confident and smart, so kind,” Yoongi says, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Wow, I’m arm candy for BTS’s Suga, I’ve finally made it in life” ___ jokes, mostly because she doesn’t want to process the other compliments he gave her.
"Okay," the security guard calls out, "I think I got some good ones." "Thank you," ___ calls back, and her voice only wavers slightly. Yoongi squeezes her hand once, still not looking at her, and starts back down the path, pulling her gently with him, away from the rocky terrain, his grip sure and unhurried.
“So, you fly to LA tomorrow morning?” Yoongi confirms as he drys his hair, he finds ___ staring at her phone intently, like she’s overanalysing something. “___?” he calls her again, walking closer. Yoongi sees her shuffling through the pictures from the golden gate bridge, stuck at one particular one where he’s looking at her instead of facing forward.
He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. She looks up at him, then at the photo, then back at him. "What are we?" she asks. Not confrontational, not loaded, just genuinely asking, the way she asks things she actually wants answered.
He looks at her with the expression of someone who finds the question slightly puzzling. "What do you mean?" "I mean-" she gestures between them, "us. This. What is this."
"I'm your boyfriend," he says, simply, with complete confidence, the way he'd say something obvious, like the name of a street or the time of a flight. Then he tilts his head slightly, reading her face. "Was that not clear?"
She stares at him, “___ I begged you to join me for the tour, why would I do that? I didn't think we were dating?” Yoongi speaks, the towel coming up to her hair to dry it instead. “So, you’ve not brought girls around when they were just a fling?” ___ deflects again, teasing now that she’s gotten the answer she’s wanted.
“No” he says, flatly, no elaboration, the kind of no that closes a door completely. He keeps drying her hair, unbothered, and she lets him, looking up at him from where she's sitting, close enough now to see everything his face is doing in the quiet of the room.
“Did you really think we were a fling or something, what’s it called now?” Yoongi stops to think for a second, “A situationship?” his amused tone is not helping the laughter escaping ___, her falling flat on the bed.
“You grandpa, how do you know what that even is?” “Jungkook’s love live is complicated” Yoongi answers, pulling her up, but ___ just pulls him with her. She reaches up and pushes his damp hair back from his forehead, slow and deliberate, and he stays completely still beneath it, watching her, and when she doesn't move her hand away he turns his head slightly into it, just barely, just enough.
The kiss starts soft and then doesn't stay that way, his hand finding her waist, pulling her closer with the quiet certainty of someone who has wanted to do this all day and has run out of reasons not to. She goes willingly, her fingers curling into his shirt, unbuttoning his shirt almost immediately as his hands wander, his fingers running the length of her thighs, stopping just to pull her back up.
“Hey, you can’t do that” ___ complaints as Yoongi successfully makes her stand up, they have dinner reservations with the members in less than thirty minutes. “What? I didn’t do anything?” Yoongi answers with great restraint, knowing exactly what he just pulled.
“You know exactly what you just did Mr Min” ___ whines, going back to getting ready, very slowly putting on each piece of jewellery. “I kinda like being called Mr Min” Yoongi confesses as he watches her though the mirror, and the devious smile that immediately graces her lips scares him a bit.
“Oh, do you Mr. Min?” ___ teases turning around, her blouse coming off in one swift motion. She's looking at him with the expression of a woman who has just evened a score and knows it, perfectly composed, completely unbothered.
He looks at her, at the blouse on the floor, at her as she snaps off her bra in one swift motion, just standing there in a mini-skirt. "That's not fair," Yoongi mutters weakly, his eyes trailing all over her, clearly losing this as ___ pushes him back onto the bed.
"Isn't it?" she says pleasantly, her hands moving quickly to unbutton his trousers. “How about, for the little move you pulled earlier, I just do this for a second and get dressed again?” ___’s voice is low as her hands rub against his bulge.
“That’s just mean” Yoongi whines, propping himself against his arm, completely helpless to her whims as her soft hands wander, pulling his briefs low, “No what’s meaner is you pulling away after making me think you’re going to finger me” ___ complaints as Yoongi lets out a soft moan, her hand rubbing down his length.
“I am so sorry okay, but please keep going” Yoongi barely gets the words out as ___ gently kisses his tip. “Now what should we do, should I suck your dick or should we get dressed for dinner?” ___ knows they’re not making dinner when Yoongi moans a quiet please.
Yoongi’s phone is going off on the nightstand, as Yoongi pulls ___ back to the bed, she’s spent far too much time on her knees and he needs to be inside her. “Darling you are so wet already” Yoongi murmurs in her ears as his nimble fingers rub in a circle. “Stop fucking teasing me” ___ whines, pushing his fingers inside her.
___’s breathless, so close to climax as Yoongi’s fingers keep going in a steady motion, no matter how much she wants, he refuses to pick up the pace, taking his sweet time. His phone rings just as ___ is shaking in his arms, the waves of orgasm sending shockwaves through her but Yoongi just keeps going.
Yoongi sighs with frustration as his phone rings once again, “Stay quiet, just for a minute” Yoongi mumbles, his fingers still going as ___ kisses his neck just to keep quiet. “Jimin-ah, we can’t make it, ___’s sick” Yoongi talks with a devious smile on his lips as ___ takes a sharp breath.
“Hyung be better with the excuses at least,” Jimin teases and Yoongi chuckles, “I swear, she’s not well, she’s been in bed all evening” Yoongi talks and ___ lightly bites his neck, so close once again.
“Alright, if she’s sick, I hope she feels better” Jimin talks and all Yoongi does is hum as he ends the call. “You’re going to leave a hickey” Yoongi complains but ___ just cradles in his lap, facing him now, quickly putting on a condom.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped to pick up a call” ___ continues biting where she was as Yoongi thrusts inside her, the motion sending her in a frenzy as he just keeps going, slow and soft. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken off your top” Yoongi teases, steadying her in his arms, the glow on her face, how her hair keeps sticking everywhere, he could get used to this view.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have teased-” ___ stops talking as Yoongi picks up the pace, arching back with pleasure, Yoongi’s takes a sharp breath, “Are you close, I am so-” Yoongi nods, biting her lower lip, kissing her rapidly as they orgasm. ___’s limbs give out, both of them falling back into bed.
She reaches up and traces the line of his jaw lightly, just because she can, just because she's allowed to now, and he closes his eyes briefly beneath it. “I don’t think I can walk Mr Min” ___ teases, pulling the sheets over herself. “You are beautiful” Yoongi notes as he turns to face her, her cheeks still flush as they both continue to catch their breaths.
“So are you” ___’s voice is uncharacteristically shy as he pulls the sheet even higher, “I am beautiful?” Yoongi teases, his breath finally even. “Yes, you’re also so buff, where did those arms come from?” ___ talks, running a hand over her heart, trying to calm herself down.
“Are you okay? Just give me a few seconds and I’ll get you some water” Yoongi mumbles, tucking her hair away, it’s gotten significantly longer since the first time he saw her, reaching her shoulders now. “I am fine, but you were great, really” ___ talks, shuffling closer till she’s firmly resting against his chest.
“And you are so evil, but also so amazing, taking off your top and we just derail our evening like this” Yoongi talks and he can feel her laughing before he hears it. He pauses and looks down at the top of her head. "I had a plan for this evening," he continues..
She tilts her chin up to look at him, her eyes still warm with laughter, her cheek pressed against his chest. "Was this better than the plan?"
He meets her eyes. Looks away and looks back. "Don't," he says. "Was it?" "You're so smug," he tells her.
"Yoongi-si" "Significantly better than the plan," he admits, quietly, which is the most she's going to get and she knows it and takes it anyway, her smile pressing into his chest as she settles back down. His hand keeps moving at her back, slow and easy.
___ goes around the apartment, picking up after herself. She really needs a cleaning lady or move because the mess around her apartment has only grown over the last six months. Her job’s always involved some travel, with a boyfriend on tour she’s been away even more and she doesn’t even remember the last time she was in the guest room.
___’s also cleaning because Yoongi is finally going to be back at home for a month, and the last time he was here he spent half the time helping her clean. She dials his number as she moves through laundry, but when the call doesn’t go through she just assumes he’s flying home, the last concert before the break was yesterday morning.
Yoongi: I’ve sent a few desserts your home as consolation for not being there to celebrate your birthday tonight, he should be there in 20ish minutes
Yoongi: Are you even home?
___: I am home, I’m not feeling the best and my apartment needed some TLC
___: You didn’t have to send anything, you’ll be here tomorrow anyway
Yoongi: Not feeling well? Oh, the first week of the month… you absolutely need desserts
___: Are you tracking my period?
___: It’s kinda cute but I don’t think I ever told you that explicitly?
Yoongi: We started fighting around the same day each month and I connected the dots
___: Are you saying that I pick pointless fights around my birthday? Because that’s rude
Yoongi: Darling, last month we fought about if a window should be opened or not and then you cried when I very gently explained why it needs to be opened for airflow
___: This feels like we’re fighting about a fight, am I that irrational on my period?
Yoongi: I don’t care, all those hormonal changes and pain would make anyone irrational
Yoongi: Just rest till the desserts arrive, I kinda like organizing your mess
___: It’s not my mess, it’s organized chaos
Yoongi: An organized mess where I can’t find the salt in the kitchen
___: okay, it’s a mess
___ goes back to cleaning when her phone doesn’t buzz for a while, Yoongi must have gotten busy with something, so does she as he hauls her laundry over the sofa. She’s mid-folding when the bell rings, for a woman living alone she should have checked through the peephole before swinging the door open.
But she’s kinda glad she didn’t, because the sheer surprise she feels at the view of her boyfriend standing outside with flowers and his carry-on dropped to his feet. “Surprise!” he musters up all his energy for that, engulfing her in a tight hug as he finally takes a deep breath.
“Oh my god, I thought you were flying tomorrow?” ___ talks into his jacket, momentarily lifting her face, only to be hugged tighter. “I didn’t want to arrive tomorrow and be groggy and tired on your birthday” Yoongi talks into her hair, taking a long whiff of her hair.
“So you flew directly after the concert?” “Who cares about the logistics, the important thing is that I am here” Yoongi talks as he finally detaches, taking a long look at her as he smiles widely. ___ intertwines their hands, leading him in and giving him approximately two seconds to drop all his stuff before she holds his face, it’s been too long since they’ve kissed.
"I missed you so-" she says between kisses, soft and unhurried, her thumbs against his jaw, "-so much, and I love you so so much and you're like the best boyfriend ever-"
He makes a sound against her mouth that is warm and amused and tired all at once, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer with the ease of something practiced, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss which makes her smile too, which makes kissing considerably more difficult and neither of them minds.
"Best boyfriend ever," he repeats, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes barely open from exhaustion, red rimmed from the flight and the concert and the night in between. "I also did a bunch of shopping for you at duty free. Does that get me any brownie points?” Yoongi asks his eyes trailing down the white dress she always wears just at home.
His eyes trail down the white dress she always wears at home, the one he's come to associate with her off days, her genuinely-at-rest days, the version of her that exists only in her own apartment with no clients to see and nowhere to be.
"Honey, baby, sugar plum buttercup-" she takes his face in her hands again, very seriously, "-that gets you so many brownie points, but you have got to stop spending so much money on me." She pushes her hair out of her face with one hand, still not used to the new cut, the layers falling everywhere, doing whatever they want.
"Why?" Yoongi says. He pouts, she's too busy dealing with the direct effect of it. "I have too much money to spend in a lifetime. I should spoil my girlfriend after being away for so long."
"Yoongi-" "Six weeks," he says. "Six weeks, one day, and-" he checks some internal calculation, "-about fourteen hours."
She stares at him. "You counted." "I'm just saying the math supports the duty free shopping." He reaches up and pushes the layered hair from her face himself, tucking it behind her ear the way he always does, watching it fall forward again immediately. His hand stays at her jaw. "I like the haircut."
"It does whatever it wants," she says, slightly mournfully. "I know." He tucks it back again, pointlessly. "I like it." She looks at him, at the exhaustion and the pout and the hand at her jaw and the duty free bags presumably somewhere in the carry-on she hasn't let him unpack yet, and she thinks that she has been thoroughly swooned by a man who is barely conscious.
"You're impossible," she says. "I love you” Yoongi states simply, the same way he did earlier this year in Paris. He just blurted it out one morning while leaving for rehearsal, never making a big deal out of it, like it was the most natural thing for him to say.
“Are you sure that you want to go on a trip before the last leg of the tour? You’ll be exhausted from travelling by then?” ___ talks through her airpod, her phone still somewhere in her purse as she continues to get the gallery ready for an event.
“We haven’t just gone on a vacation just for us, it’s always been us trying to piece together a few days between the tour, that’s not a real vacation” Yoongi retorts as he sits down to get ready for the first Bangkok show. “There must be somewhere you want to go?” He continues already having shortlisted a few options.
“Oh this client last week was telling me about this amazing Maldives resort he went to, it’s so beautiful and private” ___ talks, fixing a few frames that still need to be put up. “He? Are you sure he was telling or was he offering?” Yoongi teases and ___ sighs. “I work in art, Yoongi,” ___ says. “Do you know how many men have tried to flirt with me by explaining private islands?”
He huffs out a laugh, the one that always sounds slightly disbelieving, like amusement caught him off guard. She can picture it immediately despite not being able to see him, head tipped back slightly in the makeup chair, phone balanced in one hand while someone fixes his hair.
“And?” he asks. “And what?” “Did the resort at least look nice?”
“Oh, unbelievable.” She bends to pick up a stack of exhibition cards from the floor. “White sand. Crystal water. Villas with pools bigger than my apartment.”
“See?” he says immediately. “You want to go.” She smiles despite how much they shouldn’t do this. “I want to sleep,” she corrects. “You’ll be exhausted, I’ll probably have three openings back to back by then, and we’ll spend the entire trip unconscious.”
“You know,” he says after a moment, quieter now as the backstage noise fades slightly, “I think I miss you best when I’m tired.” Her hands still briefly over the stack of cards.
It’s such a Yoongi sentence, not dramatic or casual. Just honest in that careful devastating way he has. “What does that even mean,” she asks softly.
“I don’t know.” She hears movement, fabric shifting, maybe him leaning back in the chair. “When I’m busy I can ignore it because everything’s moving all the time. Schedules, rehearsals, flights. But when I get tired enough that my brain finally shuts up a little…” A pause. “You’re kind of the first thing I look for.”
“Honey you can’t just say stuff like that when I miss you like crazy” ___ speaks softly, all she wants is to see him, feel him, she’s just been missing him. Something in his chest pulls tight in that quiet painful way longing sometimes does when it lands at the wrong time of day.
“Yesterday I was walking back home and all these couples were out,” she continues, absentmindedly straightening a stack of gallery brochures as she talks. “Getting dinner, holding hands, arguing about where to go, normal boring couple things.” A small laugh escapes her. “And I just kept wishing you were there.”
He looks down at the floor for a second. There’s always a specific kind of helplessness that comes with tour. He’s learned to live with it, mostly. The missing, the leaving, the constant temporary nature of things.
“What would we have been doing?” he asks quietly. She smiles immediately at the question, hearing what it really is beneath it.
“Probably arguing.” “About?”
“You refusing to let me smoke.” “You shouldn’t smoke.”
“You sound eighty years old.” “You cough for three business days afterward.”
“That’s not the point.” She walks toward the back office, lowering her voice instinctively once she’s away from the staff. “Maybe we’d stop for tteokbokki.”
“You always want tteokbokki at night.” “Because it tastes better at night.”
“That’s scientifically untrue.” She laughs softly, and he feels some invisible tension in himself ease at the sound. “And then,” she continues, settling into the fantasy now, “you’d insist on walking me home even though your place is in the opposite direction.”
“I would.” “I know.” Her voice gentles around the words. “That’s the problem.”
The thing about Yoongi is that he loves in practical ways first. Walking someone home. Buying three coffees because he doesn’t know which one they like. Remembering flight times. Sending weather screenshots. Calling managers to make impossible schedules work. But distance makes practical love difficult.
Distance leaves him with words instead, and he’s still learning what to do with those. “I miss you too,” he says finally, the sentence low and steady and entirely unprotected. “More than I thought I would.”
___ leans back against the desk behind her, eyes closing briefly. “Come home soon,” she murmurs.
There’s a long pause on his end, “I’m trying,” he says quietly, and she can hear the exhaustion underneath it now, the real one he saves mostly for her. “I think if I stay away from you much longer I’m going to start doing irrational things.”
She smiles immediately. “Like?” Another pause, she can practically hear him debating whether to say it.
“Looking at apartments closer to your gallery.” Her breath catches before she can stop it. Yoongi rubs his arm, not knowing if he’s said something utterly stupid, “Something for us maybe, I’ve just made one search” he continues honestly and ___ can’t help the tears welling in her eyes.
On the other end Yoongi immediately notices the quiet stretching too long. “Hey,” he says softly, sitting up properly now. “I didn’t mean it like-” He rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly uncertain. “I’m not trying to pressure you or anything, I thought it’d be easier if I was closer to your gallery and then-”
He stops himself, he’s rambling. Which she’s realizing is rare enough from him that it almost makes her cry harder. “It was stupid,” he says quickly, already retreating from the admission. “Forget I said anything.”
___ lets out a wet laugh despite herself, shaking her head immediately even though he can’t see it.
“No,” she says quietly. “No, don’t do that.” He goes still. There’s noise around him again now, staff moving in and out, someone asking about wardrobe changes, but he’s listening to her so fully it’s almost tangible through the phone.
“I just…” She exhales shakily, pressing the heel of her hand briefly against her eyes. “You caught me off guard.”
“With the apartment thing?” “Yes, Yoongi, with the apartment thing,” she says with a laugh threaded through the emotion now. “You can’t casually mention moving in together while I’m actively suffering from how much I miss you”
He thinks about all the versions of them that exist lately only in transition. Her half asleep face on facetime at two in the morning while he’s eating room service in another timezone. Her voice breaking apart through bad hotel wifi. Him landing in Seoul already calculating how many hours they get before one of them leaves again.
This, exactly, was why he didn’t want a girlfriend. Not because he didn’t want love. Because he knew what happened when love had to survive logistics. Because somewhere deep down he understood that eventually another person would have to start structuring their loneliness around his schedule.
He drags a hand slowly over his mouth. “I used to think,” he talks carefully, “that if I never let myself really build something serious then maybe I could avoid doing this to someone.” A small humorless laugh escapes him. “Very logical solution. Very emotionally healthy.”
“Yoongi…” “No, it’s true.” He rubs at his arm absently now, exhaustion making him honest in that dangerous way it always does. “I know what this life feels like from the inside. I know how disappointing it can be sometimes.” His jaw shifts slightly. “Missing birthdays. Leaving dinners early. Watching someone you love get used to being alone.”
The gallery office suddenly feels too small around her. Because she can hear it now beneath everything he’s saying. Not fear of commitment, but the fear of becoming absent.
“I remember telling my mother I didn’t have time for a girlfriend,” he says quietly, a faint disbelieving smile touching his voice now. “And I meant it. I really did.” He pauses. “I think I thought wanting someone badly enough would just make the impossible parts hurt more.”
“And does it?” she asks softly. The room goes quiet on his end for a moment. “Yes,” he says honestly. Then, after a beat, “But not having you hurts more.”
The tears come properly then, silent and immediate. ___ presses her hand harder against her eyes, breathing out a shaky laugh because of course this is happening on a Thursday afternoon between exhibition setups.
“I have to do math before I can even talk to you.” A wet laugh escapes ___. “Do you know how romantic it is calculating if your boyfriend is conscious?” That finally pulls a real laugh out of him, tired and warm and aching around the edges.
But she hears it fade quickly, because they’re both thinking the same thing now. How much work this is. How much wanting each other has become an active sustained effort. “That’s the part I didn’t expect,” Yoongi says after a while, quieter now. “How easy it would be to keep choosing you anyway.”
___’s hand almost absentmindedly plays with the pendant Yoongi got her for her birthday, “Yoongi,” she says softly. “Mm?” “I love you.” The words leave her gently.
On the other end of the line he goes completely still. ___ keeps turning the pendant slowly between her fingers, eyes fixed on nothing now. “I love you when I’m exhausted and irritated and calculating timezones,” she admits quietly. “I love you when I’m angry at tour for taking you away from me.” A shaky breath leaves her. “I love you even when this feels impossible sometimes.”
His chest aches so sharply it almost feels like fear, not of her loving him. Of how badly he loves her back. Because Yoongi has spent most of his adult life believing love had to fit around ambition carefully or it would break beneath it. That eventually someone would ask him to choose.
“I think,” she says softly, almost smiling through the tears now, “that’s how I know it’s real.”
He lowers his head briefly, eyes shut, he wishes she were here so badly it physically hurts. Wishes he could pull her into his lap and bury his face into her neck and stay there until this terrible restless homesick feeling finally settled.
“You can’t say that right before I go on stage,” he says finally, voice rougher now. A soft laugh escapes her immediately. “I love you too, I love you in hotel rooms,” he murmurs. “In airports. Half asleep. Fully stressed. I love you enough that I catch myself looking for things to bring back for you in every country now.” A faint breath of a laugh. “Which is deeply embarrassing.”
Her eyes close tightly. “And I think…” He pauses, searching for the words carefully now because he wants to get this right. “I think loving you stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.” That one nearly undoes her completely.
“Hyung? Are you okay?” Jimin asks as they are once again leaving the airport, Yoongi quietly mumbles a no as they shuffle inside the car. “It’s been an exhausting tour, ___ and I had this big fight last week about something so stupid and god am I tired” Yoongi confesses as the car moves around the highway.
“What happened?” Jimin asks quietly. Yoongi lets out a humorless breath through his nose. “She fell asleep waiting for my call.” Jimin winces immediately. “Ouch.” “Yeah.”
“I know this life is hard,” he says after a while. “I knew it before we started dating. I just…” He laughs once bitterly under his breath. “I think I underestimated what it feels like when the person waiting for you is someone you actually can’t stand disappointing.”
Jimin watches him carefully for a moment. Yoongi has always carried guilt strangely. Quietly. Internally. Like he believes if he absorbs enough of it himself nobody else will have to. “I hate this part,” Yoongi murmurs eventually. “The feeling that no matter how hard I try, eventually my schedule still wins.”
“Hyung,” he says softly, “you know what’s different though?” Yoongi glances at him tiredly. “You’re talking like someone who’s trying to keep her.” Jimin shrugs lightly. “Not someone looking for a way out.”
They’re quiet for the rest of the ride, Yoongi contemplating how he’s going to make it up to her, what he’s going to say. He almost dozes off till he’s being gently shrugged by Jimin, something about them being there.
Yoongi steadies his bag as Jimin nudges his rib cage, hard. “___?” Yoongi can make her out of just her shadow as she leans against a car, they had discussed this a few weeks ago, he just didn’t expect her to be here after whatever yesterday was.
“What are you doing here?” She shrugs one shoulder lightly, though her eyes are already glassy in the parking lot lights.
“I wasn't going to show up just because we fought?” Something inside him breaks instantly at how simple she makes it sound. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening hard enough that she realizes suddenly he’s trying very seriously not to cry.
“You shouldn’t have driven this late,” he murmurs instead because it’s safer than saying what he actually wants to say right now. “You shouldn’t have fought with me from another continent,” she replies softly.
That finally pulls a real breathless laugh out of him and then neither of them can really hold the distance anymore. Yoongi drops his bag carelessly onto the pavement just as she reaches him, and the second his arms wrap around her he exhales so deeply it almost sounds painful. Like his body’s been waiting to do that for days.
“I don’t want to say sorry because stuff like that might happen again and I can’t lie to you” Yoongi speaks truthfully. “I know,” she says quietly.
Yoongi’s expression shifts faintly at that, like he wasn’t entirely expecting this. “I just…” He exhales shakily, forehead dropping briefly against hers now. “I need you to know I’m never not trying.” His voice lowers. “Even when I get it wrong.”
“You know what the worst part is?” she murmurs softly. “What?” “I wasn’t even angry because of the phone call.” His hands tighten around her waist slightly. “I was angry because I missed you so much already.” A weak laugh escapes her. “And then I had to miss you disappointed too.”
Because that’s exactly what yesterday felt like, not conflict, longing with nowhere to go. Yoongi presses his forehead harder against hers, eyes closing briefly. “I hate that you cry because of me.” “You also make me very happy because of you,” she whispers immediately.
“That grammar was terrible.” “I’m emotional.” A tired laugh slips out of him then, quieter now, warmer. God, he missed this too. The way she can pull him back toward something lighter before he disappears too far into guilt.
“Now kiss and make up,” Jimin calls as he walks backwards toward his building entrance, duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “I can’t take brooding Yoongi hyung anymore. He’s been unbearable all week.”
Yoongi sighs deeply without even looking at him. “Please go inside.” “I’m serious,” Jimin says, grinning now. “He kept staring out the van window like a divorced father.” ___ laughs against Yoongi’s shoulder immediately, the sound finally pulling a reluctant smile onto his face too.
“And he snapped at me because I asked if he wanted ramyeon.” “You asked me three times.”
“Because you looked emotionally unwell.” Yoongi shakes his head tiredly as Jimin snickers to himself. “Anyway,” Jimin says, swiping the card to the building gate, “fix him please”
Then a softer, fond voice follows, “You look better already, hyung.” And with that he disappears inside, leaving the two of them alone again beneath the parking lot lights. The silence settles differently now.
___ brushes her thumb lightly beneath his eye before speaking quietly. “Your parents are still on vacation, right?” He nods once slowly. “They left for Jeju yesterday, come home with me,” he says quietly. Yoongi’s hand slides up slowly into her hair, fingers curling gently at the base of her neck before he pulls her toward him and kisses her like he’s been hungry for her.
His mouth soft against hers as he exhales shakily into the kiss, shoulders finally loosening beneath her hands for what feels like the first time since he landed. “You know,” he murmurs softly, voice rough with exhaustion and affection both, “I think this is the longest week of my life.”
She smiles faintly, brushing her nose against his. “Good thing you’re home now.” His eyes close briefly at that. Home, not Seoul, not the apartment, her.
And maybe that’s the thing that feels different tonight. Not just relief. Not just surviving another stretch of distance. The tour is over. For the first time in months there isn’t another flight looming somewhere ahead of them. No countdown ticking quietly in the background. No rehearsals stealing entire weeks before they can properly settle into each other again. Their first anniversary is in two weeks.
“You’ve been living like this all this time, what do you need a walk in closet for?” ___ complains as she walks around the dimly lit closet, admiring his watch collection. “Come on, lets go to bed” Yoongi whines from behind her, his arms loosely wrapped around her, he’s been clingy like this since they got inside the apartment.
“I have a meeting set with a realtor next week, you sure you still want to live with me, I never put away my laundry” ___ speaks as they finally slip into bed. Yoongi turns toward her immediately.
There’s barely a second of hesitation before he moves closer automatically, arm sliding around her waist underneath the blankets until she’s tucked against his chest like that’s where she’s been sleeping forever. “I’ve seen your apartment,” he murmurs sleepily into her hair. “It’s a mess”
She gasps softly. “That is unbelievably rude.” “You own a chair entirely dedicated to clothes.”
“It’s an organizational system.” “It’s a fabric mountain.” ___ laughs under her breath as he presses a lazy kiss against her shoulder.
“Are you sure about moving in together? We might not tour this year but there might be times when I’m still away?” Yoongi asks as he trails kisses downward. “Yes I am sure” ___ replies confidently as Yoongi bites her boob, knowing exactly where this is going.
“Aren’t you tired?” ___ investigates as Yoongi mumbles a no, removing her slip dress in one go. She doesn’t get an answer. What she does get is Yoongi softly biting her nipple as she arches back. “Another perk of living together, we can have sex any time we want, anywhere we want” Yoongi says as his hand fondles her soft breast, the other hand trailing south.
“We can do it against the glass like we did in Maldives,” she murmurs. That finally pulls a real reaction out of him.
Yoongi groans softly into her skin, forehead dropping briefly against her chest like the memory alone exhausted him all over again. “You almost killed me that night.”
“You were very enthusiastic.” “You wore that bikini on purpose.” A faint smug smile appears on her face. “Maybe.” He looks up at her then, hair messy, eyes dark and sleepy and impossibly affectionate all at once.
Yoongi shuffles around the kitchen looking for a snack, all the fridge has is leftovers and fruit. He settles on an apple as he continues to wash it for a little too long, too lazy to do the whole peeling and cutting thing.
___: Why’d you leave this morning in such a hurry? Waking up all by myself is no fun
His phone pings and he stops mid-way, typing a response immediately, a ghost of a smile appearing the second her name appears. He exhales softly through his nose, drying his hand absently against his shirt as he types back.
Yoongi: I told you, my dad had a doctors appointment, he won’t tell but he wanted me there
Yoongi: I am sorry, I can make up by coming over tonight and not leaving in the morning
___: I have a thing, might not come home
Yoongi: What thing?
___: Work thing
Yoongi: That’s very vague, but okay, I’ll see you on Saturday then? Can we go shopping?
“Who are you talking to smiling like that?” his mother shouts from the other end of the living room, startling him, almost into dropping his phone. It’s been a year and he’s successfully kept a lid on this relationship, the less she knows the better.
“No one, the guys are being funny in the group chat? Where are you off too?” he asks as his mother continues putting on her earrings.
“It’s the Lee’s 40th wedding anniversary and I thought I might bring them something, and ___ is going to be there” he stills not very noticeably, “I just love her,” his mother continues, completely unaware, stepping back into the kitchen to grab the baked goods she ordered earlier. “Too bad you never went out with her.”
He almost chokes on his own breath, covering it with a cough. “…Yeah,” he mutters, because what else is he supposed to say to that?
But his mind is already moving. So, ___ is in the same building as him and didn’t even tell him, is this why she won’t be coming home tonight? The wheels in his brain are going, a smirk almost appearing, “Maybe I also come with you, I was pretty rude last time when I didn’t visit them?”
“When?” she asks almost absentmindedly, forgetting that afternoon completely. “The time you tried to, you know what, I am going to change, wait for me”
Yoongi scrambles around, picking out a soft blue shirt and tucking it in almost instinctively. He fixes his hair next, more carefully than he’ll admit, adjusting it once, then again, like he’s trying to make it look like he didn’t try at all.
“Why do you even want to come, you’re usually not interested in my friends at all?” his mother questions from outside his room, watching him contemplate between two belts.
“That’s not true, you remember when I sent flowers for your friend Mrs Song?” “You didn’t send them, I did” she retorts almost immediately, “Well, I paid for them” he shoots back, not missing a beat.
He tightens the belt, exhaling softly through his nose before grabbing his watch, fastening it around his wrist with a little more care than usual. “I’m just being polite,” he adds, tone deliberately casual, like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “You said it yourself, I was rude last time.”
His mother leans against the doorframe now, watching him more closely. “You didn’t care about being rude last time.” “Well, as I grow older, I am trying to be a better person, come on” he walks right past her, she nods her head in confusion but decides to go along with it anyway.
Yoongi wouldn’t admit it, but he’s nervous. Things have been going well, too well. They move in together in a month, all their free time is being spent decorating their new home. The next natural steps would be to meet the parents, something he’s never done. “Stop fidgeting” his dad comments as he continues to fiddle around with his collar, the shirt suddenly suffocating him.
Yoongi spends the entire elevator ride thinking of what he’s going to say, which isn’t a long time to prepare for something this monumental. What exactly is he supposed to say? Hello, surprise, I’ve secretly been dating your daughter for over a year and we accidentally bought an apartment together?
His mother rings the bell before he can spiral further. The door swings open almost immediately, to his relief it’s ___. For one beautiful second her face lights up instinctively at the sight of him. Then she notices his parents standing there and immediately freezes.
“Oh! Hi, um” ___ stammers, fixing her hair the best she can as she tugs the sweater, well his sweater to be accurate that she stole just last week. “Hi, how are you ___, we just wanted to stop by with some treats before your parents leave for Europe” Mrs Min adds and ___ nods quickly, recovering with impressive speed considering she is currently trying to piece together why he’s here.
“Right, yes, come in,” she says, stepping aside quickly. “Mom and dad are inside.” Yoongi walks past her carefully, close enough to catch the tiny glare she shoots him under her breath.
“Ah, you made it!” Mrs. Lee says cheerfully as she appears from the kitchen carrying coffee cups.
Mr. Lee follows behind her with Yoongi’s father, already mid-conversation about travel routes and airport timing.
For a few blessed minutes, things settle.
Coffee is poured. Pastries are unpacked. The parents fall naturally into conversation around the dining table while Yoongi hovers awkwardly near the kitchen island pretending he isn’t hyperaware of every movement ___ makes.
“I’ve also made some sandwiches, let me just bring those out” ___ adds as she stands up, wanting a few minutes just to herself. “Oh, I’ll help” Yoongi adds and all the heads turn to him, none of them expecting this.
“It’s not much Yoongi-si, I’ll just be a few moments” ___ argues with a tight smile, hoping no one in this room catches onto this tension. “Oh I’m sure my mother’s told you what a great cook I am, I can help” Yoongi can’t help but tease, knowing this is going to cost him later.
“What is with these two?” Mrs Min murmurs to Mrs Lee as the two walk into kitchen, “Maybe he’s interested now, too bad she already has a boyfriend” Mrs Lee comments as they continue to sip on their coffee.
“She has a boyfriend?” Mrs Min asks with shock, she has secretly been hoping for her son to come to his senses all this time. “Well, she hasn’t told me explicitly, but she went to a vacation to Maldives and that’s such a couples destination” Mrs Lee adds and the wheels in Mrs Min’s head are finally going.
“When was she in Maldives?” “Early January I think, she didn’t even send us any pictures-” “Yoongi was in Maldives early January” Mrs. Lee blinks.
Mrs. Min blinks back, silence.
“Oh my god.” “OH MY GOD SHE’S WEARING HIS SWEATER THAT I GOT HIM FOR CHRISTMAS” Mrs Min yells as she rapidly walks towards the kitchen. The closer they get, the quieter they become. Because suddenly they’re not entering casually anymore.
They’re investigating and then they stop dead in the doorway. ___ is standing close enough to Yoongi that their bodies almost touch, fingers gently smoothing down the collar of his shirt while Yoongi looks at her with an expression his mother has never seen him wear before.
Soft and completely gone for her. Like the entire world narrowed down to the woman fixing his clothes in the kitchen.
“Oh.” The word slips out of Mrs. Lee before she can stop it. The couple freeze instantly. ___’s hand is still resting lightly against Yoongi’s chest.
Yoongi turns first and unfortunately, instead of looking guilty, he looks caught in the exact way a man does when he’s deeply in love and interrupted mid-moment. Which is somehow more incriminating.
“How long has this been going on?” Mrs Min asks softly, not entirely believing what she’s seeing. ___ immediately drops her hand from Yoongi’s collar like she’s been burned.
Yoongi exhales slowly, knowing he needs to take the lead in this situation, “A year and a half” he answers, his hand coming up to ___’s waist like he’s trying to tell it all with a show but ___ swats his hands immediately, like she can still talk her way out of this.
There’s silence and immediately there are questions, lots of them. “A YEAR AND A HALF” “Why didn’t you tell us” “Is this why you’ve been working late” “Is this why we couldn’t come to the Paris show?”
Mrs. Min’s eyes widened further somehow. “Oh my god, you traveled to see him during the tour?”
“No..well sometimes-” “How many times?” Mrs. Lee gasps. ___ looks ready to faint.
Yoongi, meanwhile, has reached the point of surrender where he almost finds this funny. “Enough that she has airline status now,” he says honestly.
“Min Yoongi!” ___ hisses in horror. “What? We’re already caught.” “That does not mean volunteer information!”
From the dining room, both fathers have fully abandoned pretending not to listen and are now standing in the doorway too. Mr. Min crosses his arms slowly. “I knew something was going on when he wanted me to check documents to buy an apartment”
The interrogation moves from the kitchen hallway to the dining room because ___ can’t keep standing without feeling like she’s about to faint and Yoongi wanted everyone to eat the sandwiches she made.
“When were you going to tell us that you’re moving in together, after you had children?” Mrs Min asks her son incredulously, she’s still in shock from this all, happy nonetheless. “What you aren’t engaged are you?” Mrs Lee asks as she rapidly reaches for ___’s hand.
“I wouldn’t ask ___ to marry me without speaking to her parents first,” Yoongi says immediately. The room quiets slightly at the seriousness in his tone. Because despite the chaos, despite the interrogation and the absolute catastrophe of this reveal, he means that sincerely.
Across the table, Mr. Lee watches him carefully now and for maybe the first time all afternoon, Yoongi feels genuinely nervous. “I’m not irresponsible,” he says quieter now, gaze flicking briefly toward ___ before returning to her parents. “I know how serious this is.”
___ looks at him softly for a second. Because beneath all the teasing and disaster and accidental exposure, that’s the thing about Yoongi, once he loves someone, he becomes frighteningly earnest about protecting the future around them.
Mrs. Min’s eyes narrow suddenly, too suddenly. “Wait.” Every person at the table goes still. “You said you wouldn’t ask without speaking to the parents first.” She points at him slowly. “Not that you haven’t thought about it.”
Yoongi makes the catastrophic mistake of glancing at ___ for half a second. And unfortunately that alone is enough.
Mrs. Lee gasps loudly. “Oh my god.” ___ blinks between them in confusion. “What?” Mrs. Min sits forward immediately. “You’ve thought about marriage.”
“We’re in a happy long term relationship, of course we have” “Do you have a ring?” his mother throws that question like a grenade in the middle of the dining room. ___ turns toward him so fast she nearly knocks over her water glass.
Yoongi suddenly regrets every decision that led him here. Because the thing is, he does have a ring. Hidden badly, according to Namjoon. Carefully and thoughtfully selected over weeks because once the idea entered his head, it never really left again.
“No,” he says too quickly. Mrs. Min narrows her eyes instantly. “That was suspicious.” “I don’t have it with me.” The second the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s doomed.
“YOU HAVE A RING?” both mothers shriek simultaneously.
___ just stares at him, like her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a second. Yoongi rubs a hand down his face slowly. “Well,” Mr. Min says calmly, sounding deeply entertained now, “this escalated quickly.”
“You bought a ring?” ___ asks finally, voice small in a way that completely destroys him. And suddenly all the teasing leaves the room a little. “We talked about it, we were on the same page about marriage?” Yoongi turns, like he needs to talk about it urgently.
“We did, I just didn’t expect you to actually buy a ring” The vulnerability in her voice hits him square in the chest. Because he understands what she means, not disbelief in them. Disbelief in how real this all suddenly sounds out loud.
Yoongi shifts slightly closer to her instinctively. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you,” he says lower now, like he’s forgotten there are four other people listening. “I just saw it and…” He exhales softly. “It felt right.”
___ looks at him for a long second. “They bought an apartment,” Mr. Lee mutters. “The married couple part was already implied.” “That’s true,” Mr. Min agrees.
“Is there a date on your mind?” Mrs Min asks quietly and that earns another dramatic gasp from Mrs Lee. “Okay,” ___ says finally, standing abruptly before this spirals into someone discussing grandchildren. “I think this is enough for today. Mom, dad, you both need to leave for the airport soon.” Then toward Yoongi’s parents, polite despite the emotional destruction currently occurring in the dining room, “Mrs. and Mr. Min, the desserts were delicious, and I do love your son, so I hope today won’t leave the wrong impression on your minds.”
“Yoongi and I are leaving because apparently we need to have a conversation.” That finally gets his attention fully. Yoongi blinks up at her once. “Do we?”
“Yes.” “Am I in trouble?” “You will be if you don’t get moving” ___ speaks with a smile but Yoongi knows better by now and stands up immediately. She’s quiet as they close the door behind them and it’s right at that moment when Yoongi’s phone rings.
He declines it and ___ sighs as she presses the elevator button with no clear plan on where they’re actually going to talk. Yoongi groans softly this time before answering. “Hi.”
There’s a pause, then his entire expression changes. “Oh.” ___ looks over immediately. “Our mattress is going to be there in a few minutes, they need someone to let them in” Yoongi continues and ___ simply hands him her car keys, knowing where they’re going.
“Oh, hi… that room,” ___ says quickly, pointing them toward the bedroom. They nod and disappear down the hallway carrying it carefully while Yoongi steps aside to answer yet another phone call.
Apparently every single thing related to this apartment needs attention today. “Yes, Tuesday is fine,” he says distractedly into the phone while pacing slowly near the windows. “Yes please early in the day, I’m busy post afternoon”
___ watches him for a second. It still catches her off guard sometimes, this version of him. Not a massively successful musician. Not the exhausted version surviving airports and tour schedules. Just… her boyfriend trying to do everything right with their apartment.
The mattress gets assembled surprisingly quickly considering it took them nearly three weeks to choose one. “So, the sofa will be here on the tuesday so we’ll have enough of a ready home to move in, rest we can tackle once we’re here” Yoongi adds as ___ gets them some water from the fridge, they might not be living here, but they still have a fully stacked kitchen already.
“And I’ve booked a moving company for your place for Sunday, I’ll be there too-” Yoongi continues and ___ shuts him up with a soft kiss. All the tension from today just melts as he helplessly kisses her, his hands all over her till they settle under the sweater.
“You stupid idiot” ___ pulls back just to say that but Yoongi only smiles as he pulls her even closer. “Did you really buy a ring?” she continues and Yoongi sighs, resting his forehead against hers. “I swear my mother, can we not make a big deal out of this, it’s not happening that soon, I want us to live together first and you weren’t supposed to find out like this” he explains which only makes ___ laugh more.
“Is it beautiful? It’s not too flashy is it? I know you have money but big diamonds don’t suit me” ___ teases and he groans gripping her waist even tighter. “Darling I know what you like, can we just please drop this?” Yoongi pleads and ___ nods knowing when to give up.
“I didn’t think I’d be doing this with you after our first date, I really wanted to see you again but I wasn’t sure it would work” ___ confesses as she moves around, finally getting the water she wanted. “I really wanted to see you again,” she admits. “But I honestly wasn’t sure it would work.”
Yoongi’s brows lift slightly. “Really?” He watches her carefully now as she hands him a glass of water before continuing.
“And then you kissed me like that,” she says, pointing at him accusingly now, “and just left.” Yoongi looks entirely unapologetic. “I had an early flight.” “You kissed me after the best first date and just left and it felt like a romcom for a few hours till you didn’t text me for 12 hours”
“I was trying to seem calm.” That actually makes her laugh. Because if there’s one thing she knows now, it’s that Yoongi has never once been calm about her. “I was still dazed from the date and the kiss and I was all confused and and I um, was so surprised and I hated that I had to leave even if I really wanted to tour” Yoongi confesses and ___ smiles from the other side of the counter.
“I for a very long time believed that this all, a girlfriend, living together, the eventual stuff, planning a life with someone wasn’t in my books and for the longest time I was okay with it” The apartment falls quiet around them. Suddenly he looks younger somehow. Not physically, emotionally, like she’s catching a glimpse of the version of him that spent years convincing himself wanting less from life was safer.
“You just thought loving someone would mean losing parts of yourself.” That catches him off guard.
Because unfortunately she’s right. Yoongi looks down briefly, jaw tightening faintly like he’s still a little uncomfortable being understood this clearly. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “And honestly…” A tiny breath leaves him, almost amused at himself now. “I didn’t expect you to be this stubborn.”
___ smiles faintly. “Excuse me?” “We fought,” he continues, stepping closer again like he physically can’t stay far from her for long anymore. “A lot sometimes. Especially in the beginning.” His hands slide back around her waist naturally. “But you always treated the problems like they were against us.” He pauses, gaze steady on hers now. “Not us against each other.”
Something soft flickers across her expression immediately, because that mattered more to him than she probably realized.
“So, shall we break in the new mattress, take a nap?” ___ jokes and Yoongi chuckles holds her from the behind. “Is this us now, napping? So painfully domestic” he says, his warm hands back under the sweater.
“What’s more tragic is that I really want to nap” Yoongi confesses nuzzling his head into her shoulder. “Honey, we can do whatever we want, nap, look at vacuums, argue if we really want a piano in the living room” ___ teases and Yoongi laughs thinking back to the major vacuum selection fight.
NOTE: this was a rushed work but I had to get the words down before I forgot!! And the word vomit suddenly started coming out…
The backyard was currently filled with the low hum of chatter, the clinking of glasses, and the aroma of charred oak and marinating meat. String lights were woven through the trees overhead, swaying gently in the afternoon breeze
At eight months pregnant, you were, by your own cheerful admission, "absolutely huge." You wore a flowy, sage-green sundress that stretched comfortably over your prominent, round bump. Walking was more of a graceful waddle at this point, but you refused to sit down just yet. You were too busy playing host to the closest friends and allies you and Simon had.
"Look at you, glowing!" Price boomed, stepping into the yard with a wrapped box that looked comically small in his hands. He wrapped you in a gentle, careful hug, mindful of the extra space you now required. "How are you holding up, love?"
"Like a penguin, but otherwise great," you laughed, resting a hand on the top of your belly. "He’s kicking up a storm today. I think he smells the food."
"He?" Soap’s ears practically perked up from where he was sitting on a lawn chair, a beer in hand. He bolted over, blue eyes wide. "Did you say he? It’s a boy?!"
"It’s a boy," you beamed, your face lighting up with pride. "We just found out for sure last week. A little mini-Simon running around."
"God help us all," Gaz chuckled, joining the circle and offering a warm congratulatory hug. "Are we ready for a tiny Simon. Should get him a skull onesie yeah?”
"Johnny already bought him three, don't worry," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled from a few yards away.
You turned to look at your husband. Simon was standing by the massive charcoal grill, a pair of tongs in one hand and a cold drink in the other. He wore a simple black t-shirt that stretched tight across his broad shoulders, and a lightweight, breathable fabric mask that covered the lower half of his face. His blonde hair was messy from the heat, and his eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were soft as they landed on you.
"They're incredible onesies, LT!" Soap defended himself, pointing a finger at Simon.
Simon just grumbled shaking his head, turning back to flip a row of patties.
You excused yourself from the guys and slowly made your way over to the grill. As soon as you were within arm's reach, Simon leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours for a brief, quiet second. He slipped a large, warm hand around your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.
"You need to sit down, sweets," he murmured, his voice dropping into that private, gravelly tone meant only for you. "You've been on your feet since Alejandro and Rudy got here."
"I'm fine, Simon. Just greeting everyone," you said, leaning into his side. "Besides, your son is hungry."
Simon’s eyes shifted down to your bump. He lowered his hand from your hip to cup the underside of your belly, his large palm covering a massive portion of it. As if on cue, a distinct ripple moved across your dress as the baby kicked right against his hand.
A rare, genuine crinkle appeared at the corners of Simon's eyes, the unmistakable sign of a smile beneath the mask.
"Bloody hell, he’s got a kick on him," Simon whispered, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the fabric. "Takes after his mum. Stubborn."
"He takes after his dad," you countered softly, placing your hand over his. "He's just eager to get out here and eat some of that barbecue."
"Almost done. Patties for the lads, and I’ve got your chicken cooked through on the top rack," he said, ever protective of the pregnancy dietary restrictions. He gave your belly one last, gentle pat before straightening up. "Go sit with Nikolai and the boys. I’ll bring a plate over to you in five."
"Yes, Lieutenant," you teased.
He huffed a soft laugh, poking your side gently. "Get going before I have to carry you to a chair myself."
Laughing, you patted his chest and wandered back over to the patio tables, feeling the warmth of the sun. As you sat down and took a sip of your ice water, you looked back at Simon. He was trading some dry, sarcastic banter with Gaz while checking on the food, but his eyes kept darting back to you, making sure you were comfortable.
—
The transition from peaceful afternoon to chaos happened in the span of a single exhale.
You had just stood up to say goodbye to Alejandro and Rudy when a sharp, tight wave of pain gripped your lower abdomen. It was completely unlike the mild braxton hicks twitches you’d been having for weeks. This was different, wrapping entirely around your back and squeezing hard enough to steal the breath right out of your lungs.
A sudden, warm splash soaked the grass beneath your feet.
"Oh," you gasped, freezing in place. Your hands flew to the bottom of your bump. "Oh, no. Not yet."
Simon, who had been packing away the leftovers a few yards away, was at your side before you could even register him moving. His large hands caught your elbows, anchoring you as your knees buckled slightly.
"What is it? What's wrong?" His voice, usually completely unbothered by crisis, had a sharp edge of panic to it.
"Simon... I think my water broke," you managed to squeeze out as the contraction finally peaked and began to recede. "And that was definitely a real contraction."
"Price! Soap! Inside, now."
The backyard erupted into highly disciplined movement. Your house was nestled deep in the rural woods, a private sanctuary you and Simon had chosen specifically to get away from the world, but right now, the long, winding dirt roads and the forty-five-minute distance to the nearest hospital felt like a massive liability.
"Johnny, get the truck started. Keep it running," Simon ordered, his voice dropping into his commanding tactical register as he swept you up into his arms.
"Simon, I'm too heavy!" you protested, gripping his shoulders as another wave of tightness started to build.
"Shut up," he muttered against your hair, carrying you toward the driveway as if you weighed nothing at all. "Gaz, grab the hospital bag from the front closet. It’s by the door."
"On it!" Gaz sprinted ahead, tearing into the house.
Price was already at the passenger side of Simon’s massive truck, flinging the door open and adjusting the seat so you could recline. "I’ll drive," Price said, holding up a set of keys. "You stay in the back with her."
"Negative, Captain, I'm driving," Simon grunted, carefully setting you down onto the front seat.
"Simon, look at your hands. You're shaking," Price said, his voice calm, steady, and entirely unyielding. "You’re a father now. Sit in the back, hold your wife, and let me navigate the road okay. Soap and Gaz are right behind us in the SUV."
Simon swallowed hard, staring at Price for a beat before nodding curtly. "Right." He scrambled into the back seat, leaning over the console to take your hand the second the door clicked shut.
The truck tore down the gravel driveway, kicking up a massive cloud of dust as Price handled the tight turns. But out here in the middle of nowhere, the roads were unpaved, riddled with potholes, and entirely unforgiving to a woman in active labor.
Every time the truck hit a bump, a sharp groan escaped your lips. Your fingers dug into Simon’s hand with terrifying strength.
"I know, hun, I know," Simon murmured. He had pulled his mask completely off, tossing it onto the floorboard. His face was pale, his jaw clenched in pure agony on your behalf. He reached over the seat, his massive, calloused hand cupping your cheek while his other hand remained locked in yours. "Look at me. Just breathe through it. Don't look at the road, look at me."
"It hurts, Simon," you gasped, tears finally pricking your eyes as another contraction hit barely four minutes after the last one. "He’s... he’s coming really fast."
"He's a Riley, doesn't follow a schedule," Simon tried to joke, but his voice cracked. He looked up at the rearview mirror, his eyes burning. "Price, move it!"
"I'm flooring it, Simon, but if I hit these ruts any harder, I'll pop a tire," Price called back, his eyes glued to the winding, tree-lined road. "We’re five minutes from the main highway. Hold on."
From behind you, the loud, familiar blare of an SUV horn echoed. You glanced out the side mirror to see Soap driving the secondary vehicle, hazard lights flashing, practically acting as a rear escort to block any rare traffic. Under any other circumstances, the sheer absurdity of the 141 running a tactical transport operation for a baby shower emergency would have made you laugh.
Another contraction gripped you, harder this time, making you cry out and arch your back against the seat.
Simon unbuckled his seatbelt, leaning entirely over the center console to pull you as close to him as the cramped space allowed. He pressed his lips against your sweaty forehead, whispering a string of low, frantic promises.
"You're okay. You're the strongest person I know," he breathed, his thumb wiping away a stray tear on your cheek. "We’re going to get there. I've got you. I'm not leaving you."
The truck suddenly smoothed out, the violent rattling replacing by the steady hum of pavement. Price had finally hit the highway.
"Alright, we're on the asphalt!" Price called out, slamming his foot down on the gas. "ETA twenty minutes. Keep her talking, Simon!"
"Hear that? Twenty minutes," Simon whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, completely filled with an intense, fierce devotion. He placed his large, trembling hand over your stomach, feeling the tight hardness of another contraction. "Just a little longer, sweetheart. You and me. We've got this."
—
The hospital room was finally quiet, the frantic rush of nurses, monitors, and medical equipment replaced by the soft, rhythmic hum of the postpartum monitor. The grueling hours of labor were behind you, leaving you entirely exhausted but filled with a sense of relief.
Sitting up in the hospital bed, you looked down at the bundle resting securely in your arms.
"Big" had been the doctor’s exact word when he was weighed, and it was no exaggeration. At nearly ten pounds, your baby boy looked less like a fragile newborn and more like a solid, robust little tank. He had a surprisingly thick head of light hair, a pair of incredibly strong lungs he had already thoroughly tested, and broad shoulders that left absolutely no question as to whose genetics he carried.
"He's huge," you whined, a tired but triumphant smile pulling at your lips. "Simon, look at him. He’s practically a toddler already."
Simon was sitting right on the edge of the mattress, his massive frame hovering over you protectively. He had refused to leave your side for a single second, and now, he looked entirely undone. His eyes were looked slightly watery, blinking back a rare sheen of moisture as he stared down at his son.
"Bloody hell," Simon rumbled, his voice thick and incredibly gentle. "He’ll get my shoulders. Poor lad."
"Don't say that," you chuckled softly, wincing slightly as your sore muscles protested. "I think he’s perfect. Want to hold him?"
Simon swallowed hard, looking at his own large, heavily calloused hands—hands that had spent a lifetime holding weapons—and then down at the swaddled bundle.
"I don't want to hurt him," he admitted, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper.
"You won't. He's a Riley, remember? He's sturdy," you coaxed softly, shifting the baby forward. "Put your arm right here. Support his head."
With agonizing care, Simon extended his forearms, creating a safe cradle. You gently transferred the heavy baby into his arms.
The contrast was staggering. Your baby boy, though massive for a newborn, looked tiny against Simon’s broad chest. Simon’s huge hands carefully cupped the baby’s head and bottom, his long fingers wrapping almost entirely around the thick swaddling blanket.
As soon as he settled against his father's chest, the baby let out a tiny, snuffling grunt and shifted. One of his surprisingly large, chubby little fists broke free from the blanket, flailing weakly in the air before resting squarely against Simon’s thumb.
Simon froze, his breath catching in his throat. He looked down at the tiny hand curling around his thumb, and the last of his hardened exterior completely melted. A soft, breathless laugh escaped his chest, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against the baby’s soft head.
"Hi there, mate," Simon whispered, completely oblivious to anything else in the room. "I'm your pa. I've got you."
A soft knock on the door broke the silence. The curtain pulled back just an inch, and Price’s face appeared, flanked by Soap and Gaz, who were both peeking over the captain's shoulders with wide, eager grins.
"Is the coast clear?" Price asked quietly, though his eyes immediately locked onto the sight of Simon holding the baby.
"Come in," you smiled, waving them over. "Come meet the newest recruit." You laughed.
The boys practically tiptoed into the room, their usual boisterous energy replaced by a reverent, quiet awe. Soap was the first to lean over Simon’s shoulder, his eyes going wide as he took in the size of the baby.
"Jesus, LT, you didn't have a baby, you had a full-grown squad mate," Soap whispered in disbelief. "Look at the size of those mitts! He’s goin’ to be taller than me by next week."
"He's a big lad, alright," Price agreed, a proud, fatherly smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes as he patted Simon’s shoulder. "Beautiful, absolute spit and image of his old man. Well done, both of you."
"He's perfect, mate," Gaz said, grinning warmly at you. "Congratulations."
Simon didn't look up immediately, too transfixed by the way his son was now peacefully sleeping against him. But he reached out with his free hand, finding yours on the hospital bed and squeezing it tightly. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles.
Summary: As Michael and the interviewer grow closer, their relationship blossoms away from the public eye despite constant online speculation. After months of dating, Michael admits he’s fallen in love with her, and the two share a heartfelt kiss that makes their relationship impossible to hide.
Previous
The blurry photo of you and Michael holding hands hit the internet the next morning.
Of course it did.
You woke up to twenty-three missed texts.
Three group chats blowing up.
And enough notifications to make your phone freeze twice.
The picture wasn’t even that clear.
Just the two of you walking down the sidewalk after dinner.
His hand in yours.
Both of you smiling.
But that was more than enough.
The internet immediately declared it official.
You stared at your phone from your bed before groaning and dropping your face into your pillow.
A second later your phone buzzed again.
Michael 🖤
Good morning, girlfriend.
You immediately sat up.
Your eyes widened.
Then you reread it.
Then reread it again.
A smile pulled across your face before you could stop it.
You typed back.
That’s a bold text to send at 8 AM.
His response came almost instantly.
Didn’t hear you complaining.
You rolled your eyes.
We never discussed titles.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
We can discuss them over breakfast.
Your stomach flipped.
Are you asking me on another date?
Obviously.
You’re needy.
Very.
At least you’re honest.
Only with you.
And just like that your entire morning was ruined.
Because now you couldn’t stop smiling.
—
Dating Michael turned out to be surprisingly normal.
Or at least as normal as it could be dating one of the most recognizable men in Hollywood.
When you were together he wasn’t “Michael B. Jordan.”
He wasn’t magazine covers.
Or movie premieres.
Or social media edits.
He was just Michael.
The guy who stole fries off your plate.
The guy who sent you ridiculous memes at three in the morning.
The guy who somehow always knew when you’d had a bad day.
A few weeks later you found yourself curled up on his couch while he was flipping through streaming options.
“Pick something.”
“You pick.”
“You always say that.”
“Because your choices are terrible.”
Michael looked offended.
“Genuinely offended.”
“You watched the same action movie four times.”
“It was good four times.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It made a billion dollars.”
“That doesn’t make it good.”
“You got jokes.”
You laughed as he dropped onto the couch beside you.
The cushion dipped under his weight.
His arm immediately stretched across the back of the couch behind you.
Comfortable.
Natural.
Like he’d been doing it forever.
He glanced over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You smiling.”
“You smile at me too.”
“Because I like looking at you.”
The answer came so quickly it caught you off guard.
Michael noticed immediately.
His grin softened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The face you make when I say something nice.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Don’t analyze me.”
“I’m studying.”
“You sound creepy.”
“I’m romantic.”
“You’re definitely creepy.”
He laughed and pulled you closer anyway.
—
Months passed.
Your relationship stayed mostly private despite the internet’s best efforts.
People knew something was happening.
Nobody had confirmation.
You both preferred it that way.
Until one night.
You were attending an awards show together.
Not walking the carpet as a couple.
Just attending.
Technically.
At least that had been the plan.
Halfway through the event you stepped away to grab a drink.
When you returned you noticed several people looking toward your table.
Confused, you followed their gaze.
Straight to Michael.
Who was currently staring at you.
Again.
The exact same way he had looked at you during that first interview.
Your friend sitting nearby noticed too.
“Damn.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“That man is in love with you.”
Your face heated immediately.
“No he isn’t.”
She pointed.
“Look at him.”
You did.
Unfortunately.
Big mistake.
Because the second Michael noticed you looking back, he smiled.
Not the celebrity smile.
Not the red carpet smile.
Not the smile he gave photographers.
The real one.
The one that always made your chest hurt a little.
Your friend simply sat back in her chair.
“Yeah.”
You didn’t answer.
Because honestly?
You couldn’t.
—
Later that night you found yourselves outside the venue waiting for your cars.
The city lights reflected off the pavement.
The crowd had mostly disappeared.
For the first time all evening it was quiet.
Michael stood beside you with his hands in his pockets.
Neither of you spoke for a minute.
Then suddenly—
“You know what I hate?”
You looked up.
“What?”
“The internet was right.”
You laughed.
“About what?”
“Us.”
You nearly choked.
Michael shook his head.
“I spent months telling myself everybody was being dramatic.”
“You thought they were wrong?”
“I hoped they were.”
“Why?”
His eyes found yours.
Because now he was serious.
Completely serious.
And somehow that was scarier than flirting.
“Because I knew if they were right…”
He stepped closer.
“…I was in trouble.”
Your heartbeat sped up.
“Trouble?”
“Mhm.”
His voice lowered.
“Because I liked you before I even knew you.”
The world seemed to go strangely quiet.
No traffic.
No people.
No noise.
Just him.
Michael looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.
“And then I got to know you.”
You swallowed.
“And?”
His smile appeared.
Small.
Soft.
Dangerously honest.
“And somehow it got worse.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“Worse?”
“Way worse.”
His hands found yours.
“I love talking to you.”
Your heart skipped.
“I love being around you.”
Another beat.
“And I think about you constantly.”
You stared at him.
Unable to look away.
Michael squeezed your hands gently.
“So yeah.”
His smile grew.
“The internet was right.”
You laughed through the sudden emotion building in your chest.
“That might be the first time anybody has ever said that.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“And don’t tell anybody.”
“Your secret is safe.”
“Good.”
Then he kissed you.
Slow.
Gentle.
Like he wasn’t in any hurry.
Like he wanted to remember it.
And when he finally pulled away, both of you smiling, neither one of you noticed the photographer across the street catching the moment.
The picture would be everywhere by morning.
But for once?
Neither of you cared.
A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed I hope it wasn’t too short for you guys. PEACE & LOVE.
𐙚 — Choso hadn’t even been gone for more than thirty minutes before you called crying sobbing.
“Chooooo I miss you !” You sobbed so loudly into the phone that the people around the man gave him stares.
“Princess..I asked if you wanted to come with me.” He spoke to you softly. Even though you were crying, a sweet smile rose to his lips. You sniffled into the phone, “I know b-but that’s a lot of work getting in the car and having to sit in the car and getting back out of the car.” The fat tears rolled down your face.
“I know, I know,” he coos, “I’ll be back soon okay? They messed up your order, so they’re remaking it.” but that just made you cry more.
“Baby…it’s alright.” Hearing your cries hurt his heart. Choso knew you were hungry, so he’d do his best to make sure you were fed.
“But we ordered before you even left!” You huff, wiping at your swollen eyes. “…and my ice cream’s all gone Cho.” Your lip quivers, the tears building back up.
“Want me to stop by the store and get some more sweet girl?”
“Mhm..”
As if on queue, the worker comes back out with an apologetic smile. “We’re so sorry sir! Here’s your order- we even gave you a few extras, on the house.”
“It’s alright, thank you very much.” He smiles, rushing out of the busy restaurant. “You heard that, Princess? They gave you extras.” Once in the car, Choso checks the bag of food, making sure they got your order right this time.
“Can I stay on the phone while you drive?” You adjust yourself in the bed, your legs crossed as you sat up.
“Of course princess.” Even though you’d just seen him, you didn’t like being apart from Choso for too long or you’d call him crying, which he didn’t mind at all. He knew how dramatic you were (he’s right where he wants to be), and that you couldn’t help it much. “Want the same kind of ice cream?”
“Mmm, I want strawberry cheesecake from Baskin-Robbin’s” You rub your stomach, at the thought.
“That’s even farther, Princess. How about I just get a big tub of the same kind from the store?”
“Oh…okay.” The tears start back up, sniffling softly. Choso sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Are you about to start crying again?”
“…No.”
“Liar.”
“Why can’t I get that one?” You sob.
“Because your food will get cold and then you won’t eat it. I’m already at the store, I’m gonna go in and run out quickly so that I can get back before you stress yourself out too bad.” He parks, getting out as quickly as he could.
With the phone pressed up against his ear, listening to your cries, he finds the ice cream isle. “I’ll order you the whole three gallon tub okay?” He could feel your face light up on the other side of the phone.
“Okay !”
When Choso returned, you were standing in the middle of the living room with the biggest smile on your face. You looked small in one of his shirts and a simple pair of socks. In his arms he carried your food and ice cream. “Cho !”
“Hi sweet girl.” He sets them down on the table before pulling you into his arms gently. His lips brush against yours before they kiss your forehead and further down to your five month old baby bump. “Hello to my other sweet girl.” He murmurs against your stomach.
“Stressing your mom out.” He huffs. Choso leans up to kiss your tear swollen cheeks. “You’re so dramatic.” But he could never be upset with you. A slight blush dusted his cheeks as he watched your frame waddle towards the bedroom.
Summary: When a comment by another actor during Oscar’s season drop, the internet and Michael rally behind you to show love and appreciation to your craft.
Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), handjob, public sex, sub!Michael. Y’all I wasn’t even planning for this to have a smut scene, but then I kept writing and it came naturally😭. Also, for the person who asked for sub!MBJ, it’s here unintentionally. I hope y’all enjoy ♥️
Michael has never found a woman more fascinating than you. You move through a room as if you’re floating through it. Sometimes, he wonders if you’re some kind of apparition that he’d made up in his mind.
How was he so blessed to be in the presence of someone with so much grace and talent?
It was easy to see why you’d already been promoted to principal ballerina at such a young age. The first time that Michael saw you dance, his vision went blurry and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
You moved across the floor in a way that felt inhuman. You commanded the eyes of every single person in the room like it was honor that they were witnessing such greatness. In fact, he felt honored to be there.
His journey into meeting you started with Sinners.
“I don’t know man. I just want the characters to feel like their own distinct personalities. I want them to talk different. Move different,” Michael explained to Ryan.
The other man nodded his head in agreement. He and Michael had been working together long enough for him to know how serious Michael was when it came to his craft.
Ryan thought over Michael’s words and then looked over to Zunzi. “You got any ideas?”
Zingi thought it over before smiling, “Actually I do. Why don’t you go take a few ballet classes?”
Michael and Ryan chuckled lightly as Zinzi rolled her eyes. Ryan looked in Michael’s direction, “That’s actually not a bad idea. I mean, if you think about it. It could teach you how to be light on your feet and working on posture for the characters.”
Truthfully, the idea was brilliant. If anyone knew anything about posture and composure, it was a ballerina.
“I’ll give it a shot, but do you have any suggestions for a teacher?”
Zinzi nodded before she flashed a picture of you to Michael. Michael had heard of you before. Hell, who hadn’t heard of you. You were making quite the impression on the ballet world with your dancing.
You were already a principal ballerina at your company and in high demand for other productions when your company wasn’t in season.
“She does classes on the side that our daughters take. I can text her to set up a meeting. Maybe you can do a few private classes with her to help you with Smoke and Stack,” Zinzi said, while typing down on her phone.
Michael assumed that she was already texting you. After a few moments, Zinzi looks up from her phone, “She said you can come after her class on Thursday to meet her if you have some time that day.”
Michael nod, “Yeah I’m free. Thank you for setting it up.”
Thursday rolls around and Michael finds himself standing in the midst of a ballet studio. He wears a cap over his head to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to himself.
He walks up to the receptionist desk, “Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting Yn Yln here.”
The receptionist smiles at him, “Of course. She told me to be expecting you. She’ll in room 5A. You can go right down that hall.”
Michael gives her a polite ‘thank you’ before moving to walk down the hall. He peers through most of the glass windows and sees all of the different dancers practicing routines.
When he gets to room 5A, he peers through the window and immediately spots you. He knocks on the door gently. A few seconds pass before you open the door, “Right on time. I still have a few more minutes with my class but you’re more than welcome to come sit while we finish.”
Michael doesn’t realize that he’s staring at your face until you clear your throat. Heat crawls up the back of his neck as he nods his head and smiles. He follow behind you to sit in the corner while your students’ curious gazes all seem to be on the newcomer.
As much as he would like to hide it, he knows that they’ve recognized him by this point.
You clap your hands lightly, drawing the little girls attention to you, “Alright, your performance for Alice in Wonderland will be coming up soon, and there’s still a few tweaks that we need to make. Let’s start from the top.”
The little girls all take position as you start the music. You walk around the room and watch their forms closely. One little girl appears to struggle when it comes to one of the turns and Michael can see the tears of frustration stinging at her eyes.
It’s apparent that you see it too.
You step closer to the little girl and lean down to whisper in her ear. Michael watches how soft and patient you are with her. You stand and guide her through making the turn. He watches with fascination as the girl’s confidence grows more and more with each passing turn until you’re no longer guiding her.
She gives you a wide smile when she completes the turn on her own. You smile in return before stepping to continue guiding your other students.
Before Michael knows it, the class is over and the little girls’ parents are filing in to pick them up. A few moms peer his way and their eyes widen in excitement.
‘Girl is that Michael B. Jordan?’
‘Oooo..is Ms.YN dating him?’
‘Lord, he finer in person! If I wasn’t married, I would be all over him.’
‘Girl married or not! I’d happily throw this cat at him.’
Michael hides his grin behind his hand at the gossip permeating through the room. Soon, all of the parents and their kids filter out of the room, and you close the door.
You walk over to sit next to Michael and hold out your hand, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“Thank you. I’m a fan of yours as well. Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” Michael replies.
You nod, “Of course. Now, what is it exactly that I can do for you, Michael?”
His mouth feels dry at the way that his name sounds falling from your lips. “I have a new movie coming up where I play twin brothers, and I want them to both feel physically different. Zinzi suggested taking ballet classes and mentioned you.”
He pauses for a moment before quickly interjecting, “I’d pay for it. If you’re open to helping me.”
You mull over the proposition for a few moments before nodding, “I’ll help you. Ryan actually mentioned the movie the last time he came to pick the girls up, so I know it’s going to be good. We can start next week if you’re open.”
Without hesitation, Michael nods. You could’ve told him to start now and he would’ve been down for it. He’s willing to take anything that you give him at this point.
You stand from the bench, “Well, it was nice meeting you. On Monday, come in workout clothes, as flexible as possible. I’ll also need different dialogues pieces from the scripts or some description of the twins to get a better feel of them. That way I can better plan around your training.”
Michael nods in response, “Okay, I’ll talk to Coog about getting you some pieces. Thank you again. You’re helping me out more than you know.”
A soft laugh leaves your lips, “Don’t mention it. Just be ready for Monday.”
Michael shakes his head before moving to exit the room. He stops as a thought hits him, “Oh, I just realized I don’t have your number.”
You walk over with your phone in hand. Michael hands his phone to you and you put your phone in before calling yourself to save his number. You hand his phone back with a parting smile and farewell.
Inside his car, Michael can’t help, but think about how excited he is to start his lessons with you. In fact, he’s so excited that when he gets home, he goes to watch videos of your performances on YouTube.
He imagines seeing the performances in person and thinks to himself how magical it must be to witness you dance in person.
With Ryan’s approval, parts of the script are emailed to you. Over the weekend, you analyze the pieces and make notes for the two characters. You’re also intrigued by the notion of seeing Michael transform into Smoke and Stack.
When Monday comes, Michael moves quicker than any other event that he’s ever done in life. He dresses in a simple t-shirt and shorts combo. In the mirror, he realizes that he’s taking extra care with his appearance.
“Get a grip. She’s just teaching you ballet,” He says to himself in the mirror.
On the drive over, he’s already going over the possible exercises that you could be planning for him. He laughs softly thinking about you having him twirling around the room.
He parks his car in the parking lot and enters the building. The receptionist from the previous week smiles at him before ushering him to go back. He finds you in the same room as before, but you’re dressed differently.
You’re wearing a pink leotard with pink tights and pink leg warmers. Your hair is pulled to the top of your head, and Michael can’t help but think how gorgeous you look as the pink compliments the brown of your skin.
“You’re early.”
Michael shrugs, “My father often told me that being on time is still late.”
“Let me guess, army brat?” You question, a teasing smile covering your beautiful face. Michael smiles in response and nods. You usher him forward and he closes the door behind him.
“I reviewed script and wrote down a few notes to help. But first I want you to tell me who Smoke and Stack are in your own words.”
Michael mulls over your order for a moment. He takes a minute to find the words, “I guess I’ll start with Stack. He’s the more irresponsible one. He’s playful. Always thinking of the next scheme to get him further in life. Whereas Smoke, he’s more quiet. Lethal. He’s watching everyone in the room as soon as he steps in.”
Your inquisitive eyes meet his, “Good. Now which twin do you prefer to start with?”
“Let’s go with Stack. Moving in his skin is a lot more comfortable to me,” Michael answers.
For him, the role of Stack had come naturally. Though it may not have came off that way to the general public, but Michael has a playful boyishness to himself that many people don’t get to see.
You guide him into the middle of the room. “We’ll start with some stretching.” You demonstrate the first stretch to Michael and he follows suit. He’s used to stretching before workouts, but he’s never done some of the stretches that you have him doing.
He’s pulling at muscles that he didn’t even know needed to be stretched. From the corner of his eye, he watches the ease at which you stretch. It’s clear that after years of doing this, the exercise is nothing to you.
“Okay, now I want to see how you normally walk,” You announce after you and Michael finish the stretching exercises.
As awkward as it is, he obeys your command and walks towards you. You point to the wall and he walks over in the direction. He can see the way that you tilt your head and squint. He wonders what you’re thinking of him. Do you like his walk?
You stop him, “Your posture is good, kind of hunched over, but I’m assuming that comes from being an army brat. You switch between walking light on your feet and then heavy. I’m assuming the boxing training from Creed did that.”
Michael looks at you in surprise, “You got all of that just from me walking?”
“As a dancer, it’s my job to be mindful of my steps. It’s only natural that I extend the skill to my teaching. Since we’re starting with Stack, I want you to channel some of the character here, even if that means that you have to start talking as the character,” You explain, stepping back from him.
Michael takes a deep breath and mentally goes over the voice exercises in his mind for Stack. You watch with intrigue as he changes his body with smaller movements.
He turns to face you with a cocky smirk, “How you doin’ baby?”
You chuckle at the nickname, “I’m doing just fine and what about you?”
“I’m mighty fine myself. Even betta’ now that you here,” He answers.
“Walk towards me,” you order softly. Michael begins his walk towards you and stops when you hold up a hand, “Go back, you need to be light on your feet with Stack. He’s always slinking and slithering through a room.”
Michael goes back and does the walk again with your notes. Without thinking, he starts circling around you. He smirk, “Pretty girl like you here all alone?”
“I bet you use that on all the girls. You’re quite the player from what I heard,” you said, playing into the character and watching his body language.
Michael shakes his head, “Ain’t too many women round here to look at. ‘Sides they ain’t got nothing on you.”
You hold up a finger. You move to stand behind him and place a hand on his stomach, while angling his shoulders, “Keep your posture straight and wide. Stack likes being the center of attention. He’s gonna want people to look at him. Don’t be afraid to move your arms.”
For the next thirty minutes, you and Michael continue to work on his walk for Stack. You teach him more on being light on his feet and he runs more ideas past you for the character.
You don’t rush him. You’re patient with him in helping him with all of the different quirks of his character. You still give him creative freedom while monitoring what’s best. By the end of the lesson, Michael leaves with more clarity than before.
He drinks from his water bottle as you both sit on the floor. “I forgot, we never did talk about how much I’ll be paying you. How does $10,000 for the week sound?”
Your eyes widen, “Michael, that’s way too much. I usually only charge my clients $22.”
“No, I don’t think it’s too much. You’ve already helped me a lot with the character and I want to make sure that you’re compensated for it. I fly out next week to start filming in Louisiana, so I don’t mind paying you.”
You still appear to be conflicted about taking his money, but then a light bulb pops off in your head, “I’ll take the money if you agree to meet my take one of my beginner classes with my students. They’d love to meet you.”
“Deal.” He holds his hand out to you, which you shake in response.
The following day, you and Michael work on Stack’s walk more with you teaching him more exercises to help him get into character.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to become Smoke,” Michael said, standing from his place on the floor.
Truthfully, from the pieces of the script that you read, Smoke was your favorite twin. You admired his devotion to his brother and his clear love for Annie.
You come to stand beside Michael and move his shoulders to make them slump slightly. You lean closer to whisper in his ear, “Now, with Smoke. He’s a lot heavier. He has all of this unspoken trauma and burdens resting on his shoulders. Your body language should reflect that. Your footsteps need to be heavier. You need to walk like this man has the weight of the world suffocating him.”
Michael turns his head and for a moment, you both stare into each other’s eyes. He takes the opportunity to commit all of your features to his memory. He thinks back to the fact that by the end of this week, he won’t see you for a few months.
He wants to remember every thing about you before that time comes.
“You ready?” You question, continuing to hold eye contact with him. He nods. You step back to create distance between yourselves.
He mentally gets himself into the headspace for Smoke. He places your words in his head as he begins to feel a sudden weight holding his shoulders down.
He looks at you quietly and you know that the change has taken place.
“Which do you prefer? Smoke or Elijah?”
He shrugs, “Either is fine.”
“I didn’t ask for fine, I asked which you preferred,” You point out.
“Elijah.”
“Come over to me, Elijah,” You say, beckoning a finger forward. Michael feels and hears the heaviness of his footsteps entering his ears. It physically feels like he’s wearing a weighted vest, but he keeps in mind that the character requires him to be this way.
When he steps in front of you, you’re both toe to toe as you gaze up at him. Slowly, you move around him and press your fingers to his shoulders. “You’re holding tension here. That’s good. Loosen up a bit. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
You think back to the sex scene from the script that he has with Annie. You move closer to Michael and press your body against his. You slide a manicured hand across his torso, feeling his muscle constrict beneath your fingers.
“For this character, you need to identify what areas that he’s holding his trauma. Shoulders yes, but where else? In the scene with Annie, he melts into her touch, so it’s obvious that he’s holding something here. Residual love? Guilt? You need to get to the root of it.” You explain, pressing your fingers lightly into his abdomen.
Michael can’t help the way that his eyes roll back at the feel of your hands on him. He doesn’t think as he pulls your other hand across his torso so that you’re hugging him.
He closes his eyes and his body feels like liquid. He feels like he could melt beneath your fingers and you’d be there to clean him up. He intertwines his fingers between yours and he doesn’t know why, but he starts trailing your hands up and down his body.
He moves your fingers up his chest as a deep breath exits his mouth. You watch Michael the entire time. You knew what it was like to get lost in a character and all of the emotions that came with it.
“What is it that you need, Elijah?” You whisper into his ear.
Michael bites his lip softly, “I need you to touch me.”
“Touch you where, baby?”
“Everywhere,” he pleads. His voice is low, almost like a whine. Michael doesn’t even realize that he’s trembling in your hold.
You trail your fingers across the expanse of his chest before enclosing your fingers around his neck. A whimper leaves Michael’s mouth as you tighten your hand, “You need to be vulnerable, especially when it comes to Annie. This is a character that doesn’t allow himself to be exposed to anyone besides her and his brother. Tap into that.”
You release his throat as both your hands trail down before stopping at the waistband of his shorts. You lift the hem of his shirt and take your nails across the patch of hair there. “Look at me, Elijah.”
Michael’s wide and pleading eyes find yours. You can see the tears brimming at his pretty brown eyes. “Please,” He begs.
You nod before sliding your fingers inside his briefs. Michael jumps at the feeling of your fingers running through the course hair surrounding his length. You grasp him in your hand before sliding upwards to collect his pre-cum and use it to begin sliding your hand up and down.
Michael’s head falls back as he settles more of his weight into your hold. He moans as the pleasure courses through his veins at the feeling of you jerking him off. He moans louder when you focus on his sensitive tip.
“You’re doing so good, Elijah. You needed this, didn’t you?”
Michael whimpers and nods as the tears begin cascading down his face. In response, your hand increases in speed as Michael bucks into your hand.
The first spurt of his cum hits your fingers as he shakes and moans into your hold. You talk him through the orgasm by whispering in his ear. There’s a shattering of colors that erupts beneath Michael’s eyelids. The pleasure feels like someone disconnecting his soul from his body and brought him back.
He comes down from his high when you remove your wet hand from his boxers. You both look down at his white release coating your fingers.
Wordlessly, you move to cross the room and wipe your hand off on a nearby towel. Michael stands, dumbstruck in the middle of the studio with his shorts wet from his cum.
Frankly, he doesn’t know what to say and he’s still not 100% sure that he’s actually in his body.
“Are you okay?” You ask, though you clearly know he’s not.
Michael nods, dazed. You grab his hand and lead him to a nearby bench. You take the top from his water bottle and angle it towards his lips. He takes a few sips while staring at you.
You cup his hands in your hands, “Look at me for a second. You’re okay. We’re okay. Just keep focusing on my voice and come back to me, okay.”
Absentmindedly, he nods. A few more minutes and his brain finally doesn’t feel like mush anymore. “I’m sorry. That was weird,” Michael said.
You shake your head, “Nothing weird about it. We all get lost in it sometimes. You good now?”
He shakes his head before standing.
“I’m sorry if that was crossing any lines for you. I don’t know what came over me and it was out of line. I just don’t want it to come across that I came here just for that,” Michael admits sheepishly.
“It’s okay, Michael. I know that you didn’t come here for that. But I do want to be sure that we aren’t crossing too many boundaries since you’re technically employing me.”
“I get that…But I like you a lot, and I haven’t felt anything like that before. Not even just the physical, but you’ve unlocked parts of me that I didn’t know were there. Let me take you out to dinner, and if you decide you don’t like me there, I’ll drop it.”
His bright eyes meet yours. You can read the desperation there and you have to admit that you had started to develop a crush on Michael as well.
“Fine. One date.” You reply, a smile overtaking your lips.
Michael smiles back, “This Saturday. I’ll pick you up.”
You haven’t left Michael’s mind since that day at the studio. His mind, body, and soul crave you. It’s like rewired something inside of him, and now he’s insatiable, even if it only means that he gets to look at you.
He picks you up at seven for your date. At the restaurant, you both sit across from each other as you sip from your wine glass.
Michael leans forward, “Tell me your story. How’d you get to where you are now?”
“I was really quiet as a kid. Not really interacting with others. My parents wanted me to come out of my shell a bit more and make friends, so they signed me up for ballet lessons. It was fun, and it worked on bringing me out of my shell. I didn’t really consider a professional career in it at first until my teacher pulled my parents and me to the side to say how much faster I was progressing than my classmates. She said that she could see me going far, and she really honed in on shaping my abilities,” you explain, fingers lightly tapping on the table.
“Is it true that you studied in Ukraine?” Michael asks. He’d taken the time out to do his research about you, but he still preferred to hear it firsthand.
“Yeah, my teacher thought I’d do well in a more challenging environment, so we filled out an application for a ballet school in Ukraine. I had to go audition there, and then I got a scholarship to go full-time. I stayed there and traveled around Europe for a couple of years.”
“What made you come back?”
“Truthfully, I missed home. It was nice being able to travel across the country, but nothing beats home. I applied for my current company, and now I’m here,” You said.
“It’s inspiring what you do. I’ve only seen some of your performances online, but I can bet money that it’s different seeing you in person,” Michael said, eyes glancing over your face.
“You should come sometime. I have a performance for Swan Lake coming up in about two months. If you’re free from filming, I’ll set you a ticket to the side.”
Michael lights up at the idea of seeing you dance in person. “I’ll be there.”
By the end of the date, Michael doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows that he has a flight to Louisiana early in the morning. He stands toe-to-toe with you in front of your apartment door. He leans down to ghost his lips across yours. He breathes in the scent of your perfume and engrains it into his memory until he can see you again. You brush your lips across his, smearing your lip gloss across his lips. You pull back lightly, and he immediately starts chasing your affection. Michael brings his hand into your hair and crushes his lips to yours.
You both breathe each other in, passing moans between each other like a conversation.
You pull back, rubbing your nose with his, “I’ll see you, Michael.”
He nods, “You will.”
He bestows one last lingering kiss on your lips before walking back to his car. Inside the car, he doesn’t stop touching his lips, even as he drives. In fact, he licks the remnants of your gloss from his lips and moans at the taste of you.
It’ll have to be enough for now.
A month into filming, and everyone can already see the way that Michael fully embodies the role of Smoke and Stack. It’s as if he did some kind of voodoo, and the spirits of the characters are physically ingrained into him.
Michael and Zinzi clock the difference in his movements as he walks.
They know that it’s all because of you.
Michael’s relationship with you had only continued to grow. He’d call or text you throughout the day to hear about the aspects of your day. You’d send him different pictures of you during practice or in your costume for Swan Lake.
He’d flown back out for your performance tonight. You’d sent him the ticket and had him seated closely to the stage. He introduced himself to your parents, who’d already heard a lot about Michael through you.
Your mom looked down at the huge bouquet of flowers in Michael’s hands. The bouquet consisted of all flowers with varying shades of pink. “I see you’ve picked up on the fact that pink’s her favorite color.”
Michael smiled sheepishly, “Yeah, she wears a lot of it, so I figured it’d be best to get flowers to reflect that.”
“Good. I like you already,” Your mom said with a soft smile.
Soon, the lights dimmed, and the performance began. Michael’s intrigued by the story, but most of all, he’s eager to see you. He doesn’t have to wait long when you appear on the stage with all the elegance and grace of a swan. He becomes enraptured with the softness of the makeup on your face and the subtle grace of your movements. Despite all the other dancers being there, Michael only keeps his eyes on you.
When it’s time for you to transition as The Black Swan, Michael feels the breath leaving his chest. It seems impossible for you to become an entirely separate person, but Michael watches as you fully embody the role. As you turn, the muscles in your back contract as if wings are moving and dying to sprout from the skin.
In this moment, Michael truly believes that this may be the closest that he’ll ever get to seeing God.
He’ll repent for that later.
After the show concludes, your parents usher him backstage alongside them so that he can see you. Your parents knock on your dressing room door, you open it wearing a pink gown.
Your dad steps up first to hug you, “You did amazing out there, sweet pea.”
“My baby is the Swan Queen. We’re so proud of you,” your mom adds, hugging you next.
A sly smile appears on her face as she steps to the side, “There’s someone that I think is dying to see you.”
Michael appears in the doorway with a bouquet in front of him. You both take a minute to look at each other.
You step forward and wrap your arms around him. In return, Michael clutches your body closely to his. He breathes in your perfume, and he realizes that he missed your smell more than he realized.
“You were amazing out there. It was like being transported to another world,” He whispers into your ear.
“Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy with filming,” you said, pulling back from the hug. He places the large bouquet in your hands, “I’m never too busy for you.”
Your parents watch the interaction with large smiles on their face. Michael looks at you and your family, “Can I take y’all out to dinner?”
Your mom shakes her head, “Thank you for the offer, but why don’t we let you kids have some time to yourselves?”
They both give you parting kisses and wave at Michael. “You ready or I can give you more time?”
“No, I’m ready.” You reply, grabbing your purse before grasping Michael’s hand in yours.
Outside the theater, people gawk at seeing you and Michael together so openly. He doesn’t try to hide the fact either. He pulls you closer as the cameras flash brighter and more of the paparazzi yell out your respective names.
You both have no doubt that you’ll be front page news for The Shade Room and TMZ in only a couple of minutes. Michael ushers you into the car before jogging back to his side.
Soon, you’re both sitting across from each other in a Japanese restaurant that Michael rented out.
“So, how’s filming? Is it easier for you to step between Smoke and Stack now?” You ask, playing with Michael’s fingers across the table.
“It is. I feel like I have a better sense of the characters because of you.” He answers.
You smirk, “As much as I love the praise. It’s not just me. That’s all you too. You understand the characters more than you think you do.”
A wave of silence falls over you both as you continue intertwining your fingers together.
Michael runs his fingertips across the tattoo on your wrist. He finally looks up and finds you staring at him, “I’ve been thinking. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I really like you. I wanna ask if you want to be my girl?”
“I’d really like that.”
From that point on, you’re his woman, and he’s completely and utterly devoted to you.
When Sinners releases, it’s just as big as you knew it’d be. You’re by Michael’s side the entire time as more and more people flock to him for his performance. On the red carpet, he holds your body close to his as the camera flashes.
He’d dropped the L-word early in your relationship, and he had no regrets about it.
Award season rolls around, and Michael’s name is on everyone’s lips for the Oscars.
“So, Michael, I’ve heard you mention that you worked with a voice coach, twin consultants, and chakra healers for your role as Smoke and Stack. Is there any other work that you did to prepare for the role?” The interviewer questions.
“Actually, I did. My girlfriend is a ballet dancer, which is how we met. I wanted Smoke and Stack to walk differently, so Zinzi suggested taking ballet classes. My girlfriend was an essential part of me crafting the characters. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her.”
Not surprisingly, the clip goes viral.
Little did you and Michael know, another clip is about to go viral. One that’s been insulting to you and your craft.
The next day, when you wake up, you don’t know whose phone is blowing up more: yours or Michael’s. Turns out, it’s yours.
You open up Instagram and click on the post that everyone is tagging you in.
Matthew McConaughey and Timothee Chalamet sit across from each other. The younger male smiles jokingly, “And I don’t want to be working in ballet or opera, or you know, things where it’s like keep these things alive, even though it’s like no one cares about it anymore.”
Ouch.
To further add salt to the wound, the younger man continues laughing about the joke before adding, “I just lost 14 cents in viewership.”
You frown and lock your phone again.
Quite frankly, you’d grown used to people talking down on your profession. Especially elitist little white boys whose parents had kept a silver spoon in their mouths. Michael rolls over and notices you frowning, “What’s wrong?”
You unlock your phone and play the video back for him. Michael’s body tenses, and you can see the way that his nose flares up. He stands up from the bed and grabs his phone. You grab his arm, “What are you planning on doing?”
“Handling it. Releasing a statement. You don’t need some scrawny lil’ white boy talking down on you and your career,” Michael said.
“Well, I mean technically, he didn’t mention my name,” You correct.
Michael shoots you a strict look, “It doesn’t matter if he didn’t say your name or if he said it in ASL. He still disrespected you and what you do. That doesn’t slide with me.”
He holds his phone up to his face before you snatch it out of his hands. The two of you wrestle over the phone until you move across the room to create distance between yourselves. You hold your hand up, “Listen first. I find it absolutely sexy that you want to defend my honor, but the last thing I want to cloud your award season is some scandal. You’re bigger than this, and I’m not able to let anything mess up your moment. Just let me handle it, okay?”
Begrudingly, Michael huffs and nods his head. You cross the bed to throw your arms around his neck. You press your lips into his, and you can feel the tension leaving his body as his hands move down to your waist. “I love you, Kari.”
“I love you too, baby.”
Like all things on the internet, they blow up and people react. After Timothee’s little rant about the ballet and opera communities, people were enraged—and rightfully so.
It wasn’t just the fact that he’d mentioned that ballet and operas were dying arts. It was the callous and careless nature of his tone during the interview.
To add onto it, people were more incensed on your behalf. With Michael being nominated and you being a ballerina, the comments felt like they were shady towards you and Michael.
However, you weren’t about to let the comments get to you. You’d hold your high and show everyone what greatness looked like.
As you’re exiting the studio for the day, one of the social media interns, Alanis, comes up to you, “Hey, we’re doing interviews with all of the dancers before the performance. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
You and Alanis walk to the middle of studio floor as you take a seat. She sets the camera up in your direction.
“We are here with our lovely principal dancer, yn. How are you today?”
“A little sore, I can’t lie,” you reply with a chuckle.
Alanis nods, “Of course, you’ve been working hard. For the upcoming show, we’re doing The Rites of Spring, a ballet performance that caused a lot of controversy when it was first released. With you in the lead role, what does it mean to you?”
“I think just as the main character, it means sacrifice and giving yourself over to something that’s much higher than yourself. The dance is jarring and raw, but it’s freeing. I like that we’re giving ourselves the space to be unhinged.”
Alanis continues the interview with you, and you can see a look of unease pass on her face as she stops the video. “My next question was going to be the whole Timothee Chalamet comment thing, but if you’re not comfortable with answering that, then I understand.”
You shake your head, “No, let’s do it.”
A wide smile covers the girl’s face as she turns the camera back on. “So as everyone in the ballet world knows, there’s been some comments made by Timothee Chalamet in relation to our profession. Any comments?”
“Of course, as someone who’s worked their way up in this industry without any handouts, I think the comments were insensitive and frankly very childish. There are so many women and men who have come before me that have shed blood, tears, and put their soul into creating this art and bringing it to life. For Timothee, whose own mother and sister are ballerinas, to say something like that, it was very telling of his maturity level,” you pause.
“I’ve heard him say countless times that he’s striving for greatness, yet I think he doesn’t realize that he’s not even at the starting point for it. For someone who is striving to be great, they know that one aspect of that is humility and also not tearing others down. When he learns those core components, then he can have a seat with the big kids. And lastly, he said that he was going to lose 14 cents in viewership. I can guarantee that it’ll be more. There’ll be more people dying for a repeat performance of Swan Lake in 100 years rather than a movie about ping pong.” You end the speech with a gentle smile.
Behind the camera, Alanis is gobsmacked and she ends the video before she starts snapping her fingers, “Respectfully, you ate him up with that one.”
She posts the videos to the company’s social media page, and as expected, it immediately gains traction.
@ynsbiggestfan: not our girl clocking Timothee’s tea in the most polite tone 🤣
@ynsslipper: it was giving “beautiful gowns” frfr. I’m so weak, but good for her👏🏽😮💨
@ynandmichaelfanpage: Chile..Timothee might wanna stay at home for the Oscars💀
The hype from your comments doesn’t die down. In fact, everyone is almost anticipating seeing you by Michael’s side on Oscar’s night.
Michael is proud of you for the way that you handled the situation, but it still doesn’t decrease his feelings of wanting to protect you.
You stand in front of him and pick a piece of lint off his suit. Your dress is a deep burgundy with v-cut. You have a matching diamond pendant around your neck—courtesy of Michael.
“You look so handsome, baby. My Oscar winner.”
Michael smiles shyly, “Possible Oscar winner.”
You can see the nerves swirling in his eyes and you clock the way that he’s already preparing himself to be disappointed. Your manicured hands come up to cup his face, “They’d be idiotic not to give you this award. Baby out of everyone in that category, you deserve it. You poured yourself into those characters. You’re always my winner.”
Michael’s eyes glisten as he sniffles softly. You lean in and press your lips against his. When you pull back, you both lay your foreheads against each other. Michael speaks first, “I love you baby. I owe this to you too.”
“I love you too, Kari. Now let’s go before we have you late.”
At the ceremony, you, Michael, and his family all pose together. You move to give them an opportunity to only pose together before Donna pulls you back into the picture.
“You’re family, darling. You deserve to be here just as much as we do,” She whispers to you before kissing your cheek. The cameras flash more at seeing the display of affection.
Inside the venue, you’re all ushered to your seats.
“I’m sorry, but there’s only one other seat beside Michael,” the girl announces.
“I’ll be up there with your dad and your siblings,” you tell Michael, capturing his lips in another kiss.
He squeezes your hands in his before you’re off to your seat. The ceremony goes on with many jokes being made about Timothee’s comments. You know that if you were sitting at the front, the camera would no doubt pan in your direction.
Finally, the moment arrives.
The announcement for Best Actor. You can hear your heart thudding inside your chest as you hold Jamila’s hands. Adrien Brody steps up to the microphone, “And the Oscar goes to…..Michael B. Jordan.”
The entire venue erupts into screams as the camera focuses on Michael. You can see the utter disbelief on his face as he hugs his mother.
Tears of joy stream down your face as you record the moment.
Michael begins his speech by thanking all of the cast and crew for Sinners, along with shouting out his family.
“Lastly, I’d like to dedicate this award to my beautiful partner. This award is hers just as much as it’s mine. She helped me to shape the characters and I’ll forever be grateful for her. But most of all, I’d like to commend her for her grace, dedication, and talent. Baby, you’re a shining star in this world and what you do, as a dancer and as an artist, matters. I hope you never lose that light. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to share this with you.” Michael ends the speech with a smile before exiting the stage.
You sniffle loudly at the speech.
After the ceremony, you rush forward to greet Michael with a passionate kiss. Camera capture the moment and they zoom in as you and Michael exchange, “I love you’s.” The moment is further cemented as he presses you into his side as he gets his name engraved into the Oscar.
It’s a night that’ll forever be talked about for years to come.
ᤢ . 𝓢ummary ♥︎ ੭ a dumb fling in college resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. miguel never knew since you ghosted him and never saw each other again. seven years later, you’ve been living a double life as a single mother and a thief, taking risks to provide for your daughter. who would’ve thought the famous spider-man you keep running into is also your baby daddy.
“gabi, you need to brush your teeth or you’re gonna be late for school again!”
“can i finish this episode of gumball first, mamá?”
“no mija, you have to get ready.”
“but mamá, por favor.”
“gabriella.” a tinge of sternness but gentle.
the seven year old pouts before rising from her chair, walking to the kitchen to place down her bowl of recent eaten cereal, and head to the bathroom. your heart aches every time you see that disappointed look on her face. it’s understandable but you all have to get a move on in the world if you wanna keep your job and not get gabriella in trouble at school.
that’s how life has been for the past seven years, you going to work and gabriella at school. well, two years of school since gabriella recently started 1st grade. it was all in a blink of an eye. remembering her very first day of school and how you cried while watching her walk to her classroom with the other kids, letting go of your baby girl into the world. remembering when she was born on a rainy afternoon. it was a family reunion when your water broke and everyone panicked. next thing you knew, a little girl wrapped in a pink blanket like a cocoon was laying in your arms. sun-kissed skin, a plethora of brown hair, and the most beautiful pair of brown eyes. you didn’t question where she got those features from. you thought of him in that moment, a shame he wasn’t there but it was your fault he wasn’t.
it was back in college, a time of exploration and experimentation. there was this boy in your biology class. soft brown hair, thickest eyebrows, sharpest cheekbones known to man, thick black rimmed glasses settled over the prettiest browns eyes and cute nose, way above the average male height, a total gym rat but the nerdiest dude ever.
miguel o'hara.
a name you never forgot.
even to this day, it still haunts you.
he was your assigned tutor since biology wasn’t your strongest subject and the last thing you wanted was to fail the class. it was a little awkward at first since you were both introverts, especially miguel because that boy barely socialized at all. kept to himself, only had one friend, rarely went out. despite being a total antisocial creature, miguel was damn smart. carried such intelligence and had a passion for science, specifically for biology. hence why he majored in that field. because of his big brain, you were able to pass the class. eventually, the tutorship turned into friendship until one night at a party where you both drank a little too much and lost your virginities to each other in the bed of some mutual friend. his calloused hands roaming your body, whispering soft praises into your ear as he slowly pumped himself in you. it was the night that changed everything.
friends with benefits is what you put it as, or a situationship. two friends who would occasionally fuck. neither you or miguel considered officially being together yet the feelings taunted you both like a virus. you weren’t his girlfriend but damn did you feel like it. it was a fucking mess of mixed signals. miguel being so sweet and caring towards you yet felt so distant at the same time. in public, you put on a show of a simple friendship. but behind closed doors, his cock was shoved deep inside of you and made sure you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. at the time, you didn’t think of it as much. you and miguel still maintain your friendship while hooking up. despite the feelings you harbor for each other.
until the consequences caught up.
it was a week before graduation when you found out you were pregnant. that morning you shed so many tears, your roommate xina was worried when she found you balling your eyes out in the bathroom. despite her words of comfort, you still felt like shit. she knew of you and miguel, although she did warned about this stupid situationship but of course your dumbass didn’t listen. now it was biting you in the ass. a harsh slap in the damn face. but the unplanned pregnancy wasn’t the only worst thing.
a weeks ago, miguel mentioned he got an internship at alchemax, a company he’s been dying to join. you never witnessed so much enthusiasm and happiness in those pretty brown eyes when he told you. he was so genuinely happy, your heart fluttered with joy. you were happy for him. he already had his life planned after college and you didn’t want to ruin that. just imagine you’re about to start your life then a bombshell of an unexpected pregnancy comes out and now you can’t achieve your dreams? you didn’t have the heart to tell him. you couldn’t do that to him because you loved him too much to hurt him.
so you made the worst decision of your life.
you never told miguel about the pregnancy.
instead, you ghosted him right after graduation. during that last week of school, you avoided him at all cost. ignored the numerous texts, calls, voicemails that blew up on your phone. every time you stared at his name on the screen and never answered, a piece of your heart broke. avoiding him on campus was hard. the numerous times xina told you when miguel was looking you, the sad look on his face when she told him she hadn’t seen you shattered your heart more. it hurt so fucking bad to ignore the man you loved. yes, you did loved miguel. you gave him your heart and the idiot didn’t even know.
the fucked part was that you never knew he was looking for you during graduation. the moment everyone tossed their caps in the air, you walked out of the stadium with tears running down your cheeks and a broken heart. since there was hundreds of students, it was impossible to find you in a sea of people wearing that same damn thing. you didn’t know how desperate miguel was searching for you. you didn’t know how heartbroken he was when miguel never found you and figured out you blocked him on everything when he tried to call you.
you never saw each other again.
it was the worst summer of your life. pregnant and unsure whether to keep it or not. after many serious conversations with your parents, you decided to keep it. with the support of your family, you were going to be okay. however, of course they weren’t happy when you first told them about the pregnancy. oh the look of murder on their faces when you told them miguel was the father, you knew he would’ve been way under than six feet in the ground. don’t be mistaken, they were pissed at you too for being irresponsible and not telling miguel. the sad thing is that your parents liked miguel, a good young man. they even thought you two would get married someday. but unfortunately that never came true.
that first year after college was fucking rough. it was actually an okay pregnancy, it was just the fact you were pregnant and couldn’t start your life the way you imagined it months ago. eventually, life went on and you had your beautiful baby girl gabriella. the greatest gift you could ever received. until she was three, you had been living with your parents while looking for jobs and have someone take care of gabi. you did manage to find a secretary position for some company that paid well enough to the point of you moving out and getting place of your own. unfortunately, that ended horribly when the CEO of the company was exposed for having multiple sexual relations with employees and gambling issues. losing that job heavily effected you and gabriella. it was terrible to the point of almost getting evicted but in the nick of time you found another job you have now, waitress at a diner. significantly lower pay than your previous job but you took what you could get and pay those damn bills and provide for gabriella.
however, the waitress pay was still not enough to support you both. there wasn’t much alternative options, it was both frustrating and a struggle. endless nights of silent tears trailing down your cheeks, desperately trying to find a better job while gabriella was sleeping in her room. you felt like a terrible mother, not doing enough for your daughter. all you wanted is to give her a good childhood, grow up in a safe and loving environment. you were doing everything you could for her, even if costed your mental health. a parent would do anything for their child. so, you decided to take a risk.
there were local jewelry stores around, owned the most prettiest elegant pieces. during nights when gabriella was babysat by your parents or a neighbor, you slip into black latex suit and sneak off to the jewelry shops. thanks to the two years of gymnastics when you were a kid, you were pretty flexible and swift through the city effortlessly. being stealthy was natural to you, it was easy to break in and steal whatever jewelry you could snatch. you knew this was bad, you knew you were committing a crime. all of your life, you were a good decent person. held good morals and never indulged in bad habits. well, besides getting knocked up in college. until you’re left with no options, you had to make a sacrifice. you were a mother now, you had to do it for the sake of your daughter. no matter what.
that’s how you became the infamous black cat.
a hardworking single mother by day, a thief by night.
it’s been like this for a few years and you’ve yet to be caught. it is the reason why you’ve been able to remain living in the same apartment and have food on the table for your little family. you also got a dog, weiner dog cocker spaniel mix named bella. since gabriella is often alone and didn’t have anyone to play with at home, a dog seemed like the best option. besides, you’ve always wanted a dog. gabi loves bella so much, always playing together. laughter and squeals echoing throughout the apartment as bella happily chases gabi. a sight that melts your heart. your perfect little family that you love dearly.
“gabi! let’s go, mija!”
you hear little footsteps running, making you smile. “i’m here!” gabriella runs in with her backpack.
“here’s your lunch.” you hand her monster high lunchbox that matches her backpack.
“gracias, mama! did you put the gummies in there?”
“i did, just remember to eat it after your quesadillas, okay?” you cup her cheek.
“yes, mama.” she nods, smiling brightly.
you smile back before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “bien, let’s put our shoes on.”
“bye, bella! i’ll miss you!” gabi crouches down to hug the dog after putting on her twinkle toes. she started learning to tie her shoes on her own, smart girl.
you kiss bella goodbye before heading out the door with gabi holding your hand. exiting the apartment building, you make it to gabi’s bus stop where other kids are waiting with their parents as well.
“you have a good day, mija. te quiero mucho.” you crouch in front of her, holding her tiny hands in yours.
“te quiero, mamá. bye!” you gave her a final kiss on the forehead before letting her run off to the bus, babbling with her friends as she gets on.
once she finds a seat, she looks at you and happily waves goodbye through the window. you wave back at her with a smile as the bus begins taking off. you briefly greet some of the parents with a gentle smile then head to your car and drive to work.
luckily it was friday, meaning gabriella is staying at your parents for the weekend along with her cousins. they wanted to spend time with all their grandkids. that means you and your siblings get to be kid-free. honestly, it’s a win-win situation. which also means another night of jewelry shopping, just not spending. once the moon is shinning so beautifully in the sky and most of nueva york is asleep, you slip into your iconic black latex suit. a small mask to cover the upper half of your face, exposing your nose and glossy lips. white gloves with fake nails, emphasizing the cat part of your name. a silver wig to conceal your true hair as a cherry on top. with one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you escape through your bedroom windowsill and venture into the night.
the night sky looks beautiful as always. the shimming moonlight illuminating the city. the cold breeze hitting your face as you jump from rooftop to rooftop. the distant beeps and sirens ring in your ears. in your beg, a diamond set worth thousands of dollars was your prized possession tonight. this will cover definitely expenses for months. maybe you finally buy that boujee ass dollhouse gabi has been wanting for weeks. maybe treat yourself a trip to the spa after all the reckless working you’ve been doing.
“give it back, gatita.”
ah shit, you know that heavy ass voice.
it was only a matter of time before he showed up.
turning around, you see that familiar red and dark blue figure. spider-man, the famous hero of nueva york. it was only a year ago when he started his whole charade. a strange man clad in a red and dark blue suit with spider abilities. stopped major catastrophes and saved hundreds of lives. the public praised him for his heroic efforts. the police were first skeptical, considered him a vigilante but later on referred to him as a hero to the city. his impact is so significant to the city, there’s a whole damn national holiday dedicated to him as thank you for his service. on halloween, the streets are filled with kids dressed up as him. spider-man is the town’s savor.
the first time you met him was during a jewelry trip and he caught you. but of course with your stealthy and seductive antics, you were able to escape. you never realized how tall he was until he was standing up close to you. the man is a fucking skyscraper, practically almost 7 feet tall and insanely buff as hell. the man is a pure greek god. but what really caught your attention was that handsome voice. every time you hear him, a shiver goes down your spine. a good shiver, to be exact. he sounds so attractive, you’ve always wondered who is underneath that glowing mask. but something about him feels so… familiar. his presence reminds you of someone, someone you haven’t seen in years. that familiarity has always struck you but you can’t pinpoint it.
ever since your first encounter, he’s been catching you but ultimately fails. you can’t help but secretly love when he shows up. a rush of excitement flows through your veins every time his attractive voice reaches your ears and find him standing there. but what you love the most is teasing the poor spider. oh you adore how fluster he gets when you gently brush a hand against his broad chest, abs, arms. although he’s wearing a mask, you know his face is burning. arch your back a little extra when you accidentally drop something. let out soft noises while stretching, showing off your latex suit. anything to tick him off and it works every time. you just love messing with him. it’s been like this for several months now.
“what took you so long, arañito? thought you died or some shit.” you tease, tilting your head a little with a pout on your lips, pretending to be sad.
“your life would be boring then.” he approaches with hands on his hips. “dame la bolsa.”
“well, someone forgot his manners.” you tease. “how rude… your mother would be disappointed.”
spiderman groans frustratingly, rubbing the temples of his forehead through the mask. “no me jodas, gatita. dame la pinche bolsa or else—”
“or else what? gonna tie me up in your pretty webs?”
“if i have to.”
damn, he might consider it. not to mention how his tone went down a pitch, more seductively. that sends another shiver of anticipation down your spine.
your eyes light up in amusement. “oh… bondage, huh? okay, i’m down for that~” you giggle when he runs a hand over his face, obviously flustered.
“por dios, mujer. just give me the—” he attempts to snatch the small black bag from your hand but you swiftly move out of his way with a twirl.
“lo siento, arañito pero mamí has to feed her kittens so… muchos besitos~”
just as you blow him a kiss and about to make a run for it, a large hand catches your wrist that holds the bag. eliciting a yelp from you when you’re suddenly yanked to his chest. one hand holding firmly against him and the other holding the bag away from you.
“you’re not escaping this time, gatita.”
you try to push him away by the chest but of course it doesn’t do shit since the man is heavy like a fucking tank. “suéltame, cabrón.”
“push and punch all you want, gatita, but you’re not going anywhere this time.” his grip on your waist tightens as you squirm in his hold. an annoyed groan escapes his lips when you continue fighting. “stop fighting, it’s not gonna help you.”
“those diamonds are gonna help me if you give them back.” you continue squirming.
“not happening, i’m sure your kittens will be fine while your ass sits in a jail cell.”
suddenly, panic invades your body like a plague. gabriella comes through your mind. “no! my daughter, you asshole! i need them for my daughter!” now you’re really panicking, punching and kicking him. you can’t go to jail, abandon your child. you can’t leave gabriella alone, live without her mother.
spiderman looks down at you with shock, the eyes of his mask widens. “daughter?… you have a daughter?…” his grip on you loosens. “you’re a mother?…” he sounds so speechless, shocked.
you finally get the chance to escape his hold and angrily push him away by the chest, making him stumble a little. “yes, i am a mother and yes i have a daughter! if you don’t give me the damn bag—”
“why does your daughter need diamonds?”
a frustrated groan escapes your lips. your patience is wearing thin. “goddamnit! i need to sell them for money so i can provide for my daughter, alright?!”
for once, spiderman is speechless. he simply states down at you in complete silence. a shame that he wears a mask so you can’t tell his expression.
“you’ve been struggling?… financial issues?”
“in this shitty ass economy, yes. my job isn’t enough so i have to make a little extra money just to keep up with rent and other expenses.”
he goes silent for a moment, glancing down at the small bag in his hand then back at you. “this is why you’re doing this… to help your family.”
you sigh sadly, shoulders sagging. “ugh yes, alright? i do this shit for her. chingado, why the hell am i telling you about my personal issues?” you turn away, feeling the frustration bubbling up inside you.
why the hell are you explaining your financial issues to spiderman? he’s not your goddamn therapist. the son of a bitch is about to take you to jail. you really think he is gonna understand? highly doubtful. you fucked up real good this time.
another silent pause between you two. only the distant car beeps and sirens keep the air busy.
“just forget it and take me away already—” you’re cut off when you feel you’re hand being raised up and the small black bag is in your grasp. your brows furrowed in confusion as you look up him. “what are—”
“take it before i change my mind.”
your frown deepens. “why the change of heart? you were literally about to throw my ass in jail.”
“i won’t let a child lose their mother.” he sighs quietly, shoulders slightly slouched. “look, i understand why you do this. you’re struggling and out of options, you’re just trying to help your daughter.”
now, you’re the one who’s speechless. suppose he is understanding and that surprises your for some reason. yet nevertheless, you’re grateful.
“well um… thank you… for being understanding.” you say awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.
“i know i’m overstepping here but… is it just you?”
you nod, still not looking. “yeah… just me and her. the father isn’t in the picture.”
god, it feels awkward talking about this. especially with the goddamn hero of the city.
“i’m sorry… he must’ve been an ass.”
“oh um no… he actually doesn’t know.”
“oh…”
awkward silence. yeah, totally should just dip.
“well… what you’re doing is still wrong but i understand that a parent should do anything for their child.” from your peripheral, he takes a step closer.
finally, you look back at him. taken aback by how close he is. “so all i had to do was say i have a daughter and you would’ve let me off the hook?”
spiderman scoffs and shakes his head, definitely rolling his eyes under the mask. “no, i— chingado, leave before i change my mind.”
you can’t resist a giggle. “well, muchas gracias spidey. didn’t think you were the sentimental type but i appreciate it.” you offer a wink before walking away towards the ledge. “adiós, arañito.” you blow a final kiss at him then jump off with a backflip.
your perspective of spiderman changed tonight.
perhaps he isn’t all that bad and annoying.
you and gabriella have a shopping day. you visit one of stores that she likes and buy a few new clothes for her. with the recent money you’ve made from that diamond set, you decided to treat yourself and your daughter a shopping spree. you’re in the middle paying for the clothes when gabriella sees a cute dog walking by, causing her to let go of your hand and run outside the store to chase after the dog.
“gabriella!” you quickly pay the clothes, thank the cashier, grab the bag, and rush out the door.
gabriella is too focused on the dog when she accidentally runs into someone, knocking her off balance until the stranger catches her by the arm.
“whoa- you okay, chiquita?”
the little girl looks up to find a very tall man with brown eyes and hair, dressed in a simple white sweater and gray sweats.
“oh, sorry mister! i didn’t mean to hurt you!”
the man softly chuckles as he crouches to match her eye level. “it’s okay, chiquita. don’t worry about it.” his eyes briefly glance behind her searching a potential parent. “where’s your parents? are you—”
“gabriella!”
both of them turn to see you rushing towards them until you suddenly stop when you recognize the man who your daughter bumped into. suddenly, your whole body is frozen. everything around is a blur and in slow motion. heart dropped to your stomach and panic invades your veins like a virus. the bag of clothes almost slips out of your hand.
“miguel…?”
it can’t be… the boy you loved from college stands before you. the boy you haven’t seen in seven fucking years is standing right there in flesh next to your daughter, the very same daughter you had with him and doesn’t know about.
oh my god…
he looks so… different yet the same. more muscular, no more glasses, older. he’s not that boy from your biology class, he is a full blown man. god, he still looks handsome. even more now, dear lord.
after 7 years, you see miguel for the first time.
miguel, on the other hand, is as speechless as you are. utterly dumbfounded and shocked to see the girl he fell in love with from college standing in front of him. even after seven years, you still look beautiful. you were always beautiful. fuck, you look like a goddamn angel. especially in that pretty sundress you’re wearing. suddenly, his heart beats faster.
you’re… here. you’re actually here… standing in front of him like an angel. this very moment is the one miguel has been dreaming for so long. so damn long that it’s unbelievable. he hasn’t seen you since college, seven fucking years ago. he hasn’t seen your angelic face since, his heart aches at that realization. all this time miguel has been wondering what happened to you. the memory of you blocking him on everything after graduation makes his heart ache immensely, an unsettling feeling in his chest. even after years, he still wonders why you did. your sudden disappearance left a deep hole in his heart, an area that hasn’t been repaired since until this moment.
he softly calls out your name like you did with his, shock and surprise laced in his tone.
“it’s really you…”
god, his voice… that rich, handsome voice-
“mamá.”
both of you snap out of trance and look at gabriella, who is confused by the situation. realization kicks you in the ass that your daughter is awkwardly standing between you and her father, who neither know of each other’s existences.
“i said sorry to the man for bumping into him.” the little girl explains, pouting.
honestly, you don’t care she bumped into him although you appreciate her polite apology. but the fact it’s miguel is what your mind focuses on.
“it’s okay, mija. let’s just go home, okay?”
miguel observes the interaction, slightly confused about the little girl you’re talking to. is she your little sister? but you’re the youngest in your family, your parents stopped after having you. maybe she’s a younger cousin? but none of your cousins live in nueva york. that only confuses him more, causing him to frown a little. who is this little girl? but then his ears catch the ‘mija’ and his eyes widen in shock.
wait… this little girl is your daughter?
you have a daughter?
you’re a mother?
that is what happened these past 7 years? you ghosted his ass after college then turn out to be a mother to a daughter who seems about that old. the girl does appear to be 6 or 7 years old.
wait… that’s…
miguel concentrates on you and your supposed daughter, but mainly on the little girl. brown hair and eyes, sun-kisses skin, oddly familiar nose.
hold on… that is very familiar.
he has those traits.
oh shit… oh no, no, no, no, no.
there is no fucking way it’s possible… but now really looking at the girl, she looks so similar. way too fucking similar to him. holy fuck…
you briefly sneak a glance at miguel and recognize the shock illustrated on his face.
oh no…
fuck, you and gabi need to leave before miguel figured it out. that’s your biggest nightmare.
he can’t know, he can’t know.
you need to leave now.
“let’s go, gabi.” you take her hand in yours, just about to turn and bolt the fuck out of here.
“wait!” miguel calls out.
you don’t even answer back and continue walking with gabriella by your aide, feeling your heart pounding immensely with anxiety.
“mamá, that man is talking—”
“i know but we need to leave.” you try to not lash at your daughter despite the anxiety bubbling inside and consuming every inch of your body.
“espera, por favor!” miguel pleads, walking by your side. “just please—”
you shake your head, too afraid to look back at him while trying to escape. “no, please.”
he calls out your name again, a bit louder, and reaches out a hand to grab your arm.
“don’t touch my mama!” gabriella shouts as she slaps off his hand from your arm, making miguel wince and back off immediately.
you turn around in shock by your daughter’s erratic behavior, stopping in your tracks. “gabi—”
“leave my mama alone!” the little girl yells, standing in front of you to defend you from the man.
those mahogany eyes widen in shock, fear. miguel immediately backs away, hands in the air surrendering. panic flowing through his veins. “i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt your mama.” he panics while the girl stares daggers at him. truthfully, he never meant to hurt you in any way. he would never, ever. he can’t blame your daughter’s frustration.
unfortunately, the mini chaotic scene captured many eyes which only made it worse.
you let out a quiet sigh. “vamos, gabi.” taking her hand in yours, you bolted without bothering to spare a final glance at miguel or give him a chance to speak. you just want to go home and forget.
but ever since then, you’ve been a panicky mess.
miguel found out.
you know it.
that look in his eyes, the way they widen. it was a look of realization and disbelief.
you can’t let him find you and gabriella. fuck, you should’ve known staying in nueva york was a stupid idea knowing miguel still lives there too. honestly, you didn’t think he still did since it’s been a long time. however, it was only a matter of time before you run into him and the truth spills out. panic has been plaguing your body for days, taking a toll on you. extra jumpy, shaky hands, rapid beating heart, constantly checking your surroundings making sure miguel isn’t there. you aren’t afraid of him, no, you believe he’s still the same sweet guy before. strange part of you knows he would never hurt you. you always knew that. you’re just afraid of his reaction.
gabriella has noticed your panicky state. she may only be seven years old, but she is smart. occasionally asks if you’re okay, what’s wrong, why are you acting scared. those questions stung deeply in your heart. panic has consumed you entirely that your own seven year-old daughter notices and is worried about you. oh your sweet baby girl. she loves her mama very much and it melts your heart. but what hurts more is lying to her about it. you explain it was stress about work. truthfully, you are stressed out but for completely different reasons. it’s unsure how long these lies will be satisfying enough for.
now, you’re heading to work. the clicking of your heels hit the concrete as you pass multiple people, adjusting the skirt of your waitress uniform. despite the anxiety coursing through your veins at the thought of miguel finding you, life doesn’t stop. perhaps being at work would takes your mind off it.
until your name is called by a familiar voice.
your body froze the moment you recognize that voice, swiftly turning around to find the very man you have been avoiding and scared to run into. miguel is quickly approaching you and you don’t hesitate to walk away as quickly as possible, panicking a little.
“wait!” he calls out, trying to not knock out passing individuals while catching up to you.
you continue speed-walking, even in those heels as much as they allow you to. adrenaline pumping through your veins, heart beating frantically.
you have to get away. you can’t let him catch up to you, can’t let him get you. you can’t face him.
“espera, por favor!” due to his long legs, miguel is able to catch up to you quickly and gently grabs one of your wrists. “please, don’t walk—”
you turn around with a gasp and yank your wrist from his grasp. “¡suéltame!”
miguel says your name pleadingly and raises his hands cautiously, afraid to touch you again. “just please… i need to talk to you.”
you shake your head, turning around to leave. “no, just please leave me alone.” a gasp escapes your lips as you stumble on one heel then a strong arm wraps around your torso and catches you.
“cuidado, amor.” miguel is right at your side, his arm wrapped securely around your torso and carefully helps you stand properly. standing in front of you with now both hands on your waist. “you okay?”
his touch makes your mind dizzy and ignite your skin. oh you haven’t felt his touch in so fucking long, seven long years and damn you miss it so much. those calloused hands holding you gently, caressing your skin with such gentleness. those strong arms wrapped around you securely, always made you feel safe. even years later, there is no other pair of arms you would rather be in than miguel’s. and god, did he miss having you in his arms. holding you so delicately, right where you belong. like you are meant to be him his arms, even after all these years.
your eyes hesitantly meet his and suddenly you’re lost in trance. both your bodies pressed against each other, miguel’s muscular figure against your smaller one. those hands calloused hands holding your waist as if you’re the most precious thing in his grasp. heavy breaths hitting each other faces well, his hitting your forehead and your against his chest due to the height difference. utterly hypnotized by each other’s eyes, filled with a lovesick glint. memories of college invades both your minds. flashbacks of a younger version of you and miguel secretly in love with each other, standing the same position with smiles plastered on your faces. a nasty wave of nostalgia coursing through you both.
you’re so lost in trance that you don’t realize one of miguel’s hands caressing your cheek. the same way he uses to do when you were, unofficially, together. the ache in your heart at the memory makes you snap out of it and back away from his hold.
“i-i have to go…” you avert your gaze from his, afraid you’ll get lost in them again.
miguel stops you with holding out a cautious hand, a pleading look on his face. “por favor… just please, amor… just for a minute. that’s is all i ask.”
god, he is killing you. that pleading tone never fails to make your knees weak, even years later.
reluctantly, you close your eyes with a slow head shake. “no, miguel… i can’t. i’m sorry, i have to go.” you try walking past him but miguel blocks your path, beginning to feel frustrated.
“not until you talk to me first.” he looks down at you with a serious look and slightly furrowed brows.
now you’re getting a little agitated. “there’s nothing to talk about, miguel. alright?”
miguel watches you try slipping past around him with a frown, following you. “what the hell do you mean there’s nothing to talk about?! i haven’t seen you in seven years and you think there’s nothing to talk about?! estas loca, huh?!”
“just leave me alone, miguel! forget it!”
unfortunately, the heated aggressiveness was drawing eyes from several bystanders.
“forget it?! you think i can just forget never seeing you for seven years and believing you were gone all this time only to find out you’re still here?!
“UGH! just stop it!” you continue walking away, frustration boiling in your veins.
“just tell me!”
you whirl around with bloodshot eyes. “STOP IT!”
a sudden explosion erupts from a bank a few blocks away. a sudden puff of smoke explodes into the air, breaking the glass windows sending shattered pieces flying, then followed by bursting flames. the ground shook underneath, causing you to fall with a scream. arms covering your head from the shattered glass. smoke fills your lungs and eyes immediately, coughing it out as you slowly look up to see what’s going but a sharp pain in your right ankle makes you whimper. looking down at your injured ankle, there is a small shard of glass inside. small trails of blood slowly flow down, decorating your ankle in red. while whimpering in pain, you suddenly feel a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.
“are you okay?!” miguel panics, eyes widen with pure fear as they trace over your figure searching for any injuries. hands gripping onto you tightly as if he’s terrified to let you go. he spots your injured ankle and the small streaks of blood trailing down. “fuck!”
fuck, you’re hurt. shit, shit, shit. he needs to get you to the hospital quick. he only just found you after so long, no fucking way he’s losing you now.
miguel doesn’t hesitate to carefully pick you up in his arms and carry you in bridal style. the painful whimpers you let out make his heart ache immensely, like multiple stabs. he almost fucking cries. fuck, he can feel the tears stinging in his eyes.
“i know, i know, lo siento…” he presses soft kisses against your forehead as miguel quickly rushes to the nearest hospital with all of his fucking might, thanks to his spider abilities. “lo siento, lo siento, mi alma…”
soon, he manages to find the nearest hospital. the doctors and nurses were a bit anxious to a very panicky, frustrated man built like a god carrying an injured you in his arms and barking at them to help you. if you were not in pain, you would’ve told miguel to calm down. he’s always been a dramatic man, overprotective of you. even years later without seeing each other, he still strongly cares for you. it warms your fragile heart. luckily, one nurse offered and quickly lead you both to the nearest room. a close call for security was made after miguel heavily refused to leave the room after the doctor and nurses told him so they could help you without distractions. he couldn’t leave you. he even threatened to punch the poor doctor, who is only trying to do his job, before he was given a final warning by one nurse. very reluctantly, miguel finally leaves the room by slamming the door on his way out. but not before giving you one last glance making sure you were fine.
while you were getting patched up, miguel paces back and forth outside in the hall. one hand resting on his hip and the other running down his face in frustration. heart pounding in his chest, anxiety flowing through his veins. never has he been so scared in his life. seeing you all scared, in pain, tears in those gorgeous eyes he loves, it fucking killed him. all miguel can think about is you and how badly he wants to rush inside to know if you’re okay. no, he needs to know how you’re doing but the doctor hasn’t come out to say anything yet. the longer he waits, the more worried he gets. normally, miguel is a patient man. but when it comes to you, that shit flies out the window. okay, terrible pun but point still stands. all miguel cares about is you. never has he stopped, even after seven years, he still does.
he will always care for you.
after several more minutes, the doctor comes out and informs miguel that you’ll be okay. a huge wave of relief courses through his entire body. he profoundly thanks the doctor and nurses for their assistance then quickly heads inside, desperate to see you. the relief truly hits when he sees you laying on the hospital bed, back rested against the pillows as support and ankle wrapped with a bandage.
“hi.” you whisper with a soft smile, the same one that always melts his heart.
the first time he sees that smile in seven years.
a smile miguel never forget.
“hey,” he mirrors your smile as he takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. “how are you feeling?” a bit of concern laced in his tone.
“i’m fine, it didn’t tear anything major and only needed a few stitches. should heal in a few days.”
he slowly nods, understanding. “that’s great.” those mahogany eyes land on your hand resting at your side. the urge to reach out and hold your hand consumes him but miguel isn’t sure if you’d like that. so, reluctantly, he decides against it.
a small silence fell between you two before you spoke again. “the doctor and nurses were a little nervous. i mean, being pressured by a man built like a damn god wasn’t exactly helpful. especially almost calling security.” you softly chuckle.
he scoffs with an eye roll. “you were bleeding, i wasn’t gonna leave you alone in here.”
“i wasn’t bleeding to death, miguel. it was only a little, nothing serious.”
“ni modo,” he shakes his head, not pleased with you brushing it off easily. “i’m not gonna lose you again.”
a huge silence falls in between you two. the tension that has been lingering since the day you reunited weighs heavily, like an anchor suddenly dropping. the silence was painful and the tension was dreadful. a conversation both you and miguel have been afraid of to discuss. the moment you’ve been dreading since you reunited with him. anxiety invades both your bodies. sitting there fiddling with your hands in your lap, miguel looking down at his own with an anxious expression illustrated on his face. it was only a matter of time until you had to tell him the truth, to tell him he’s s a father. you’ve never been so afraid, more than giving birth to gabriella all those years ago, more than finding out you were pregnant. confronting the truth is the scariest thing ever.
miguel looks up at you and notices your anxious expression. the way you fiddle with your hands, a habit you’ve had since you were a kid. he knew because you told him once during a tutoring session after he noticed it. he knew you, even seven years later. he always noticed everything about you. especially the anxious look on your angelic face. miguel has never seen you so nervous and it worries him. the strong urge to comfort you consumes him.
very slowly, he reaches out a hand for yours as he leans a bit closer towards you. “mi alma, i—”
“¡mamá!”
the sudden burst of the door opening makes miguel quickly pull back as he watches your daughter rush into the room and immediately hugs you.
“mama! are you okay?!” gabi cries, hugging you tightly. “i was so scared!”
you embrace her tightly, softly shushing her. “i’m okay, mi amor. i’m okay, i’m sorry for scaring you.” a hint of guilt squeezes your heart.
you feel her shake her head. “it’s okay, i know you didn’t mean it, mama. i was just scared you got hurt.”
oh your sweet baby. heart heavily swelled with love. “i was scared too but i’m okay.” you slowly pulling back away but keep gabi close, gently holding her arms. “it was just a little scratch from glass, nothing bad.” you gingerly wipe her tiny tears.
gabi nods before noticing the man sitting beside you, realizing it’s the same mean man who was bothering you the other day. the smile on her face dies and is replaced with a frown. “why is the mean man here?”
miguel’s eyes widen in concern at the little girl staring daggers at him. he was too in awe at the cute moment between you and your daughter to realize that she’s still mad at him for the way he mistreated you a few days ago. how protective she was of you and yelled at him in front of people. he can’t blame her though. she just wants to protect her mother and that is admirable for a seven year old.
“he saved me, mija.” you reassure her, causing both gabriella and miguel to turn to you with wide eyes which makes you giggle but squeezes your heart. the same expression, like twins. “he saved me from the accident and got me to the hospital super fast.”
gabriella’s expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion, like she couldn’t actually believe the same mean man saved you. “really…?”
you softly laugh at her expression, nodding. “yes mija, he saved me and i’m very thankful for him for helping me.” you spare a brief glance at miguel, who continues staring at you with wide eyes before his expression softens and offers a small smile.
the same damn smile that made your heart flutter.
gabi slowly turn her gaze from you to miguel. not giving him a death stare anymore but a little smile instead. “thank you, mister… for saving my mama.”
his broad shoulders deflated in relief. she isn’t mad at him anymore. “of course, chiquita. i know how much your mama means to you.” miguel softly smiles.
for the first time, gabi genuinely smiles at him and, oddly enough, that warms his heart immensely. yours too because that’s when you realized.
this is the first time they smile at each other.
a sight you never thought you would live to see. another painful squeeze to your heart.
before any of you could say anything else, your parents come rushing in with a million times worse worried expressions on their faces.
“mija! ay dios mio, we were so worried! when we got the call and the doctor told us everything, we—”
your mother stops as she and your father stop dead in their tracks the moment they see miguel sitting beside you. the very same miguel who was the sweet boy from your bio class that tutored you, visited during weekends, treated him like family. the same miguel who got you pregnant and left you alone to deal with raising a baby, even though was your fault for never telling him. he never knew and they never blamed him but he got you pregnant nevertheless.
your parents arrival and your dad’s extremely pissed off expression causes miguel to swiftly stand on his feet, making the chair screech against the floor. he addresses them with respect, hands behind his back. “it’s great to see you again—”
“¿por qué este güey esta aquí?” your father asks curtly, glaring at miguel.
“papá—” you warn him.
“mi amor, ya.” your mother calms her husband down, gently patting his shoulder. “gabi esta aquí.” she whispers in a warning tone.
your father, reluctantly, backs offs because he knows your mom is right. the last thing any of you want is to create drama in front of gabriella.
your parents look back at you.
“pobrecita, mi niña.” your mother coos, gently cupping your face and gives your forehead a kiss. “the doctor told us everything and you were going to be fine pero you’re sure you’re okay?”
“sí, mamá, i’m fine. i’ll heal soon.”
“gracias a dios.” your parents said in unison.
“we should thank him, too!” gabriella chirps in, pointing at miguel with a bright smile. “he saved mama and got her to the hospital!”
your parents turn and look at miguel in surprise. he just as surprised as they are but because your daughter gave him credit for helping you. your parents share a glance then look at miguel.
“you did?” your dad questions.
“sí, señor.” miguel said politely, nodding. “i brought her here as fast as possible.”
his answer seemed to satisfy them both. mainly because they know much of a good man he is and how much he deeply cares for you, even still to this day, that miguel will do anything for you.
“gracias, mijo,” your mom offers an appreciative smile. “for helping our daughter, we’re grateful.”
“siempre, señora.” miguel smiles in return. “anything for her.” he means it with all his heart.
they know it, so do you.
the ongoing screams from outside reminds him that the perpetrator is still on the loose. the city needs their spider vigilante. now that you’re safe, miguel can go fulfill his heroic duties.
“i’ll uh… leave you be.” miguel clears his throat as he makes his way towards the door.
“miguel.”
your soft voice makes him stop by the door, looking back at you. eager to what you have to say.
“thank you.” you say softly.
it makes his heart flutter. miguel offers a small nod, eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before finally walking out of the room, leaving you be with your family. he exits the hospital and finds a hidden alleyway. with a few taps on his gizmo, his spider suit replaces his normal clothes and miguel swings away to save nueva york from another threat.
after a while, your ankle healed completely and you’re already back on black cat duties. effortless cartwheels and flips over rooftops in the night. it feels amazing to be back in latex and shifting through the beautiful night after being cooped up in your apartment barely doing anything. one of your neighbors, a nice elderly lady, offered to take gabriella to her bus stop since you couldn’t walk with a damaged ankle and you thanked her tremendously. your boss was kind enough to give you recovery time and it wouldn’t affect your pay. you hadn’t seen miguel much since the hospital. he didn’t have any way of contacting you anyways, no address given or no phone number. but you knew in your heart he was looking for you, thinking of you, and wanted to know if you were okay. you hoped to run into him soon.
another gig at a different jewelry store. this one has more diamonds accessories which means more money. while jumping from rooftop to rooftop, faint grunts and shouts reached your ears which makes you stop in your tracks. following the sound, you find a secluded alleyway where a huge fight takes place. appears to a gang of criminals, six guys against one individual clad in familiar hues of red and dark blue.
spiderman.
he seems to be whooping their asses. let’s be real, nobody has a fucking chance with a guy who is freakishly tall and insanely buff like a fucking god. even if it’s a whole damn army, their asses will be on the ground before any could get the chance to take a swing at him. there is even rumors that spiderman has bitten some of his enemies. now that sounds fucking insane. what the fuck is he? a damn vampire? you had to very hard time believing that when you first heard of it by a fellow colleague at the diner. at first, you were hesitant to run into him again during your nightly runs in fear of getting bit by the weirdo. but your curiosity got the better of you. one night when you ran into him, you asked him about the biting rumors and spiderman frustratingly denied it, which furthered your curiosity and teased him about it. now you wonder if you’d get to witness that.
but instead panic invades your veins as you notice one gang member whips out a pistol aimed at miguel’s back, who is currently too occupied beating up three other members. he’s gonna get shot. suddenly, you body goes into autopilot. without hesitation, you swiftly jump down and land right behind the bastard then knocked him out by kicking the back of his head, causing him to lose aim and fire the bullet off to the side instead. the gunshot startles spiderman and he swiftly turns around in concern only to find you standing there with the asshole on the floor. the eyes of his mask widen in disbelief.
“what the hell are you doing here?!”
“saving your ass from getting shot at.” you kick the gun away. “you’re welcome.”
“you need to get out of here now!” spiderman warns, shooting out webs to take down two approaching guys without looking away from you.
you were about to argue back when another guy comes running towards you both and you kicked him in the face knocking him out. there wasn’t any time to argue with a group of dudes attacking you so you teamed up together. miguel knocking them out with his webs, throwing punches here and there. you whooping their asses, kicking and punching while doing flawless flips and tricks. it’s actually quite fun fighting alongside the infamous spiderman. for once not fighting him but with him. watching the masked hero in action, it’s attractive as fuck. maybe you should interfere with his fights more often.
one idiot was pissing miguel off more than usual. the fight was getting aggravating and he was losing patience. aggressively grabbing the guy’s face with one hand and yanking him towards his face, miguel’s mask disintegrates and opens his mouth revealing those pearly sharp fangs. watching the guy’s eyes widen in pure terror before biting into his neck, causing the bastard to yelp in pain. the sound makes you turn around after knocking out the rest of the gang and your eyes widen in shock at the sight in front of you. spiderman is… biting the guy? what the actual fuck? the hero’s face is concealed since it’s buried in the guy’s neck, whose body squirm’s underneath him. you can’t believe what you’re seeing… what the actual fuck is spiderman doing?
once the venom is injected into the idiot’s veins and he feels his body weakened underneath, miguel lets him go causing the body to collapse on the ground without a care. glaring down at the paralyzed bastard, chest heaving and veins flowing with adrenaline. he wipes the blood off his lips with the back of his gloved hand then turns to you, not realizing you were watching the entire time.
your heart fucking drops.
drops into your fucking stomach. entire body completely frozen. blood gone too damn cold.
no fucking way… it can’t be true.
spiderman, the same man who saves and protects the lives of nueva york. the same man who everyone adores and praises for his heroic deeds. the same man who always caught your ass during a jewelry run. the same man who you’ve been teasing and sorta been developing some strange feelings for. the same man who is the boy you loved since college.
the same man who is your damn baby daddy.
miguel is fucking spiderman?!
the masked vigilante who has been chasing after you these past several months is the man you’ve never stopped loving and the father of your child?!
this whole fucking time it was him?!
“miguel?…” you whisper, standing there in pure disbelief. like you refused to believe it’s him.
his whole body freezes and fears settles in his bones when you said his name, his real name. those mahogany eyes widen in shock. “¿qué dijiste?”
“oh my god… it’s you…” you tremble, chest beginning to heave before the fire bursted into flames. “it was YOU! IT WAS YOU THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME!”
miguel winces confusingly at your sudden burst of anger and accusations. “what the hell do you mean it was me? who the hell you even—”
you swiftly yank off your small mask, revealing your true identity and miguel fucking crumbles.
it’s… you?! you are the infamous black cat?! the same woman who’s been stealing jewelry. the same woman who’s been a pain his ass for months. the same woman who’s been driving him fucking crazy. black cat is the same woman he’s been in love with since collage and disappeared from his life for seven fucking years. the same woman who he’s been desperately searching for and found her after all these years yet only to find out she’s the fucking jewelry thief dressed in black latex this whole time.
the woman he never stopped loving is black cat.
miguel softly calls out your name, as if confirming himself that it’s actually you. “it’s you… you’re the fucking black cat?!” now it’s his burst of anger being unleashed. “it’s been you after these months?!”
“don’t fucking yell at me!” you point at him. “you don’t fucking get to give me shit when you’ve been fucking SPIDERMAN THIS WHOLE TIME!” you shouting echos throughout the alleyway.
“you think i was just gonna give away my fucking identity?! no!” he argues and takes a few steps closer. a huge frown settled on his face, pissed off as much as you are. “so you don’t give me shit for not telling you when i didn’t know it was you!”
“BABOSO! (asshole)” your boiling anger causes you to kick miguel in the chest before he can closer to you, making him stumble a bit with a groan.
with a frustrated groan, you turn away from him. running both hands down your heated face. miguel closes his eyes for a moment to calm down, pinching the bridge of nose and taking a heavy breath.
“it all makes sense now…” you whisper, slowly shaking your head. miguel looks back at you with furrowed brows but remains silent to let you speak. “no fucking wonder you felt so familiar. i thought i going crazy, that no fucking way it was you. it couldn’t be you…” you turn around to face him again but with a tender look that warms his heart.
“i felt it too…” miguel breaths out heavily, head hanging low and hands on his hips.
“what?” you’re surprised.
“the familiarity.” he confessed, looking back at you. “I felt it too. i thought…” he heavily sighs, running a hand through his hair. “i thought the same, thinking it was impossible for it to be you but… it’s true.”
silence falls in between you two. tension, feelings, unanswered questions lingering in the heavy air. a moment to sallow and digest the hard truth.
glancing back at miguel, you take a really good look at him. specifically at his face. those two piercing crimson orbs. with your past encounters with him, you heavenly really paid attention to his eyes and the fact they are red, not the brown ones you adored so much. those chestnut eyes that you’d stare at for hours, mesmerized by how beautiful they were. but now they were replaced a fierce shade of red. vehement, ominous, intimidating. but it doesn’t strip them of their beauty. it’s a vibrant kind of red, like a red gem. dazzling in the back of dark cave. like the pretty gems the seven dwarfs mine for in snow white, one of gabriella’s favorite films. his eyes, no matter the color, are nevertheless breathtaking. below are those sharp fangs that you just witnessed moments ago. pearly white, shape canines that possess some type of poison or something to knock someone out.
“what happened?”
as if he read your mind, miguel knew what you were referring to, making him sigh heavily. “alchemax. after my internship, i got a position there. deal with genetic machinery.” he turns away, concealing the shame. “there was an accident… some bastard screwed me over and… caused this.” he gestures at his eyes, fangs, and talons. “half-spider DNA.”
your eyes slightly widen at the reveal. half spider DNA? insane. “the spiderman name is no joke.”
miguel shakes his head, biting back a smile at your joke. still manage to crack jokes in serious matters, you never changed. a part he loved about you.
still loves.
looking back at you, miguel takes in your appearance and remembers why you do this. “how long have you been doing this?” he gestures at your latex suit.
“a few years. waitressing doesn’t really pay the bills much so i went against my morals. i know what i’m doing is wrong but it’s worth it for my daughter.”
miguel’s expression softens when you mention your daughter, remembering the little girl. the one who yelled at him in public for bothering you. the one who ran into the hospital room worried about her mother. the one who smiled at him for saving her mother. a sweet little girl you have. but then he remembers how similar she looked to him, like him. the features and traits he carried, she did too. when he pinned the points together, miguel wanted to crumble. not only he’s been dying to talk to you to know how and where the hell you’ve been the last seven years but also to ask about your daughter. a question that’s been infiltrating his mind since the day he saw you.
“your daughter…” miguel hesitates for a moment, preparing himself for possibly the hardest truth he has ever faced. “is she…?”
you close your eyes. the moment you’ve been dreading for, it has finally come.
“yes.”
his heart shatters. he brings up a hand to conceal the painful expression on his face. if he didn’t had enhanced strength, miguel would’ve collapsed.
he is a father. to a bright little girl.
tears swell up in his eyes. it’s earthshaking, unbelievable. these past seven years, he had a daughter. a daughter he shares with you, the love of his life, the girl he fell in love with from college. thinking back on college, miguel remembers you disappearing from his life after graduation. blocked him on everything, unable to reach you.
now it made sense.
but there’s one question bothering him.
“why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, bringing down his hand from his face but refuses to look you. as if he’s scared to, scared to face the truth.
tears prickle in your eyes. the emotions that have been buried inside for so many years finally start boiling up. the dam breaks, the volcano erupts.
“because i didn’t want to hurt you.”
miguel looks back with shocked eyes, in pure disbelief. “what?”
hurt him? how could you possibly hurt him? he is the one who did the hurting, leaving you alone to carry and raise a baby. but a baby he never knew of.
the tears couldn’t hold back, now trailing down your face. “the week before graduation, i found out i was pregnant. i-i was so s-scared. angry at myself for being so fucking careless but we both were.”
yes, you both were stupid careless barely young adults. miguel should’ve known better, that his pull out game was terrible and should’ve stacked up on condoms more often. god, he wants to smack himself. such an irresponsible fucking idiot.
“i was so scared, miguel, i-i didn’t know how to tell you.” you sob, unable to control the tears any longer and honestly you don’t care. “then, i remembered you told me about your internship at alchemax a few weeks before and how excited you were. you looked so happy, miguel…” you offered a teary smile that shattered his heart into a million pieces. “i knew how much that meant for you and i was so happy for you. you had your life planned and i couldn’t ruin that. i couldn’t, miguel… i couldn’t hurt you. i couldn’t ruin your life with an unexpected pregnancy. it felt wrong, i loved you too much to hurt you.”
the truth finally revealed after seven years.
miguel’s heart crumbles into more pieces. he can’t believe it. physically, mentally, emotionally, all of the above. this heartbreaking revelation completely destroys him. you kept the most life-changing, earth-shattering secret because you didn’t want to hurt him? ruin his life? his heart aches terribly with immense guilt. he feels like the biggest fucking asshole. you went through so much painful emotions and inner turmoil while he was what? celebrating about his internship and graduation. what a fucking asshole. it breaks his already broken heart.
“that’s why i left you. blocked you on everything right after graduation. i left the stadium crying because i couldn’t face you. i couldn’t tell you so i left… it’s my fault.” you confess through teary eyes. “it’s my fault you never knew, not yours. please don’t blame yourself, you never knew. you shouldn’t feel bad for not knowing, not being there because it’s my fault. and no matter how many fucking times i wanted to call you, reach out to you to tell, i was too scared. scared that you’d be mad, that you didn’t want to be a part of it.” you wipe some tears off your face, not caring if it ruined your makeup and look like a melted candle. “i’m so sorry, miguel… for hurting you, keeping this from you, keeping her from you.”
now miguel is crying too, silently.
“i’m so, so sorry!” you completely break down, burying your teary face into your palms. the guilt caught up to you, consuming you entirely.
miguel swiftly charms in and takes you in his arms before you could collapse, holding you tight against his chest. one arm wrapped tightly around you and his other hand cupping the back of your head. each sob breaks a piece of his heart, causing him to tighten his hold on you as you continue sobbing into his chest. miguel has always hated seeing you cry, but this one hurts more, too painful. even though you said it’s your fault, miguel still believes it’s his too. it takes two to make a baby, he is the reason why you never told him. he is responsible too.
“i forgive you.”
you pull back a little to look up at him confusingly. “w-what? but i lied to you, hurt you for keeping—”
“i forgive you,” he states softly, bringing his hands up to gently cup your face. “because i love you.”
your eyes widen in shock. “w-what?”
“i love you. i’ve loved you since the moment i met you in biology.” the pad of his thumbs gently wipe your tears. “the day i became your tutor was the best day of my life because i met the most beautiful girl ever.” a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “i was stupid to not tell you, it was the biggest mistake in my life and i hated myself for it. because of that and our stupid mistakes, i lost you...” the thought makes his heart ache. “when you started avoiding me, i was worried and thought i did something wrong and tried reaching out to you but you never did. then, i never saw you again after graduation. i looked for you everywhere, called you, text you but then when i realized you blocked me completely… i broke.” he swallows those emotions building in his throat. “i… i cried… because i lost the love of my life.”
his confession makes your heart swell with intense love and a thousands other emotions. unbelievable and overwhelming but in a positive way.
“i tried looking for you everywhere, tried reaching out to your friends and family but they never answered. all i could think about was wondering what happened to you, why you disappeared, why you never told me anything.” those crimson orbs bore into your soul. “i never stopped looking for you.”
your breath hitches, staring up at him with wide eyes. all this time, he’s been looking for you?
“i never stopped thinking about you, wondering where you were, if you were okay. i never stopped.” miguel confesses. “then when i saw you that day with… your daughter… i couldn’t fucking believe it. after seven fucking years of wondering and searching, i found you. i actually found you…” he lets out a heartily chuckle. “beautiful since the day i met you, even more now.” his compliment makes your cheeks warm, something he always manages to do. “but then seeing you with her…” you know he’s referring to gabriella, your guys’ daughter. “seeing you as a mom wasn’t what i expected. i couldn’t believe it but then when i noticed how familiar she looked, i thought i was going insane.”
the shocking realization on miguel’s face from that day flashes through your mind. you knew he put the pieces together and figured it out at that moment.
“i’m sorry for avoiding you,” you softly inject, looking up at him with glossy eyes. “i-i was scared, of your reaction, what you’d say, if you were mad. i freaked out and couldn’t bare to face you.”
miguel shakes his head. “i wasn’t mad, never. i just was… shocked.” his eyes shift down for a moment while his hands caresses your face. “shocked that i had a daughter…” then, his gaze returns to yours. “she has my nose, the first thing i noticed.”
that elicits a soft chuckle from you. “yeah, i noticed too when she was born. she’s your mini you.”
a soft moment bonding over your daughter.
“i never stopped loving you, miguel.” you quietly confess, placing your hands on top of his. “even years later, i never stopped either. every time i look at gabi, i see you.” your lashes flutter and heart soars. “she’s so smart and passionate like you. sometimes i wonder if she even got anything from me since she’s so much like you in so many ways.” a soft chuckle slips past your lips. “she is you in every way.”
his heart soars too, with such love. this furthers his desire to get to know his daughter and build a possible relationship. most importantly to win you back, to be in your life again if you want to. to be part of yours and gabriella’s life. to be a family. something miguel never thought he could have.
“now… i know this is a lot for you. i mean, come on, you just found out you have a kid after years without knowing. so i want you to know that i don’t expect anything from you at all.” you assured him. “i don’t wanna pressure you into this. it’s your decide if you want to be part of her life. i know i took away those first seven years from you and i’m sorry. but… you have the choice if you want be there or not.”
“mi alma, of course i want to be there for her.” miguel doesn’t hesitate to answer. this news doesn’t stop his world from spinning. an opportunity to not miss. “but i want to be there for you… if you let me.”
his words caught you off guard.
“you… want me?”
“sí, mi vida.” miguel leans a bit closer, a loving smile tugging on his plump lips. “i’ve always wanted you, to be with you. officially, this time.”
your heart swells with intense love, a bit overwhelming but in a good way. he truly wants to be with you, part of your life, as well gabriella’s? it’ll be a new change but you gladly accept it, especially if it means for your daughter to have both loving parents.
“i’ve always wanted to be with you too.” you confess softly with a light smile and fluttering lashes.
miguel’s heart is swoon, swollen with adoration. words he has been dreaming of for years. he’s not gonna lose this opportunity. he’s not gonna lose you again. there will be many changes to come but miguel is willing to do that for you, and his daughter.
when you told gabriella the truth, it took her some time to process it. even for a seven year old, learning a difficult truth can be hard to understand. all her life she has only known her mother and never learned much of her father. in the beginning, you simply explained that her dad went away. although it was not entirely a lie, you had to explain to your daughter why she didn’t have a dad like other kids. but now with the truth, it was a little challenging. gabriella wasn’t convinced at first. mainly due to the fact that her father is the same guy who was bothering you at the store and also saved you from the accident. she was honestly shocked. interrogated both you and miguel, mainly him. never had he felt nervous because of a kid. you both were an anxious mess when you all gathered in your living room, you seated next to gabi and miguel across. despite wanting to be together again, to give it another shot, you had to make sure gabriella was comfort with it all. comfortable with knowing her father, welcoming him into her life, and being a part of it. prior to the conversation, you thought to yourself: would gabi be okay with this? okay with miguel being in her life? okay with him and you together? despite how happy you and miguel were about the possibility of a future together, you still wanted to make sure she was truly comfortable with it. you didn’t want to push the idea on her or make her feel uncomfortable. like every parent, the child must come first.
but over time, gabriella accepted it and welcomed miguel into both your lives. in fact, she was elastic to finally have a dad in her life. the moment she jumped into his arms, miguel’s heart swelled with immense love and happiness. forever grateful for her acceptance and to finally be her dad. tears swelled up in your eyes when you witnessed that heartwarming moment and joined in the hug after gabi begged you to. it was the beginning of a new chapter for your family, welcoming a new member. one of the happiest days of your life. a day you dreamed of but never thought it would happen. as time passes, new adjustments were made. miguel being part of your life now is so… different but amazing. he really stepped up into the role of a father. offering to take and pick up gabi from school. show up to her soccer games, proudly wearing a jersey with her number on it and being the loudest parent in the crowd cheering her on. participating in family outings like going to playgrounds, movies, the beach, cool restaurants, and amusement parks. attend any school events, volunteer as a chaperone for field trips. the man is really putting the effort and you can’t be any more grateful for it.
currently, you’re doing your nightly routine. freshly washed, skin lathered in lotion, dressed in a mini lilac satin nightgown, your playlist softly playing from your phone, candles glowing softly in the dark. a perfect evening for selfcare. gabriella is staying at your parents for the weekend, meaning you have the apartment to yourself for the next two days. a chance to relax and enjoy being child-free. while fixing up your hair (in whatever way you usually do depending on your style/texture before going to bed), you hear a light thud coming from your room which makes your head snap in that direction. sudden anxiety does through your veins. what the fuck was that? black cat mode turns on. grabbing the blow dryer since it was heaviest object accessible, you quietly exit the bathroom and steadily move towards your room. hiding behind the wall, right next to the doorframe, you turn a little to catch a sneak peek of the intruder. your eyes widen in shock. that sneaky son of a bitch dressed in red and dark blue climbs through your window, which you idiotically forgot to lock. a huge wave of relief courses through you as you lower the blow dryer in your hands and come out from hiding approaching him.
“what the fuck, miguel?”
you notice those crimson orbs briefly scan your figure, trailing over the silky nightgown. lingering a little too long on, what you suspect, your cleveage. the top of the nightgown is quite low, giving him a nice glimpse. typical but it doesn’t offend you, rather makes you smirk a little. a simple nightgown can make him his mind go haywire and you love it.
his eyes finally meet yours then the blow dryer in your hand. “you chose that to defend yourself?” he deadpans, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“shut up,” you scowl, rolling your eyes. “it was the heaviest thing i could grab.” you place the hair dryer on your vanity. “why the hell did you climb through my window? i thought you were an intruder.”
“why didn’t you lock your window?”
“no me jodas, miguel.” you cross your arms, matching his stance. “contéstame.”
your feistiness is one thing he loves about you.
“i wanted to see if you were okay.”
your heart flutters. “well, i’m fine despite the fact you almost gave me a damn heart attack.”
“dramática,” that earns him a glare, causing him to chuckle a little. “i’m sorry, i was out on patrol so i couldn’t be seen by your neighbors.”
you roll your eyes but you understand. “just give me a heads up or something next time.”
he nods. “and gabi?”
“with my parents, remember? for the weekend.”
“ah, sí…”
small silence falls in between you. only the gentle tunes of your music playing from your phone lingers in the background and distant beeps of cars flying outside. although, it wasn’t awkward silence but there is some tension. you and miguel have been alone together numerous of times before, but strangely enough this time feels different. you notice it when miguel starts averting his eyes from yours, looking down or around your room. the clenching of his jaw, tensed shoulders, sight frown on his face. he’s thinking, conflicted with something.
“what’s wrong?” you ask, slowly stepping closer.
“nada… i just…” he paused before sighing. “lo siento, mi alma for disbursing your night. ya me voy.” he turns to leave but you quickly yet gently grab his wrist, stopping him and looking back at you.
“don’t leave… please.” your soft plead almost makes miguel crumble to his knees. “what’s wrong? i know you’re thinking, you can tell me.”
those thick brows furrowed, crimson eyes glancing at the ground instead of your own. a glint of hesitation in them. he sighs before finally speaking.
“do you want this?”
now your brows furrowed. “do i want what?”
“this,” his eyes finally meet yours. “me being part of your life, gabi’s life. are you really okay with this?”
your expression softens a bit but the confusion remains. “of course i’m okay with this. i’m happy you’re part of this family, miguel. are you not…?”
you can’t help the doubt clouding your mind, afraid that he is having second thoughts about this because the truth is miguel being a part of it all has been amazing. in fact, your life has been better since miguel became more involved. not only for you but for gabriella as well. it feels like a true happy family and you didn’t want that to end.
his eyes widen worryingly, internally panicking. “no, no, no, mi alma. of course i’m happy, the happiest i’ve ever been in my life.” his large hands gently rest on your upper arms, holding you close. “it’s just… i know we’ve been doing this for gabi pero…” a small pause to release a sigh. “i wasn’t sure if you wanted to be with me again, if you were okay with me.”
your expression softens even more, replaced with a sympathetic one. insecurity gets the best of us, you understand where he’s coming from. “i meant what i said back in the alleyway that night. i’ve always wanted you, miguel. i’ve always loved you since that day you became my tutor for bio.” you smile at the memory. “so yes, i do want to be with you and i do want this.” you lean closer. “i want you.”
that confession and tender glint in those pretty eyes were all he needed to give in. his hands very slowly rise to gently cup your cheeks as miguel bends down to reach your face, not giving a shit about the potential back pain. those scarlet orbs boring into your pretty ones, overflowing with immense adoration. the close proximity makes your lashes flutter and both your hearts racing.
“¿puedo?” he whispers against your lips.
you roll your eyes, grinning. he’s still respectful even when you desperately want him to kiss you and devour your lips after what feels like an eternity because goddamnit you miss those plump ass lips.
“ya bésame, miguel.”
your inpatient attitude makes him grin before leaning forward to finally capture your lips with his after a fucking lifetime. the moment you both have been waiting for, dreaming of for years. like fireworks exploding in both your bodies. the longing, the desperation all expressed in the kiss. two souls finally reconnected after what felt like an eternity. goddamnit did he miss those soft lips, the same ones that haunted his dreams for seven years. too damn long and he ain’t gonna waste it, leading miguel to apply more pressure into the kiss which earns him a heavenly moan that almost makes his core throb. the kiss advanced more heated and desperate, savoring the taste of each other. a full blown makeout session. soft moans and groans lingering in the air, hands roam over each other’s bodies. your hands gripping his thick neck, one hand gripping his brown locks which elicits a groan from him. softly gasping when miguel’s large hands squeeze and grope your curves over the silkiness of your nightgown a little possessively, leaving you hot and bothered.
while messily making out, miguel hoists you in his arms and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he walks towards the bed. your lips never detached as he carefully placed you down on the plush mattress, your back against the silky sheets and him settled in between your legs. fingers digging and gripping those soft brown curls, hands roaming over those muscular shoulders and thick neck, sending shivers of pleasure down miguel’s spine. those same damn muscles you missed touching, the rippling sensation underneath your fingertips, digging your nails into them. miguel has always worked out since those college days, had muscle since but definitely gained more these past seven years and you can feel how muscular he’s gotten. maybe that half-spider DNA thing had some influence, enhanced his muscles and build. but besides that, you just miss touching them. thankfully you recently got your nails done, a fresh set ready to mark your canvas. you’re even more eager to do so because you know digging your nails into his back drives miguel crazy, to hear those heavenly groans.
a soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel one of miguel’s gloved hands slowly slip the hem of your nightgown up your thigh, his fingertips reaching your inner thighs. a move you’re familiar with and always made you tremble, still remember even years later. god you miss him touching you. those calloused hands roaming and groping your curves, every inch of you, melting under his additive touch. miguel moved away from your mouth but eases your concerns as he travels down, leaving a trail of kisses from your jawline to your neck. soft moans fall from your lips at the addictive sensation, mind becoming putty. one hand rested in his hair and the other gripping onto his shoulder, feeling the holographic particles of his suit under your fingertips. his hands continue roaming your body as miguel leaves wet kisses on your neck, intending on marking you.
“missed this,” he mumbles in between kisses and licks, drunk on your skin. “missed you, bebita.”
that old nickname from college, the one you adored, makes your heart flutter, responding with a soft whimper and a tug on his hair. “miguel~”
“seven fucking years…” a gasp escapes your lips when you feel his fangs gently prickling your skin. “you have any idea what that did to me?” his voice drops an octave, seductive. “the love of my life taken from me for seven years? drove me insane, bebita.”
another soft whimper falls from your lips when his fangs gently nipping your skin then leaves kisses over the sensitive area, making you arch your back. so utterly desperate to feel more of him. also, him calling you the love of his life? drove you over the fucking edge even more. god, you love this man.
“seven years without you, your voice, your laugh, your scent, your lips…” he whispers while his hands slowly roam and grope over your body, sending shivers of please through you and making your mind putty. “drove me fucking crazy, hermosa.” another few kisses on your neck before he lifts his head up to look down at you with intense adoration, lips hovering yours. “i’m not wasting a fucking second.”
your heart flutters and you don’t waste a second either by cupping his face and yanking him down to your lips together in a kiss filled with intense love, reuniting your souls. miguel swiftly trails down to your chest and buries his face in your cleavage, making out with your covered breasts. soft moaning as his calloused hands squeeze and knead your tits through the silky material of your nightgown. your hands play with his hair again, digging in those soft brown curls as endless soft moans spill from your lips at the incredible sensation miguel is providing you. moaning out his name and arching your back as his tongue slides over the roundness of your exposed breast. alternative between each one, kissing and licking the soft sensitive skin as his hands continue kneading and squeezing the squishy fat.
“miguel!~” you moan a bit louder and arch your back as he sucks your nipples through the silky nightgown, leaving a wet stain on the fabric.
he responds with a muffled groan, busy with providing much affection towards your delicate breasts. miguel then slowly trails down your body, kissing over the silky fabric of your nightgown, mind hazy from your fingers combing through his hair. god he misses that addictive sensation so much. like your nails were meant to be digging and playing with his hair and it always made his mind putty. miguel reaches towards the hem of your nightgown and slowly raises it, exposing your stomach and cute white panties. the cool air hitting your core makes you gasp softly. miguel grins at the wet stain on your panties but his attention is on your belly. he peppers it with adoring kisses and sinful licks, eliciting more of those cute soft noises he adores so much. that same noises that drive miguel fucking crazy. he’s drunk on your soft skin, savoring it and worshiping your body like a temple. to him, you are his temple.
a soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel his own on your clothed pussy, a bit too eagerly inhaling your scent. “still have that same sweet fucking scent, years later and it still drives me crazy.” he murmurs against the fabric. that sweet scent of yours is a like a fucking drug, intoxicating and addictive.
“miguel, please~” you whine, your needy fingers gripping onto his hair as a sign. he’s right there, your core throbbing terribly, and you’re losing your mind.
the bastard has the audacity to chuckle at your neediness. “¿qué quieres, bebita?” the teasing is inevitable, you’re adorable when you’re needy for him. but he’s also losing his mind too.
“no me jodas, miguel.”
that earns him a slightly harsh tug on his hair, causing his grin to widen. miguel has always adored when you’re bossy. the man may be 6’9 of pure muscle but will succumb to his knees when bossed around by a woman. a major turn on for him.
“relájate, bebé.” he softly chuckles. “i’ll take care of you like i always do, lo prometo.”
he is right, miguel always took care of you during sex. teasing but always a gentle provider. flashbacks of all your guys’ hookups during college ran through your mind. he always made sure you were comfortable, asking if you were okay no matter how steamy or soft the moment was. that baritone voice laced with tenderness whispering sweet praises, like dipped in honey while his body provided you pleasure in impeccable ways. hitting that sweet spot so perfectly, releasing intense yet fantastic ecstasy like waves coursing through your body. calloused hands roaming and groping every curve that makes your mind droopy. every touch, thrust, praise is overwhelming pleasure. you had always appreciated miguel’s care and thanked him every time, which resulted in him responding that you deserved to be treated with gentleness, every girl does. made your heart flutter every time. seven years later, he still cares the same and your heart still flutters.
using his talons to grip the edge of your panties, miguel slides them down your legs. “chinga… estás mojada, preciosa.” miguel curses at the fucking fountain between your legs. seven years later and you’re still wet for him? drives him fucking insane.
the mouthwatering sight fuels that burning desire inside him, causing him to quickly toss the discarded panties somewhere in the room as miguel gets on his knees at the edge of the bad and grab you by the thighs pulling you closer towards him. you squeal his name but miguel is too focused on your glistening folds, licking his lips in anticipation for the greatest meal that he has been dying for after what feels like an eternity. there is no time to react when miguel swiftly puts your legs over his bulky shoulders and immediately dives into your glistening pussy. yelping in surprise as his lips viscously suckles and tongue rapidly flickers your clit. one hand instinctively gripping his hair while the other does the same with the bed sheets as you throw your head back in pleasure. the alternation of him sucking and flickering your sweet bundle of nerves causes intense waves of ecstasy coursing through you.
“oh!~” you moan loudly, gripping tightly on those brown locks like a lifeline. “miguel!~ oh my g—” cut off by your own moaning as he continues eating you out like a damn starved man, basically making you see stars sooner than you expected.
miguel is too lost in the pretty valley between your legs to form any proper thought other than how fucking sweet you still taste after all these years. the same sweet taste that he was addicted to, his own drug. brought back memories of all the times he ate you out, which was very often. the first time is a memory still imbedded in his mind to this day. oh his life changed forever that day, nothing never tasted better than that sweet pussy of yours. that sweet, addictive essence. pretty cunt weeping and swollen in pure arousal that burned his senses. a taste that lingered on his tongue for ages and still craved for more. this moment now was like he found an oasis after suffering from eternal heat for centuries.
“fuck…” his moan vibrates against your pussy, causing you to shudder while moaning endlessly. “seven years later and you still taste fucking sweet, bebita.” his tongue feverishly swirls and flicks your precious clit, eliciting endless pretty moans and whines that makes his cock twitch. motivates him to hear more of those pretty sounds like are music to his ears. his lips give your little pearl a few sucks, making you squirm cutely, before shifting down and dipping his sinful tongue into your throbbing pussy.
a loud squeal erupts from your throat as miguel’s tongue starts penetrating you. “miguel!~” your back arches off the bed like waves as the wet muscle maneuvers that send jolts of pleasure shooting throughout your body. a chorus of moans and whines bouncing off the four walls of your bedroom.
that sweet chorus is proof he is doing it right, providing you pleasure that you deserve. it fuels his desire to continue, to make you come undone on his sinful tongue. those crimson eyes look up at your panting figure in admiration. pretty lips opened letting those heavenly sounds. pretty back arching off the bedsheets like ocean waves. pretty belly contracting due to panting. the most gorgeous angel experiencing immense pleasure above him. a sight that miguel loves. if he could stay in between your legs forever, he would and die happily.
miguel’s tongue continues fucking you mercilessly as he uses one thumb to rub your precious bundle nerves. the sudden sensation elicits a loud moan from you, almost a scream. your cute reaction puts a smile on his face. his thumb draws slow sinful circles on your sensitive clit before sliding it up and down, side to side. the way your legs tremble on his bulky shoulders makes him chuckle.
“you remember that, bebita?” he whispers against your sensitive folds as his thumb continues playing with your clit, admiring your squirming form.
god, yes you do.
he pulled that move all the time when he ate you out back in college. those slow sinful circles on your delicate bundle of nerves. his thumb slowly moving it up and down then side to side. playing with you until you’re seeing stars and forgetting everything.
only miguel could do that to you.
“brought back memories?” his thumb keep toying with your clit while admiring you. “years later and i still remember, preciosa. i still remember it all.”
memories of your time in college flooded his mind. all the nights you and him hooked up. miguel taking you back to his dorm, barely opening the door while eating each other’s faces off and hands roaming each other’s bodies. clothes spread across the floor and hard to find the next morning. the dents on the wall from the headboard repeatedly banging against it due to miguel’s powerful thrusting which earned him multiple complaints from the guys next door. your sweet scent lingering in his sheets for weeks and refusing to wash them until it completely worn off. the few bras or panties you’d forget after leaving his dorm and he’d keep in his drawer for later purposes. some miguel would give back but keep the rest. endlessly changing the bag for his trash bin due to the big amount of used condoms filling up like a mountain and didn’t want his roommates to see it. the few times you’d hook up in the shower, whether at his dorm or yours. the bathroom mirrors fogged up, moans bouncing off the tile walls of the shower. the times you two would sneak off from public events like hanging out with friends. finding a secluded spot and miguel fucking you against the wall, trying to be quiet as much as possible.
the flooding memories makes miguel’s mind hazy and cock throb terribly. but his heart also aches because all those times neither of you confessed your feelings. just two stupid kids messing around until the consequences came up. he should’ve confessed back then and maybe you’ve been together raising gabi like a family. you wouldn’t have been alone raising her and dealt with the issues you’ve been through. a ping of guilt stabs his heart but miguel shakes off the feeling away, not wanting to to ruin this passionate moment. the confession and feelings have already been addressed. this moment now is rekindling your relationship.
miguel glances at you one last time before focusing back on your fluttering folds with his tongue. drawing patterns among your wet walls that elicit more heavenly sounds from you. the more flicks of his thumb and tongue, that warm feeling in your lower belly increases and your moans become louder and pitchier. a small whine almost falls from your lips when miguel removes his thumb from your swollen clit until it’s replaced with his tongue and two fingers slip pass your soaking folds, making you moan and gasp simultaneously. you moan out his name and he gently shushes you while continuing on pleasing you.
“m-miguel- oh my- OH!—” your back arches off the bed to an insane degree, thanks to your flexibility, as his fingers reach that sweet spot inside.
the combination of his tongue flickering your clit and his fingers pumping inside you was sending you to cloud fucking nine. miguel provides passionate licks on your sensitive little pearl before suckling on it, lowly moaning at the sensation. his fingers continue pumping inside your wet sensitive walls, curling them as they repeatedly hit your sweet spot. both his fingers and tongue pick up pace, determined to make you cum. miguel knows you’re close by the increased volume of your moans, urging him to go faster and make you see the whole damn universe.
“ah~ i’m gonna— miguel, i—”
“dámelo, bebé.”
his voice dipped in lust and adoration like honey was the cherry on top. more flicks of his tongue and fingers, you finally cum with the loudest moan ever, almost like a wail. back arched off the sheets and stars in your vision as you gush all over miguel’s face. the pleasure is so intense you even squirt, which he doesn’t mind at all but enjoy it all. miguel devours all of your sweet nectar like his life depends on it. acting like a greedy little shit and he isn’t ashamed of. slurping all of your cum like there is no tomorrow. his favorite meal ever and damn does he miss it so much. seven fucking years without your sweetness is torture. obscure noises flooded the room, the wetness of your cum and miguel’s muffled groans. your thighs tremble around his head, feeling overstimulated by the never-ending pleasure he is still providing with that devious tongue of his.
“m-miguel, stop~ please~” you whine, squirming in his hold. “it’s too m-much…” if he continues, you’re for sure you’re gonna pass out from pleasure.
his greed consumed him, still savoring your sweet cum. licking and sucking every ounce, not allowing a single drop go to waste. it’s been seven fucking years, miguel ain’t wasting this moment. finally once he has his fill, miguel releases your poor sensitive pussy with a pop! and has a huge smug ass grin. oh he really enjoyed his meal and ain’t afraid to show it. his lips and chin glistening with your cum. you’re too fucked out to even open your eyes, laying there breathless and a bit overstimulated. miguel wipes his chin clean with the back of his hand and licks the leftover of your cum around his lips as he gently lifts your legs from his shoulders and hovers above you.
“are you okay?” he looks down at you concerningly with a gentle hand on your cheek, a major contrast to his lustful attitude moments ago.
you respond with a weak ‘mhm’ due to your breathlessness, eyes still closed. that man really did a number on you and hasn’t even fucked you yet.
those scarlet eyes scan over your fucked out, angelic form. eyes closed, chest heaving with a coat of sweat glistening in the moonlight, breathless, hair disheveled, thighs trembling, cunt swollen. the afterglow looks so beautiful on you.
“you’re glowing, preciosa.” he coos with a heartfelt grin on his face, caressing your cheek.
“stop it~” you whine softly, trying to turn away from him but your tried body refused to. your cheeks are already warm, now you feel like a furnace.
he always complimented you after a steamy moment and it made you flustered every time.
even now, he still does.
miguel softly chuckles at your cute flustered expression. “es la verdad,” he leans down closer towards your ear. “you’ll be glowing more soon.”
the drop in his tone makes you shiver. finally opening your eyes and looking up at him, you admire his pretty face in the dark atmosphere of your bedroom for a moment. crimson eyes filled with adoration staring down at you. remembering the old chestnut ones you adore. no matter the color of his eyes, they are still beautiful and you never get tired of admiring them. raising your arms, you cup miguel’s face with your hands and pull him closer to kiss him, which he gladly reciprocates. you can taste yourself on his tongue as the passionate kiss continues.
much to miguel’s dismay, you pull away from the kiss and he frowns a little. a soft groan almost escapes his lips as he tries chasing yours but you keep moving away. his grumpiness makes you chuckle.
“take off the suit, arañito.” a hint of seductiveness in your tone, grinning up at him.
his body shivers at that. with no hesitation, miguel’s suit disintegrates by command. revealing his muscular nude form in all its glory. a soft gasp falls from your lips at the glorious sight above you. thick muscular arms caging you in. bulky shoulders that need to be gripped. broad chest decorated in scrumptious body chair. delicious abs followed by a mouthwatering happy trail that leads down to the thing you’ve been anticipating for.
throbbing cock sprung out, tip leaking with precum. damn it looks bigger than before. well, it’s been seven years so of course it has grown. that spider DNA really did some enhancements in all accepts. staring at it makes you wonder if it’ll fit.
miguel senses your apprehension, his expression softens. “i’ll go gentle, preciosa, lo prometo.” he brings up a hand and caresses your cheek with such tenderness, hoping to ease your worries. “if you need me to stop, dime. don’t be afraid to.”
your eyes shot up back at him, seeing the soft glint in his eyes before nodding. “i know you will.” you offer a soft smile, leaning into his touch.
his heart swoons, a feeing miguel hasn’t felt in a long time. a feeling that only you could make.
miguel stares at you for a moment longer, making sure you’re truly okay with this before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss, which you gladly accept. he pulls away to position himself in between your legs. one arm holding himself above you while using the other to grip his throbbing cock in his hand. just as he aligns himself with your entrance, you strip yourself from the nightgown and toss it somewhere across the room, leaving yourself completely bare to his eyes. miguel’s breath hitches and pupils dilate drastically as those crimson eyes roam over your nude form. admiring your soft skin, stretch marks, supple breasts, perky nipples, every curve like a piece of art. you are a masterpiece.
“hermosa…” he whispers, mainly to himself but doesn’t mind that you heard him.
he can’t help it, you are utterly breathtaking and miguel isn’t afraid to admit that.
his compliment makes your cheeks warm and heart flutter. before he could properly align himself, miguel grabs a pillow and carefully slips it underneath your hips for support after softly asking you to lift them. once you’re comfortable, miguel realigns his cock with your cunt and slowly begins sliding in. a soft mewl escapes your lips as his thick length slowly slides through your warm, wet walls.
“fuck…” miguel curses, brow furrowed at the sensation of your slick cunt gripping onto him like a vice. “breathe, bebita. okay?”
you can only answer in a small mewl, trying to follow his advice but goddamn this man so big. it’s been seven years since you had him inside you and he feels a bit bigger now. will he even fit?!
the small frown on your face makes his chest ache. he’s hurting you. “i’m gonna stop.”
“no!” you quickly grip onto his bulky shoulder preventing him from moving away, leaving miguel surprised. “just give me a sec…”
“mi alma, you’re in pain. i’m stopping right now—”
“if you move right now, i’m gonna kill you.”
miguel stares down at you with a firm expression. you look back at him with the same look.
“i’m fine.” you reassure him, a sincere glint in your eyes. “it’s just… you’re… different now.”
he raises an amusing brow. “different?”
your eyes roll in annoyance. “oh shut up, you know exactly what i mean and don’t gloat about it.”
the bastard chuckles, which only fuels your annoyance and impatience. “no, preciosa, i don’t know what you mean. dime.”
that stupid smug ass grin on his handsome face.
ugh you just want to slap him.
“¡chingado, miguel!” you exclaim. “it’s been seven fucking years! of course you’re different!”
seeing you frustrated is utterly adorable. “oh so you feel a difference, huh?” his grin widens.
“ugh, yes! it’s been fucking ages since i’ve done this so that’s another thing!” you admit frustratingly, removing your hand from his shoulder.
that smug ass smirk completely wipes off his face and his expression turns more serious, eyes softened. “wait… you haven’t… been anyone since?…”
a sad sigh escapes your lips, turning your head away from him to the side concealing the embarrassment spreading across your face. “yes… i haven’t. especially with gabi, i haven’t had time to so…”
it’s true, since gabriella was born, you’ve been focused on taking care of her. no time for new romances. sure, there were a few gentle callers when your older siblings encouraged a few date nights. most were nice men but things never got serious mainly due to you rejecting afterwards and using gabriella as an excuse. which wasn’t entirely not true since she was, still is, your main responsibility. never participated in one night stands either, never liked the concept of them anyways. there wasn’t time to fulfill personal needs. for the last seven years, you’ve been focused on being a mother. perhaps now the lack of romance and pleasure is biting you in the ass now and god you never felt so embarrassed.
but besides that, your love for miguel never vanished. he still has your heart after many years. no other man could steal it the way he did. it was always him.
miguel’s eyes widen at your confession. all this time, you haven’t been with anyone but him since? seven years is a long time. you’ve actually… loved him… all this time? your heart still beats for him all this time, the same way his beats for yours? your love for him hasn’t outgrown? you truly still love him? miguel’s heart is overwhelmed with adoration for you. part of him is in disbelief because you, the woman he never stopped loving, still love him after everything you went through. never once your heart changed? it still beats for him after these many years? honestly, miguel believed you had moved on for the longest time. forgot about him and gave your heart to someone who truly deserved it, someone who wasn’t afraid to admit their feelings for you. although the thought of another man having your heart made his own ache but miguel believed you deserved a loving, caring partner. yet here you are confessing your underlying love for him all these years.
miguel allows your words to process for a moment, still hovering above you with only his tip slipped through your slick, throbbing folds. those crimson eyes meet your face, still turned away from him, and his brows frown a little in concern. he may not possess a spidey sense but he definitely senses your discomfort and wishes to fix that immediately.
“mi alma…” he calls softly, carefully bringing up a hand to caress your cheek in hopes of getting you to look back at him. “don’t feel guilty, it’s okay. i understand, i…” he grows quite for a moment, finding the right words. “i haven’t been with anyone either.”
his confession makes you turn and look back at him with surprise. “seriously?” you ask softly.
“sí…” he nods lightly, a bashful grin on his face. “there was never time for me either. always cooped up in the lab, sometimes stayed overnight.”
“miguel!” you whisper-yelled, gently nudging his shoulder as reprehending him.
his grin widens as he chuckles. “i know, i know.” he gently grabs your wrist that nudged him and give them a little kiss before resting your hand against his cheek. “some nights my coworkers and i would head to the nearest bar after work. they would try to get me drunk enough and hook me up with random women but i never did, was just never interested.”
the thought of miguel with another woman makes your stomach churn. but you can’t blame him if he wanted to since you disappeared from each other’s lives and went your own separate paths. during that time you never really thought of that possibility, only when you thought of miguel at times. but here he is reciprocating the same feelings. now both of you realize you haven’t been with other people since college, evidence of your love for each other.
the thought causes you to break into laughter, leaving a slightly confused miguel above you.
“¿qué?” miguel can’t help but crack a little smile, relishing the sweet sound of your laughter.
“sorry.” your laughter dies down, now softly chuckling while covering your eyes with a hand. “it’s just… that proves that we never really stopped thinking about each other.” you admit bashfully.
his smile widens into a toothy grin, his fangs peeking out. “no, we never did.” a soft chuckle slips passed his lips, leaning into your hand on his cheek. “and i won’t stop.” with his free hand, miguel gently removes yours that is covering your eyes. “nunca.”
there he goes again making your heart flutter. bringing up your other hand to cup his face completely, you stare up at him with a soft smile.
“me neither.”
you and miguel share a smile before colliding lips together once again. a symbol of unity.
much to your dismay, miguel pulls away for a moment. “do you still want this?” he glances down at the space between you two for emphasis.
you quickly nod, a bit too eagerly. “yes, i’m gonna fucking explode if you don’t get inside me right now.” that earns you a snort from him.
“alright, alright. i’m coming, amor.”
“oh you will for sure.”
a moment of shared laughter before settling down. after confirming you were okay one last time, miguel slowly slides through your slick walls. his thick length ever so carefully slipping through, letting you feel every inch, until he was balled deep. mouth hung open at the overwhelming stretch of his cock, a feeling you miss so damn much. a shared moan mingles in the air as your bodies connect. bulbous tip rested against your womb, making you whimper.
“¿estas bien, mi amor?” miguel softly asks, caressing your cheek as comfort.
you hum, eyes fluttering. “mueve, miguel~”
he could’ve cum from that whiney plead alone. with a staggering breath, he slowly draws his hips back before rolling them in. a slow deep thrust, making you moan and arch your back. miguel’s brows furrowed in concentration, keeping a steady rhythm to not overwhelm you. lifting himself on his strong forearms rested on each side of your head against the sheets. muscular form consuming your smaller one, clouding your vision. yours hands on his back, nails digging into the muscles that miguel adores. legs wrapped around his waist, thighs above his sturdy ones, cores connected as one. bodies moving in harmony, releasing pleasure within you both. this is the moment you and miguel have been yearning for after a very long time of separation.
miguel’s pupils dilate immensely at the sight of you underneath him, taking everything he is giving you. pretty lips shaped in an “o” shape releasing the prettiest sounds his ears have ever heard. eyes screwed shut and face contorted in pure ecstasy. back arched off the bed, gorgeous body moving in waves at each thrust he makes. it all drove miguel over the edge, creating a sense of pride coursing through his body. all those sounds and movements of ecstasy were because of him. also this the first time you’re having sex since him back in college so that also adds to his pride. all so overwhelming but miguel relishes it, causing his thrusts to increase.
“miguel!~ oh my—” you cut yourself off with a moan as his tip hits that sweet spot inside so perfectly. back arched off the bed and nails clawing his back.
your reaction makes his lips curl into a smile of pride. “qué hermosa.” miguel leans down closer, admiring your squirming form of pleasure while thrusting in your slick heat. “after seven years, you still take me so well, bebita. all this time you could’ve chosen someone else but never stop thinking about me, huh? thought about all those nights like this?” his hips thrust a bit deeper for emphasis, eliciting a gasp mixed with a moan from you. “did you, bebita?”
“y-yes i always did~” you moan shamelessly.
that inflates his pride and ego. “all those nights alone, in bed… you always thought about me, hm?” he decides to tease you a little, just like old times.
“f-fuck- yes!” a frustrated whine leaves your lips while acting like a moaning mess, causing him smile to widen before gently shushing you.
“shhh… relájate, bebé~ lo siento… ” one of his hands caresses your cheek, easing your growing frustration. “i always thought about you too.” his lips capture yours in a kiss while continuing making love, swallowing those pretty moans he loves dearly.
the air is mingled with your moans and miguel’s groans as the love-making progresses. the tip of his cock repeatedly kissing your sweet spot, driving you on edge. leaving your mind a putty mess. your hands rested on his muscular back, nails digging into his skin leaving indents and scratch marks. the burning sensation makes him hiss a little bit miguel doesn’t mind because they’ll be a reminder of you and your love for him. one of your hands slide off his back and sluggishly lands on the bed. miguel gently takes it with his own and pins it beside your head with fingers intertwined, making it more intimate.
you part away from his lips as he does a deep thrust. “oh miguel~” you moan breathlessly. head thrown back against the sheets, brows furrowed and mouth agape in ecstasy. god he feels so fucking amazing.
miguel gazes down at you with pure adoration and in his eyes. a grin tugging on his lips. “qué linda.”
in one swift motion, miguel flips you both over the bed. the sudden movement makes you gasp in surprise. if you weren’t indulging in intense pleasure right now, you would’ve smacked the back of his head as reprehending. now miguel sits up on the bed and you in his lap straddling him. you wrap your arms around his bulky shoulders, nuzzling your face into his chest as more moans spill from your lips. miguel securely holds you, one arm wrapped around your upper back and the other around your waist, as if he’s hugging you. his face buried in your hair, inhaling your sweet scent. the position is so intimate, embracing each other as you make love.
your head tips back releasing endless moans as miguel continues thrusting into your heated core, his bulbous tip angled perfectly in this position hitting that sensation spot. the intense the pleasure grows, the tighter your grip on his hair gets which miguel doesn’t mind but rather relishes it. he loved when you’d tug on his hair, it was a sign that you were feeling good. he missed that feeling, you gripping onto him in every possible way, reflecting the pleasure you were experiencing. with your head ripped back and neck exposed, miguel seizes the opportunity to plant delicate kisses on the soft skin. kissing, sucking, licking. even a little bite which makes you squeal. miguel couldn’t resist the urge to dig his fangs into your celestial skin, only just a tiny nip and that was it. he would never hurt you. only a little love bite, a reflection of his love for you. but miguel really wanted to use his fangs on you to fulfill a strange sexual fantasy of his. he knows you’ll give him shit about it later but right now he doesn’t care.
lifting away from your now hickey covered neck, miguel admires your blissful form. holding you like you’re the most delicate piece of art. witnessing you experience immense pleasure is a sight he will never ever get tired of. his beautiful angel.
“mi amor hermosa~” he coos, grinning when you let out a whimper. “qué tan hermosa~”
“miguel~” you whine softly, feeling flustered by his sweet words of affection and overwhelmed by his thick cock thrusting in and out of you.
“mírame, mi amor.”
you let out another whine in protest, already feeling too flustered to look at him but you do anyways. reluctantly opening your eyes, your blissful ones finds those scarlet orbs already looking at you filled with lust and adoration. seeing your gorgeous blown out eyes makes miguel smile lovingly.
“there’s my beautiful girl.”
the sweet endearment warms your cheeks, staring up at him with fluttering lashes before tugging him by the neck to press your lips against his.
“té quiero, miguel.” you whisper against his lips. the kind of whisper containing a sprinkle of love meant for his heart and his heart only.
and his heart was swoon with intense adoration by your soft confession. like it sealed the deal, a heart-shaped locket around your souls and forever together. never letting go of each other ever again.
“té quiero, mi alma. té quiero tanto.” he whispers in between kisses. “i never stopped loving you,” one deep thrust. “and i never will.” a much deeper one, sending you over the edge. back arched, head thrown back, moaning prettily. making him smile.
the love confessions makes the love-making more intimate, beautiful. desperately holding onto each other in a loving embrace. your nails clawing his bulky shoulders and biceps. miguel’s hands roaming over your body, worshiping you in his lap. another deep thrust from him causes your back to arch, exposing your bare chest to his hungry gaze. without hesitation, miguel dips down and captures a perky nipple with his lips, suckling it before swirling his tongue around it. eliciting more of those heavenly moans that are music to his ears. his mouth provides much affection towards your breasts as his cock continues pumping into your slick sensitive pussy.
very slowly and steadily, miguel fills you both over back in the old position, him above and you underneath. your grip on his bulky shoulders tighten when his thrusts quicken, increasing that burning sensation in your core. miguel knows it, senses it, and it motivates him to keep thrusting until you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy. utterly lost in that sweet cunt of yours, greedily sucking him in and squeezing the fuck out of him. seven fucking years and you still have a vice grip on him.
“miguel, i—” cut off by your own moan as the burning sensation in your core intensifies with each thrust, like a firework is about to combust.
“i know, bebé. i fuck—” miguel groans, brows pinched together in pleasure as he feels you clenching around him so damn tight. reaching down with a hand, miguel flicks your clit to give you more pleasure. each flick in unison of his thrusts. “cum, mi amor.” he coos when you squeal at the sudden stimulation, observing you with pure adoration.
several more flicks and thrusts, you cum beautifully with a loud moan of his name. probably the loudest moan of the night that the whole neighborhood can hear. the most beautiful moan falling those gorgeous lips, pretty back arched, head thrown back in ecstasy, your sweetness gushing over his cock. miguel savored it all, a sight meant for him and him only, forever imbedded in his mind. after a few thrusts, his hips stutter before spilling himself inside of you, hot white spurts into your womb, and pumping you full. the warm, filling sensation makes you moan softly. feeling utterly filled by him. you both remain like that while recovering from your intense highs. sweaty bodies connected. your synchronized breathing echoing in the room.
“you okay?” lifting himself by the elbows, miguel looks down at you with a concerned look. “did i hurt you?” he caresses your cheek lovingly.
you lean into his touch with closed eyes, softly humming. “no, i’m fine. just had a nice workout.”
miguel huffs, rolling his eyes but has a grin tugging on his lips. “tonta…” he leans down and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before slowly pulling out, eliciting a soft whine from you. he gently shushes you with another soft kiss then slowly rises off the bed to fetch a towel from your bathroom.
you simply lay there, allowing exhaustion to flow through your sweaty overheated body. not even a minute, you hear him come back and softly hum when you feel the fabric of the towel down your inner thighs. he’s being gentle as possible to not overwhelm you. giving your thighs tender rubs and kisses as comfort while cleaning you up. even years later, miguel is still ever so gentle with you and providing the aftercare you need. it brought you back memories from your college days. a younger version of miguel, who wore glasses, being so gentle with you and whispering the sweetest praises after a good fucking. still carries that gentleness but now as a man. a man you wholeheartedly adore.
once you’re cleaned up and cleaned himself, miguel tosses the dirty towel in the hamper and digs into your drawers for new panties. you hear the ruffling, causing your eyes to open and turn your head to the side. grinning at the hunk of a man digging through your dresser. almost laughing when he opened the wrong drawers before finding the correct one. as your lips part open to say something, your eyes detect the fresh cold water bottle on the nightstand. the sight brings a smile to your face.
always thoughtful.
once he finds a new pair of panties, miguel returns and kneels by the your side carefully slipping the new garment for you, which you deeply appreciate, then proceeds to slip into his boxers. you sit up and reach for the water bottle on the nightstand but miguel swiftly steps in and grabs it, opening it for you.
“loving the royal treatment.” you can’t help but giggle at his chivalry and he shakes his head. you definitely caught that little grin.
kneeling by your side, he brings the bottle up to your lips while his other hand is placed on your back as support. “drink, hermosa.” you so do, taking a few sips that leaves him unsatisfied. “más, mi amor.”
complying, you drink bigger sips. relishing the cool, refreshing water down your bit irritated throat from all that moaning and screaming. once you’ve drank enough that left him satisfied, miguel drank some himself while you get under the covers. he leaves the bottle on the nightstand and joins you in bed. his muscular arms scoop you up, bringing you to his chest. you softly sigh as you snuggle into his warmth that always felt comforting. his heartbeat against your ear, soothing you into a relaxed state. embracing each other in comfortable silence as the weight of tonight’s events slowly soothes down.
“did you seriously bite me?”
miguel groans embarrassingly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i knew you were gonna mention that.”
“got a biting kink?” you tease.
“it was just… in the moment.”
you snort, lightly slapping his chest. “in the moment, my ass. you definitely got a biting kink and went to town on my neck. probably gonna look like dracula bit me… oh shit, you’re basically dracula.”
miguel swiftly looks down at you with a frown, baffled that you compared him to one of the most famous gothic fictional characters. “i’m not dracula and i don’t have a biting kink.”
oh that’s a fatass lie. he does have a biting kink after attempting it on you. but of course his stubborn ass refuses to accept it, mainly due to embarrassment.
“mentiroso.” you give his chest another teasing, heartfelt slap. “pinche dracula.”
“ay por dios, mujer.”
the nickname may not be pleasing to him but hearing you laugh makes it up for it.
“i mean- i don’t mind, just don’t get too crazy or else i’m not gonna have enough foundation to cover it and gabi is gonna ask questions.”
that makes him laugh. miguel can already imagine the shit ton of questions she would ask and honestly can’t blame her. he should be more careful.
“oh, i should probably tell gabi her dad is dracula—”
“¡mujer!”
his reaction makes you laugh. lost in laughter before miguel swiftly turns you both over the bed, making you yelp as he lays on top of you with all his weight. now he’s the one laughing and you annoyed with his dumbassery. not long until you’re laughing too.
the night ended on a cute note.
the cool breeze of the night flows through you as you jump from one rooftop to another. a smirk grows on your face when the faint sounds of webs slinging from behind reaches your ears. smoothly landing one random rooftop, you silently admire the beautiful night sky when you hear a light thud and footsteps approaching from behind. that smirk turns into a smile when a certain pair of strong arms wrap around your waist and gently tug you against a solid chest.
“though you retired from this?” miguel asks, mask already disintegrated. allowing the cool night breeze flow those his dark brown locks.
you shrug nonchalantly, leaning into him while still staring at the sky. “just wanted relive old times.”
“being a pain in the ass, stealing all the time?”
“a girl gotta make a living.” another nonchalant shrug. “but it was for our little girl.”
he immediately softens the moment gabriella is mentioned, causing his arms to give you a gentle loving squeeze. “i know… but we’re better now.”
“we are…” you glance down at the pretty diamond ring on your finger, gleaming in the moonlight.
it’s been a year since you and miguel reunited. finally became a family but made it more official when you two got married a few months ago. sure, it seems like a short time getting back together but you and miguel knew you were meant for each other. no more waiting, hiding feelings, sneaking around, doing dumb shit. this time is official, the real deal. miguel continues to work at alchemax, which most of the income comes from. after the wedding, you quit your job at the diner and became a writer for a highly acclaimed fashion blog with an incredible pay. bought a beautiful house with a big ass backyard that includes a pool. the perfect place for your family to create wonderful memories together.
“we should head back.” he suggests. “we have to pick gabi from your parents early tomorrow.”
“it’ll be fine. besides, they love having her there all the time and she loves their house so it’s okay. let’s just stay here a few more minutes, please?” you look at him with fluttering lashes, knowing that he can never resist that cute pleading look.
“fine, five more minutes.” miguel mumbles, biting back a smile as he holds you closer.
the two of you silently admire the gorgeous night sky, holding each other close, relishing this cute intimate moment. bringing back memories of your black cat and spiderman days when neither of you knew of each other’s true identities. silly, fun times.
but it’s even better now you and miguel are back together, officially this time. being great parents to your precious daughter and being a happy family. a dream that you’ve longed for, now came true.
perhaps curiosity killed the cat but in a good way.
ᤢ . 𝓢ummary ♥︎ ੭ a dumb fling in college resulted in an unplanned pregnancy. miguel never knew since you ghosted him and never saw each other again. seven years later, you’ve been living a double life as a single mother and a thief, taking risks to provide for your daughter. who would’ve thought the famous spider-man you keep running into is also your baby daddy.
“gabi, you need to brush your teeth or you’re gonna be late for school again!”
“can i finish this episode of gumball first, mamá?”
“no mija, you have to get ready.”
“but mamá, por favor.”
“gabriella.” a tinge of sternness but gentle.
the seven year old pouts before rising from her chair, walking to the kitchen to place down her bowl of recent eaten cereal, and head to the bathroom. your heart aches every time you see that disappointed look on her face. it’s understandable but you all have to get a move on in the world if you wanna keep your job and not get gabriella in trouble at school.
that’s how life has been for the past seven years, you going to work and gabriella at school. well, two years of school since gabriella recently started 1st grade. it was all in a blink of an eye. remembering her very first day of school and how you cried while watching her walk to her classroom with the other kids, letting go of your baby girl into the world. remembering when she was born on a rainy afternoon. it was a family reunion when your water broke and everyone panicked. next thing you knew, a little girl wrapped in a pink blanket like a cocoon was laying in your arms. sun-kissed skin, a plethora of brown hair, and the most beautiful pair of brown eyes. you didn’t question where she got those features from. you thought of him in that moment, a shame he wasn’t there but it was your fault he wasn’t.
it was back in college, a time of exploration and experimentation. there was this boy in your biology class. soft brown hair, thickest eyebrows, sharpest cheekbones known to man, thick black rimmed glasses settled over the prettiest browns eyes and cute nose, way above the average male height, a total gym rat but the nerdiest dude ever.
miguel o'hara.
a name you never forgot.
even to this day, it still haunts you.
he was your assigned tutor since biology wasn’t your strongest subject and the last thing you wanted was to fail the class. it was a little awkward at first since you were both introverts, especially miguel because that boy barely socialized at all. kept to himself, only had one friend, rarely went out. despite being a total antisocial creature, miguel was damn smart. carried such intelligence and had a passion for science, specifically for biology. hence why he majored in that field. because of his big brain, you were able to pass the class. eventually, the tutorship turned into friendship until one night at a party where you both drank a little too much and lost your virginities to each other in the bed of some mutual friend. his calloused hands roaming your body, whispering soft praises into your ear as he slowly pumped himself in you. it was the night that changed everything.
friends with benefits is what you put it as, or a situationship. two friends who would occasionally fuck. neither you or miguel considered officially being together yet the feelings taunted you both like a virus. you weren’t his girlfriend but damn did you feel like it. it was a fucking mess of mixed signals. miguel being so sweet and caring towards you yet felt so distant at the same time. in public, you put on a show of a simple friendship. but behind closed doors, his cock was shoved deep inside of you and made sure you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. at the time, you didn’t think of it as much. you and miguel still maintain your friendship while hooking up. despite the feelings you harbor for each other.
until the consequences caught up.
it was a week before graduation when you found out you were pregnant. that morning you shed so many tears, your roommate xina was worried when she found you balling your eyes out in the bathroom. despite her words of comfort, you still felt like shit. she knew of you and miguel, although she did warned about this stupid situationship but of course your dumbass didn’t listen. now it was biting you in the ass. a harsh slap in the damn face. but the unplanned pregnancy wasn’t the only worst thing.
a weeks ago, miguel mentioned he got an internship at alchemax, a company he’s been dying to join. you never witnessed so much enthusiasm and happiness in those pretty brown eyes when he told you. he was so genuinely happy, your heart fluttered with joy. you were happy for him. he already had his life planned after college and you didn’t want to ruin that. just imagine you’re about to start your life then a bombshell of an unexpected pregnancy comes out and now you can’t achieve your dreams? you didn’t have the heart to tell him. you couldn’t do that to him because you loved him too much to hurt him.
so you made the worst decision of your life.
you never told miguel about the pregnancy.
instead, you ghosted him right after graduation. during that last week of school, you avoided him at all cost. ignored the numerous texts, calls, voicemails that blew up on your phone. every time you stared at his name on the screen and never answered, a piece of your heart broke. avoiding him on campus was hard. the numerous times xina told you when miguel was looking you, the sad look on his face when she told him she hadn’t seen you shattered your heart more. it hurt so fucking bad to ignore the man you loved. yes, you did loved miguel. you gave him your heart and the idiot didn’t even know.
the fucked part was that you never knew he was looking for you during graduation. the moment everyone tossed their caps in the air, you walked out of the stadium with tears running down your cheeks and a broken heart. since there was hundreds of students, it was impossible to find you in a sea of people wearing that same damn thing. you didn’t know how desperate miguel was searching for you. you didn’t know how heartbroken he was when miguel never found you and figured out you blocked him on everything when he tried to call you.
you never saw each other again.
it was the worst summer of your life. pregnant and unsure whether to keep it or not. after many serious conversations with your parents, you decided to keep it. with the support of your family, you were going to be okay. however, of course they weren’t happy when you first told them about the pregnancy. oh the look of murder on their faces when you told them miguel was the father, you knew he would’ve been way under than six feet in the ground. don’t be mistaken, they were pissed at you too for being irresponsible and not telling miguel. the sad thing is that your parents liked miguel, a good young man. they even thought you two would get married someday. but unfortunately that never came true.
that first year after college was fucking rough. it was actually an okay pregnancy, it was just the fact you were pregnant and couldn’t start your life the way you imagined it months ago. eventually, life went on and you had your beautiful baby girl gabriella. the greatest gift you could ever received. until she was three, you had been living with your parents while looking for jobs and have someone take care of gabi. you did manage to find a secretary position for some company that paid well enough to the point of you moving out and getting place of your own. unfortunately, that ended horribly when the CEO of the company was exposed for having multiple sexual relations with employees and gambling issues. losing that job heavily effected you and gabriella. it was terrible to the point of almost getting evicted but in the nick of time you found another job you have now, waitress at a diner. significantly lower pay than your previous job but you took what you could get and pay those damn bills and provide for gabriella.
however, the waitress pay was still not enough to support you both. there wasn’t much alternative options, it was both frustrating and a struggle. endless nights of silent tears trailing down your cheeks, desperately trying to find a better job while gabriella was sleeping in her room. you felt like a terrible mother, not doing enough for your daughter. all you wanted is to give her a good childhood, grow up in a safe and loving environment. you were doing everything you could for her, even if costed your mental health. a parent would do anything for their child. so, you decided to take a risk.
there were local jewelry stores around, owned the most prettiest elegant pieces. during nights when gabriella was babysat by your parents or a neighbor, you slip into black latex suit and sneak off to the jewelry shops. thanks to the two years of gymnastics when you were a kid, you were pretty flexible and swift through the city effortlessly. being stealthy was natural to you, it was easy to break in and steal whatever jewelry you could snatch. you knew this was bad, you knew you were committing a crime. all of your life, you were a good decent person. held good morals and never indulged in bad habits. well, besides getting knocked up in college. until you’re left with no options, you had to make a sacrifice. you were a mother now, you had to do it for the sake of your daughter. no matter what.
that’s how you became the infamous black cat.
a hardworking single mother by day, a thief by night.
it’s been like this for a few years and you’ve yet to be caught. it is the reason why you’ve been able to remain living in the same apartment and have food on the table for your little family. you also got a dog, weiner dog cocker spaniel mix named bella. since gabriella is often alone and didn’t have anyone to play with at home, a dog seemed like the best option. besides, you’ve always wanted a dog. gabi loves bella so much, always playing together. laughter and squeals echoing throughout the apartment as bella happily chases gabi. a sight that melts your heart. your perfect little family that you love dearly.
“gabi! let’s go, mija!”
you hear little footsteps running, making you smile. “i’m here!” gabriella runs in with her backpack.
“here’s your lunch.” you hand her monster high lunchbox that matches her backpack.
“gracias, mama! did you put the gummies in there?”
“i did, just remember to eat it after your quesadillas, okay?” you cup her cheek.
“yes, mama.” she nods, smiling brightly.
you smile back before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “bien, let’s put our shoes on.”
“bye, bella! i’ll miss you!” gabi crouches down to hug the dog after putting on her twinkle toes. she started learning to tie her shoes on her own, smart girl.
you kiss bella goodbye before heading out the door with gabi holding your hand. exiting the apartment building, you make it to gabi’s bus stop where other kids are waiting with their parents as well.
“you have a good day, mija. te quiero mucho.” you crouch in front of her, holding her tiny hands in yours.
“te quiero, mamá. bye!” you gave her a final kiss on the forehead before letting her run off to the bus, babbling with her friends as she gets on.
once she finds a seat, she looks at you and happily waves goodbye through the window. you wave back at her with a smile as the bus begins taking off. you briefly greet some of the parents with a gentle smile then head to your car and drive to work.
luckily it was friday, meaning gabriella is staying at your parents for the weekend along with her cousins. they wanted to spend time with all their grandkids. that means you and your siblings get to be kid-free. honestly, it’s a win-win situation. which also means another night of jewelry shopping, just not spending. once the moon is shinning so beautifully in the sky and most of nueva york is asleep, you slip into your iconic black latex suit. a small mask to cover the upper half of your face, exposing your nose and glossy lips. white gloves with fake nails, emphasizing the cat part of your name. a silver wig to conceal your true hair as a cherry on top. with one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you escape through your bedroom windowsill and venture into the night.
the night sky looks beautiful as always. the shimming moonlight illuminating the city. the cold breeze hitting your face as you jump from rooftop to rooftop. the distant beeps and sirens ring in your ears. in your beg, a diamond set worth thousands of dollars was your prized possession tonight. this will cover definitely expenses for months. maybe you finally buy that boujee ass dollhouse gabi has been wanting for weeks. maybe treat yourself a trip to the spa after all the reckless working you’ve been doing.
“give it back, gatita.”
ah shit, you know that heavy ass voice.
it was only a matter of time before he showed up.
turning around, you see that familiar red and dark blue figure. spider-man, the famous hero of nueva york. it was only a year ago when he started his whole charade. a strange man clad in a red and dark blue suit with spider abilities. stopped major catastrophes and saved hundreds of lives. the public praised him for his heroic efforts. the police were first skeptical, considered him a vigilante but later on referred to him as a hero to the city. his impact is so significant to the city, there’s a whole damn national holiday dedicated to him as thank you for his service. on halloween, the streets are filled with kids dressed up as him. spider-man is the town’s savor.
the first time you met him was during a jewelry trip and he caught you. but of course with your stealthy and seductive antics, you were able to escape. you never realized how tall he was until he was standing up close to you. the man is a fucking skyscraper, practically almost 7 feet tall and insanely buff as hell. the man is a pure greek god. but what really caught your attention was that handsome voice. every time you hear him, a shiver goes down your spine. a good shiver, to be exact. he sounds so attractive, you’ve always wondered who is underneath that glowing mask. but something about him feels so… familiar. his presence reminds you of someone, someone you haven’t seen in years. that familiarity has always struck you but you can’t pinpoint it.
ever since your first encounter, he’s been catching you but ultimately fails. you can’t help but secretly love when he shows up. a rush of excitement flows through your veins every time his attractive voice reaches your ears and find him standing there. but what you love the most is teasing the poor spider. oh you adore how fluster he gets when you gently brush a hand against his broad chest, abs, arms. although he’s wearing a mask, you know his face is burning. arch your back a little extra when you accidentally drop something. let out soft noises while stretching, showing off your latex suit. anything to tick him off and it works every time. you just love messing with him. it’s been like this for several months now.
“what took you so long, arañito? thought you died or some shit.” you tease, tilting your head a little with a pout on your lips, pretending to be sad.
“your life would be boring then.” he approaches with hands on his hips. “dame la bolsa.”
“well, someone forgot his manners.” you tease. “how rude… your mother would be disappointed.”
spiderman groans frustratingly, rubbing the temples of his forehead through the mask. “no me jodas, gatita. dame la pinche bolsa or else—”
“or else what? gonna tie me up in your pretty webs?”
“if i have to.”
damn, he might consider it. not to mention how his tone went down a pitch, more seductively. that sends another shiver of anticipation down your spine.
your eyes light up in amusement. “oh… bondage, huh? okay, i’m down for that~” you giggle when he runs a hand over his face, obviously flustered.
“por dios, mujer. just give me the—” he attempts to snatch the small black bag from your hand but you swiftly move out of his way with a twirl.
“lo siento, arañito pero mamí has to feed her kittens so… muchos besitos~”
just as you blow him a kiss and about to make a run for it, a large hand catches your wrist that holds the bag. eliciting a yelp from you when you’re suddenly yanked to his chest. one hand holding firmly against him and the other holding the bag away from you.
“you’re not escaping this time, gatita.”
you try to push him away by the chest but of course it doesn’t do shit since the man is heavy like a fucking tank. “suéltame, cabrón.”
“push and punch all you want, gatita, but you’re not going anywhere this time.” his grip on your waist tightens as you squirm in his hold. an annoyed groan escapes his lips when you continue fighting. “stop fighting, it’s not gonna help you.”
“those diamonds are gonna help me if you give them back.” you continue squirming.
“not happening, i’m sure your kittens will be fine while your ass sits in a jail cell.”
suddenly, panic invades your body like a plague. gabriella comes through your mind. “no! my daughter, you asshole! i need them for my daughter!” now you’re really panicking, punching and kicking him. you can’t go to jail, abandon your child. you can’t leave gabriella alone, live without her mother.
spiderman looks down at you with shock, the eyes of his mask widens. “daughter?… you have a daughter?…” his grip on you loosens. “you’re a mother?…” he sounds so speechless, shocked.
you finally get the chance to escape his hold and angrily push him away by the chest, making him stumble a little. “yes, i am a mother and yes i have a daughter! if you don’t give me the damn bag—”
“why does your daughter need diamonds?”
a frustrated groan escapes your lips. your patience is wearing thin. “goddamnit! i need to sell them for money so i can provide for my daughter, alright?!”
for once, spiderman is speechless. he simply states down at you in complete silence. a shame that he wears a mask so you can’t tell his expression.
“you’ve been struggling?… financial issues?”
“in this shitty ass economy, yes. my job isn’t enough so i have to make a little extra money just to keep up with rent and other expenses.”
he goes silent for a moment, glancing down at the small bag in his hand then back at you. “this is why you’re doing this… to help your family.”
you sigh sadly, shoulders sagging. “ugh yes, alright? i do this shit for her. chingado, why the hell am i telling you about my personal issues?” you turn away, feeling the frustration bubbling up inside you.
why the hell are you explaining your financial issues to spiderman? he’s not your goddamn therapist. the son of a bitch is about to take you to jail. you really think he is gonna understand? highly doubtful. you fucked up real good this time.
another silent pause between you two. only the distant car beeps and sirens keep the air busy.
“just forget it and take me away already—” you’re cut off when you feel you’re hand being raised up and the small black bag is in your grasp. your brows furrowed in confusion as you look up him. “what are—”
“take it before i change my mind.”
your frown deepens. “why the change of heart? you were literally about to throw my ass in jail.”
“i won’t let a child lose their mother.” he sighs quietly, shoulders slightly slouched. “look, i understand why you do this. you’re struggling and out of options, you’re just trying to help your daughter.”
now, you’re the one who’s speechless. suppose he is understanding and that surprises your for some reason. yet nevertheless, you’re grateful.
“well um… thank you… for being understanding.” you say awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.
“i know i’m overstepping here but… is it just you?”
you nod, still not looking. “yeah… just me and her. the father isn’t in the picture.”
god, it feels awkward talking about this. especially with the goddamn hero of the city.
“i’m sorry… he must’ve been an ass.”
“oh um no… he actually doesn’t know.”
“oh…”
awkward silence. yeah, totally should just dip.
“well… what you’re doing is still wrong but i understand that a parent should do anything for their child.” from your peripheral, he takes a step closer.
finally, you look back at him. taken aback by how close he is. “so all i had to do was say i have a daughter and you would’ve let me off the hook?”
spiderman scoffs and shakes his head, definitely rolling his eyes under the mask. “no, i— chingado, leave before i change my mind.”
you can’t resist a giggle. “well, muchas gracias spidey. didn’t think you were the sentimental type but i appreciate it.” you offer a wink before walking away towards the ledge. “adiós, arañito.” you blow a final kiss at him then jump off with a backflip.
your perspective of spiderman changed tonight.
perhaps he isn’t all that bad and annoying.
you and gabriella have a shopping day. you visit one of stores that she likes and buy a few new clothes for her. with the recent money you’ve made from that diamond set, you decided to treat yourself and your daughter a shopping spree. you’re in the middle paying for the clothes when gabriella sees a cute dog walking by, causing her to let go of your hand and run outside the store to chase after the dog.
“gabriella!” you quickly pay the clothes, thank the cashier, grab the bag, and rush out the door.
gabriella is too focused on the dog when she accidentally runs into someone, knocking her off balance until the stranger catches her by the arm.
“whoa- you okay, chiquita?”
the little girl looks up to find a very tall man with brown eyes and hair, dressed in a simple white sweater and gray sweats.
“oh, sorry mister! i didn’t mean to hurt you!”
the man softly chuckles as he crouches to match her eye level. “it’s okay, chiquita. don’t worry about it.” his eyes briefly glance behind her searching a potential parent. “where’s your parents? are you—”
“gabriella!”
both of them turn to see you rushing towards them until you suddenly stop when you recognize the man who your daughter bumped into. suddenly, your whole body is frozen. everything around is a blur and in slow motion. heart dropped to your stomach and panic invades your veins like a virus. the bag of clothes almost slips out of your hand.
“miguel…?”
it can’t be… the boy you loved from college stands before you. the boy you haven’t seen in seven fucking years is standing right there in flesh next to your daughter, the very same daughter you had with him and doesn’t know about.
oh my god…
he looks so… different yet the same. more muscular, no more glasses, older. he’s not that boy from your biology class, he is a full blown man. god, he still looks handsome. even more now, dear lord.
after 7 years, you see miguel for the first time.
miguel, on the other hand, is as speechless as you are. utterly dumbfounded and shocked to see the girl he fell in love with from college standing in front of him. even after seven years, you still look beautiful. you were always beautiful. fuck, you look like a goddamn angel. especially in that pretty sundress you’re wearing. suddenly, his heart beats faster.
you’re… here. you’re actually here… standing in front of him like an angel. this very moment is the one miguel has been dreaming for so long. so damn long that it’s unbelievable. he hasn’t seen you since college, seven fucking years ago. he hasn’t seen your angelic face since, his heart aches at that realization. all this time miguel has been wondering what happened to you. the memory of you blocking him on everything after graduation makes his heart ache immensely, an unsettling feeling in his chest. even after years, he still wonders why you did. your sudden disappearance left a deep hole in his heart, an area that hasn’t been repaired since until this moment.
he softly calls out your name like you did with his, shock and surprise laced in his tone.
“it’s really you…”
god, his voice… that rich, handsome voice-
“mamá.”
both of you snap out of trance and look at gabriella, who is confused by the situation. realization kicks you in the ass that your daughter is awkwardly standing between you and her father, who neither know of each other’s existences.
“i said sorry to the man for bumping into him.” the little girl explains, pouting.
honestly, you don’t care she bumped into him although you appreciate her polite apology. but the fact it’s miguel is what your mind focuses on.
“it’s okay, mija. let’s just go home, okay?”
miguel observes the interaction, slightly confused about the little girl you’re talking to. is she your little sister? but you’re the youngest in your family, your parents stopped after having you. maybe she’s a younger cousin? but none of your cousins live in nueva york. that only confuses him more, causing him to frown a little. who is this little girl? but then his ears catch the ‘mija’ and his eyes widen in shock.
wait… this little girl is your daughter?
you have a daughter?
you’re a mother?
that is what happened these past 7 years? you ghosted his ass after college then turn out to be a mother to a daughter who seems about that old. the girl does appear to be 6 or 7 years old.
wait… that’s…
miguel concentrates on you and your supposed daughter, but mainly on the little girl. brown hair and eyes, sun-kisses skin, oddly familiar nose.
hold on… that is very familiar.
he has those traits.
oh shit… oh no, no, no, no, no.
there is no fucking way it’s possible… but now really looking at the girl, she looks so similar. way too fucking similar to him. holy fuck…
you briefly sneak a glance at miguel and recognize the shock illustrated on his face.
oh no…
fuck, you and gabi need to leave before miguel figured it out. that’s your biggest nightmare.
he can’t know, he can’t know.
you need to leave now.
“let’s go, gabi.” you take her hand in yours, just about to turn and bolt the fuck out of here.
“wait!” miguel calls out.
you don’t even answer back and continue walking with gabriella by your aide, feeling your heart pounding immensely with anxiety.
“mamá, that man is talking—”
“i know but we need to leave.” you try to not lash at your daughter despite the anxiety bubbling inside and consuming every inch of your body.
“espera, por favor!” miguel pleads, walking by your side. “just please—”
you shake your head, too afraid to look back at him while trying to escape. “no, please.”
he calls out your name again, a bit louder, and reaches out a hand to grab your arm.
“don’t touch my mama!” gabriella shouts as she slaps off his hand from your arm, making miguel wince and back off immediately.
you turn around in shock by your daughter’s erratic behavior, stopping in your tracks. “gabi—”
“leave my mama alone!” the little girl yells, standing in front of you to defend you from the man.
those mahogany eyes widen in shock, fear. miguel immediately backs away, hands in the air surrendering. panic flowing through his veins. “i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt your mama.” he panics while the girl stares daggers at him. truthfully, he never meant to hurt you in any way. he would never, ever. he can’t blame your daughter’s frustration.
unfortunately, the mini chaotic scene captured many eyes which only made it worse.
you let out a quiet sigh. “vamos, gabi.” taking her hand in yours, you bolted without bothering to spare a final glance at miguel or give him a chance to speak. you just want to go home and forget.
but ever since then, you’ve been a panicky mess.
miguel found out.
you know it.
that look in his eyes, the way they widen. it was a look of realization and disbelief.
you can’t let him find you and gabriella. fuck, you should’ve known staying in nueva york was a stupid idea knowing miguel still lives there too. honestly, you didn’t think he still did since it’s been a long time. however, it was only a matter of time before you run into him and the truth spills out. panic has been plaguing your body for days, taking a toll on you. extra jumpy, shaky hands, rapid beating heart, constantly checking your surroundings making sure miguel isn’t there. you aren’t afraid of him, no, you believe he’s still the same sweet guy before. strange part of you knows he would never hurt you. you always knew that. you’re just afraid of his reaction.
gabriella has noticed your panicky state. she may only be seven years old, but she is smart. occasionally asks if you’re okay, what’s wrong, why are you acting scared. those questions stung deeply in your heart. panic has consumed you entirely that your own seven year-old daughter notices and is worried about you. oh your sweet baby girl. she loves her mama very much and it melts your heart. but what hurts more is lying to her about it. you explain it was stress about work. truthfully, you are stressed out but for completely different reasons. it’s unsure how long these lies will be satisfying enough for.
now, you’re heading to work. the clicking of your heels hit the concrete as you pass multiple people, adjusting the skirt of your waitress uniform. despite the anxiety coursing through your veins at the thought of miguel finding you, life doesn’t stop. perhaps being at work would takes your mind off it.
until your name is called by a familiar voice.
your body froze the moment you recognize that voice, swiftly turning around to find the very man you have been avoiding and scared to run into. miguel is quickly approaching you and you don’t hesitate to walk away as quickly as possible, panicking a little.
“wait!” he calls out, trying to not knock out passing individuals while catching up to you.
you continue speed-walking, even in those heels as much as they allow you to. adrenaline pumping through your veins, heart beating frantically.
you have to get away. you can’t let him catch up to you, can’t let him get you. you can’t face him.
“espera, por favor!” due to his long legs, miguel is able to catch up to you quickly and gently grabs one of your wrists. “please, don’t walk—”
you turn around with a gasp and yank your wrist from his grasp. “¡suéltame!”
miguel says your name pleadingly and raises his hands cautiously, afraid to touch you again. “just please… i need to talk to you.”
you shake your head, turning around to leave. “no, just please leave me alone.” a gasp escapes your lips as you stumble on one heel then a strong arm wraps around your torso and catches you.
“cuidado, amor.” miguel is right at your side, his arm wrapped securely around your torso and carefully helps you stand properly. standing in front of you with now both hands on your waist. “you okay?”
his touch makes your mind dizzy and ignite your skin. oh you haven’t felt his touch in so fucking long, seven long years and damn you miss it so much. those calloused hands holding you gently, caressing your skin with such gentleness. those strong arms wrapped around you securely, always made you feel safe. even years later, there is no other pair of arms you would rather be in than miguel’s. and god, did he miss having you in his arms. holding you so delicately, right where you belong. like you are meant to be him his arms, even after all these years.
your eyes hesitantly meet his and suddenly you’re lost in trance. both your bodies pressed against each other, miguel’s muscular figure against your smaller one. those hands calloused hands holding your waist as if you’re the most precious thing in his grasp. heavy breaths hitting each other faces well, his hitting your forehead and your against his chest due to the height difference. utterly hypnotized by each other’s eyes, filled with a lovesick glint. memories of college invades both your minds. flashbacks of a younger version of you and miguel secretly in love with each other, standing the same position with smiles plastered on your faces. a nasty wave of nostalgia coursing through you both.
you’re so lost in trance that you don’t realize one of miguel’s hands caressing your cheek. the same way he uses to do when you were, unofficially, together. the ache in your heart at the memory makes you snap out of it and back away from his hold.
“i-i have to go…” you avert your gaze from his, afraid you’ll get lost in them again.
miguel stops you with holding out a cautious hand, a pleading look on his face. “por favor… just please, amor… just for a minute. that’s is all i ask.”
god, he is killing you. that pleading tone never fails to make your knees weak, even years later.
reluctantly, you close your eyes with a slow head shake. “no, miguel… i can’t. i’m sorry, i have to go.” you try walking past him but miguel blocks your path, beginning to feel frustrated.
“not until you talk to me first.” he looks down at you with a serious look and slightly furrowed brows.
now you’re getting a little agitated. “there’s nothing to talk about, miguel. alright?”
miguel watches you try slipping past around him with a frown, following you. “what the hell do you mean there’s nothing to talk about?! i haven’t seen you in seven years and you think there’s nothing to talk about?! estas loca, huh?!”
“just leave me alone, miguel! forget it!”
unfortunately, the heated aggressiveness was drawing eyes from several bystanders.
“forget it?! you think i can just forget never seeing you for seven years and believing you were gone all this time only to find out you’re still here?!
“UGH! just stop it!” you continue walking away, frustration boiling in your veins.
“just tell me!”
you whirl around with bloodshot eyes. “STOP IT!”
a sudden explosion erupts from a bank a few blocks away. a sudden puff of smoke explodes into the air, breaking the glass windows sending shattered pieces flying, then followed by bursting flames. the ground shook underneath, causing you to fall with a scream. arms covering your head from the shattered glass. smoke fills your lungs and eyes immediately, coughing it out as you slowly look up to see what’s going but a sharp pain in your right ankle makes you whimper. looking down at your injured ankle, there is a small shard of glass inside. small trails of blood slowly flow down, decorating your ankle in red. while whimpering in pain, you suddenly feel a pair of strong arms wrapped around you.
“are you okay?!” miguel panics, eyes widen with pure fear as they trace over your figure searching for any injuries. hands gripping onto you tightly as if he’s terrified to let you go. he spots your injured ankle and the small streaks of blood trailing down. “fuck!”
fuck, you’re hurt. shit, shit, shit. he needs to get you to the hospital quick. he only just found you after so long, no fucking way he’s losing you now.
miguel doesn’t hesitate to carefully pick you up in his arms and carry you in bridal style. the painful whimpers you let out make his heart ache immensely, like multiple stabs. he almost fucking cries. fuck, he can feel the tears stinging in his eyes.
“i know, i know, lo siento…” he presses soft kisses against your forehead as miguel quickly rushes to the nearest hospital with all of his fucking might, thanks to his spider abilities. “lo siento, lo siento, mi alma…”
soon, he manages to find the nearest hospital. the doctors and nurses were a bit anxious to a very panicky, frustrated man built like a god carrying an injured you in his arms and barking at them to help you. if you were not in pain, you would’ve told miguel to calm down. he’s always been a dramatic man, overprotective of you. even years later without seeing each other, he still strongly cares for you. it warms your fragile heart. luckily, one nurse offered and quickly lead you both to the nearest room. a close call for security was made after miguel heavily refused to leave the room after the doctor and nurses told him so they could help you without distractions. he couldn’t leave you. he even threatened to punch the poor doctor, who is only trying to do his job, before he was given a final warning by one nurse. very reluctantly, miguel finally leaves the room by slamming the door on his way out. but not before giving you one last glance making sure you were fine.
while you were getting patched up, miguel paces back and forth outside in the hall. one hand resting on his hip and the other running down his face in frustration. heart pounding in his chest, anxiety flowing through his veins. never has he been so scared in his life. seeing you all scared, in pain, tears in those gorgeous eyes he loves, it fucking killed him. all miguel can think about is you and how badly he wants to rush inside to know if you’re okay. no, he needs to know how you’re doing but the doctor hasn’t come out to say anything yet. the longer he waits, the more worried he gets. normally, miguel is a patient man. but when it comes to you, that shit flies out the window. okay, terrible pun but point still stands. all miguel cares about is you. never has he stopped, even after seven years, he still does.
he will always care for you.
after several more minutes, the doctor comes out and informs miguel that you’ll be okay. a huge wave of relief courses through his entire body. he profoundly thanks the doctor and nurses for their assistance then quickly heads inside, desperate to see you. the relief truly hits when he sees you laying on the hospital bed, back rested against the pillows as support and ankle wrapped with a bandage.
“hi.” you whisper with a soft smile, the same one that always melts his heart.
the first time he sees that smile in seven years.
a smile miguel never forget.
“hey,” he mirrors your smile as he takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. “how are you feeling?” a bit of concern laced in his tone.
“i’m fine, it didn’t tear anything major and only needed a few stitches. should heal in a few days.”
he slowly nods, understanding. “that’s great.” those mahogany eyes land on your hand resting at your side. the urge to reach out and hold your hand consumes him but miguel isn’t sure if you’d like that. so, reluctantly, he decides against it.
a small silence fell between you two before you spoke again. “the doctor and nurses were a little nervous. i mean, being pressured by a man built like a damn god wasn’t exactly helpful. especially almost calling security.” you softly chuckle.
he scoffs with an eye roll. “you were bleeding, i wasn’t gonna leave you alone in here.”
“i wasn’t bleeding to death, miguel. it was only a little, nothing serious.”
“ni modo,” he shakes his head, not pleased with you brushing it off easily. “i’m not gonna lose you again.”
a huge silence falls in between you two. the tension that has been lingering since the day you reunited weighs heavily, like an anchor suddenly dropping. the silence was painful and the tension was dreadful. a conversation both you and miguel have been afraid of to discuss. the moment you’ve been dreading since you reunited with him. anxiety invades both your bodies. sitting there fiddling with your hands in your lap, miguel looking down at his own with an anxious expression illustrated on his face. it was only a matter of time until you had to tell him the truth, to tell him he’s s a father. you’ve never been so afraid, more than giving birth to gabriella all those years ago, more than finding out you were pregnant. confronting the truth is the scariest thing ever.
miguel looks up at you and notices your anxious expression. the way you fiddle with your hands, a habit you’ve had since you were a kid. he knew because you told him once during a tutoring session after he noticed it. he knew you, even seven years later. he always noticed everything about you. especially the anxious look on your angelic face. miguel has never seen you so nervous and it worries him. the strong urge to comfort you consumes him.
very slowly, he reaches out a hand for yours as he leans a bit closer towards you. “mi alma, i—”
“¡mamá!”
the sudden burst of the door opening makes miguel quickly pull back as he watches your daughter rush into the room and immediately hugs you.
“mama! are you okay?!” gabi cries, hugging you tightly. “i was so scared!”
you embrace her tightly, softly shushing her. “i’m okay, mi amor. i’m okay, i’m sorry for scaring you.” a hint of guilt squeezes your heart.
you feel her shake her head. “it’s okay, i know you didn’t mean it, mama. i was just scared you got hurt.”
oh your sweet baby. heart heavily swelled with love. “i was scared too but i’m okay.” you slowly pulling back away but keep gabi close, gently holding her arms. “it was just a little scratch from glass, nothing bad.” you gingerly wipe her tiny tears.
gabi nods before noticing the man sitting beside you, realizing it’s the same mean man who was bothering you the other day. the smile on her face dies and is replaced with a frown. “why is the mean man here?”
miguel’s eyes widen in concern at the little girl staring daggers at him. he was too in awe at the cute moment between you and your daughter to realize that she’s still mad at him for the way he mistreated you a few days ago. how protective she was of you and yelled at him in front of people. he can’t blame her though. she just wants to protect her mother and that is admirable for a seven year old.
“he saved me, mija.” you reassure her, causing both gabriella and miguel to turn to you with wide eyes which makes you giggle but squeezes your heart. the same expression, like twins. “he saved me from the accident and got me to the hospital super fast.”
gabriella’s expression is a mixture of surprise and confusion, like she couldn’t actually believe the same mean man saved you. “really…?”
you softly laugh at her expression, nodding. “yes mija, he saved me and i’m very thankful for him for helping me.” you spare a brief glance at miguel, who continues staring at you with wide eyes before his expression softens and offers a small smile.
the same damn smile that made your heart flutter.
gabi slowly turn her gaze from you to miguel. not giving him a death stare anymore but a little smile instead. “thank you, mister… for saving my mama.”
his broad shoulders deflated in relief. she isn’t mad at him anymore. “of course, chiquita. i know how much your mama means to you.” miguel softly smiles.
for the first time, gabi genuinely smiles at him and, oddly enough, that warms his heart immensely. yours too because that’s when you realized.
this is the first time they smile at each other.
a sight you never thought you would live to see. another painful squeeze to your heart.
before any of you could say anything else, your parents come rushing in with a million times worse worried expressions on their faces.
“mija! ay dios mio, we were so worried! when we got the call and the doctor told us everything, we—”
your mother stops as she and your father stop dead in their tracks the moment they see miguel sitting beside you. the very same miguel who was the sweet boy from your bio class that tutored you, visited during weekends, treated him like family. the same miguel who got you pregnant and left you alone to deal with raising a baby, even though was your fault for never telling him. he never knew and they never blamed him but he got you pregnant nevertheless.
your parents arrival and your dad’s extremely pissed off expression causes miguel to swiftly stand on his feet, making the chair screech against the floor. he addresses them with respect, hands behind his back. “it’s great to see you again—”
“¿por qué este güey esta aquí?” your father asks curtly, glaring at miguel.
“papá—” you warn him.
“mi amor, ya.” your mother calms her husband down, gently patting his shoulder. “gabi esta aquí.” she whispers in a warning tone.
your father, reluctantly, backs offs because he knows your mom is right. the last thing any of you want is to create drama in front of gabriella.
your parents look back at you.
“pobrecita, mi niña.” your mother coos, gently cupping your face and gives your forehead a kiss. “the doctor told us everything and you were going to be fine pero you’re sure you’re okay?”
“sí, mamá, i’m fine. i’ll heal soon.”
“gracias a dios.” your parents said in unison.
“we should thank him, too!” gabriella chirps in, pointing at miguel with a bright smile. “he saved mama and got her to the hospital!”
your parents turn and look at miguel in surprise. he just as surprised as they are but because your daughter gave him credit for helping you. your parents share a glance then look at miguel.
“you did?” your dad questions.
“sí, señor.” miguel said politely, nodding. “i brought her here as fast as possible.”
his answer seemed to satisfy them both. mainly because they know much of a good man he is and how much he deeply cares for you, even still to this day, that miguel will do anything for you.
“gracias, mijo,” your mom offers an appreciative smile. “for helping our daughter, we’re grateful.”
“siempre, señora.” miguel smiles in return. “anything for her.” he means it with all his heart.
they know it, so do you.
the ongoing screams from outside reminds him that the perpetrator is still on the loose. the city needs their spider vigilante. now that you’re safe, miguel can go fulfill his heroic duties.
“i’ll uh… leave you be.” miguel clears his throat as he makes his way towards the door.
“miguel.”
your soft voice makes him stop by the door, looking back at you. eager to what you have to say.
“thank you.” you say softly.
it makes his heart flutter. miguel offers a small nod, eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before finally walking out of the room, leaving you be with your family. he exits the hospital and finds a hidden alleyway. with a few taps on his gizmo, his spider suit replaces his normal clothes and miguel swings away to save nueva york from another threat.
after a while, your ankle healed completely and you’re already back on black cat duties. effortless cartwheels and flips over rooftops in the night. it feels amazing to be back in latex and shifting through the beautiful night after being cooped up in your apartment barely doing anything. one of your neighbors, a nice elderly lady, offered to take gabriella to her bus stop since you couldn’t walk with a damaged ankle and you thanked her tremendously. your boss was kind enough to give you recovery time and it wouldn’t affect your pay. you hadn’t seen miguel much since the hospital. he didn’t have any way of contacting you anyways, no address given or no phone number. but you knew in your heart he was looking for you, thinking of you, and wanted to know if you were okay. you hoped to run into him soon.
another gig at a different jewelry store. this one has more diamonds accessories which means more money. while jumping from rooftop to rooftop, faint grunts and shouts reached your ears which makes you stop in your tracks. following the sound, you find a secluded alleyway where a huge fight takes place. appears to a gang of criminals, six guys against one individual clad in familiar hues of red and dark blue.
spiderman.
he seems to be whooping their asses. let’s be real, nobody has a fucking chance with a guy who is freakishly tall and insanely buff like a fucking god. even if it’s a whole damn army, their asses will be on the ground before any could get the chance to take a swing at him. there is even rumors that spiderman has bitten some of his enemies. now that sounds fucking insane. what the fuck is he? a damn vampire? you had to very hard time believing that when you first heard of it by a fellow colleague at the diner. at first, you were hesitant to run into him again during your nightly runs in fear of getting bit by the weirdo. but your curiosity got the better of you. one night when you ran into him, you asked him about the biting rumors and spiderman frustratingly denied it, which furthered your curiosity and teased him about it. now you wonder if you’d get to witness that.
but instead panic invades your veins as you notice one gang member whips out a pistol aimed at miguel’s back, who is currently too occupied beating up three other members. he’s gonna get shot. suddenly, you body goes into autopilot. without hesitation, you swiftly jump down and land right behind the bastard then knocked him out by kicking the back of his head, causing him to lose aim and fire the bullet off to the side instead. the gunshot startles spiderman and he swiftly turns around in concern only to find you standing there with the asshole on the floor. the eyes of his mask widen in disbelief.
“what the hell are you doing here?!”
“saving your ass from getting shot at.” you kick the gun away. “you’re welcome.”
“you need to get out of here now!” spiderman warns, shooting out webs to take down two approaching guys without looking away from you.
you were about to argue back when another guy comes running towards you both and you kicked him in the face knocking him out. there wasn’t any time to argue with a group of dudes attacking you so you teamed up together. miguel knocking them out with his webs, throwing punches here and there. you whooping their asses, kicking and punching while doing flawless flips and tricks. it’s actually quite fun fighting alongside the infamous spiderman. for once not fighting him but with him. watching the masked hero in action, it’s attractive as fuck. maybe you should interfere with his fights more often.
one idiot was pissing miguel off more than usual. the fight was getting aggravating and he was losing patience. aggressively grabbing the guy’s face with one hand and yanking him towards his face, miguel’s mask disintegrates and opens his mouth revealing those pearly sharp fangs. watching the guy’s eyes widen in pure terror before biting into his neck, causing the bastard to yelp in pain. the sound makes you turn around after knocking out the rest of the gang and your eyes widen in shock at the sight in front of you. spiderman is… biting the guy? what the actual fuck? the hero’s face is concealed since it’s buried in the guy’s neck, whose body squirm’s underneath him. you can’t believe what you’re seeing… what the actual fuck is spiderman doing?
once the venom is injected into the idiot’s veins and he feels his body weakened underneath, miguel lets him go causing the body to collapse on the ground without a care. glaring down at the paralyzed bastard, chest heaving and veins flowing with adrenaline. he wipes the blood off his lips with the back of his gloved hand then turns to you, not realizing you were watching the entire time.
your heart fucking drops.
drops into your fucking stomach. entire body completely frozen. blood gone too damn cold.
no fucking way… it can’t be true.
spiderman, the same man who saves and protects the lives of nueva york. the same man who everyone adores and praises for his heroic deeds. the same man who always caught your ass during a jewelry run. the same man who you’ve been teasing and sorta been developing some strange feelings for. the same man who is the boy you loved since college.
the same man who is your damn baby daddy.
miguel is fucking spiderman?!
the masked vigilante who has been chasing after you these past several months is the man you’ve never stopped loving and the father of your child?!
this whole fucking time it was him?!
“miguel?…” you whisper, standing there in pure disbelief. like you refused to believe it’s him.
his whole body freezes and fears settles in his bones when you said his name, his real name. those mahogany eyes widen in shock. “¿qué dijiste?”
“oh my god… it’s you…” you tremble, chest beginning to heave before the fire bursted into flames. “it was YOU! IT WAS YOU THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME!”
miguel winces confusingly at your sudden burst of anger and accusations. “what the hell do you mean it was me? who the hell you even—”
you swiftly yank off your small mask, revealing your true identity and miguel fucking crumbles.
it’s… you?! you are the infamous black cat?! the same woman who’s been stealing jewelry. the same woman who’s been a pain his ass for months. the same woman who’s been driving him fucking crazy. black cat is the same woman he’s been in love with since collage and disappeared from his life for seven fucking years. the same woman who he’s been desperately searching for and found her after all these years yet only to find out she’s the fucking jewelry thief dressed in black latex this whole time.
the woman he never stopped loving is black cat.
miguel softly calls out your name, as if confirming himself that it’s actually you. “it’s you… you’re the fucking black cat?!” now it’s his burst of anger being unleashed. “it’s been you after these months?!”
“don’t fucking yell at me!” you point at him. “you don’t fucking get to give me shit when you’ve been fucking SPIDERMAN THIS WHOLE TIME!” you shouting echos throughout the alleyway.
“you think i was just gonna give away my fucking identity?! no!” he argues and takes a few steps closer. a huge frown settled on his face, pissed off as much as you are. “so you don’t give me shit for not telling you when i didn’t know it was you!”
“BABOSO! (asshole)” your boiling anger causes you to kick miguel in the chest before he can closer to you, making him stumble a bit with a groan.
with a frustrated groan, you turn away from him. running both hands down your heated face. miguel closes his eyes for a moment to calm down, pinching the bridge of nose and taking a heavy breath.
“it all makes sense now…” you whisper, slowly shaking your head. miguel looks back at you with furrowed brows but remains silent to let you speak. “no fucking wonder you felt so familiar. i thought i going crazy, that no fucking way it was you. it couldn’t be you…” you turn around to face him again but with a tender look that warms his heart.
“i felt it too…” miguel breaths out heavily, head hanging low and hands on his hips.
“what?” you’re surprised.
“the familiarity.” he confessed, looking back at you. “I felt it too. i thought…” he heavily sighs, running a hand through his hair. “i thought the same, thinking it was impossible for it to be you but… it’s true.”
silence falls in between you two. tension, feelings, unanswered questions lingering in the heavy air. a moment to sallow and digest the hard truth.
glancing back at miguel, you take a really good look at him. specifically at his face. those two piercing crimson orbs. with your past encounters with him, you heavenly really paid attention to his eyes and the fact they are red, not the brown ones you adored so much. those chestnut eyes that you’d stare at for hours, mesmerized by how beautiful they were. but now they were replaced a fierce shade of red. vehement, ominous, intimidating. but it doesn’t strip them of their beauty. it’s a vibrant kind of red, like a red gem. dazzling in the back of dark cave. like the pretty gems the seven dwarfs mine for in snow white, one of gabriella’s favorite films. his eyes, no matter the color, are nevertheless breathtaking. below are those sharp fangs that you just witnessed moments ago. pearly white, shape canines that possess some type of poison or something to knock someone out.
“what happened?”
as if he read your mind, miguel knew what you were referring to, making him sigh heavily. “alchemax. after my internship, i got a position there. deal with genetic machinery.” he turns away, concealing the shame. “there was an accident… some bastard screwed me over and… caused this.” he gestures at his eyes, fangs, and talons. “half-spider DNA.”
your eyes slightly widen at the reveal. half spider DNA? insane. “the spiderman name is no joke.”
miguel shakes his head, biting back a smile at your joke. still manage to crack jokes in serious matters, you never changed. a part he loved about you.
still loves.
looking back at you, miguel takes in your appearance and remembers why you do this. “how long have you been doing this?” he gestures at your latex suit.
“a few years. waitressing doesn’t really pay the bills much so i went against my morals. i know what i’m doing is wrong but it’s worth it for my daughter.”
miguel’s expression softens when you mention your daughter, remembering the little girl. the one who yelled at him in public for bothering you. the one who ran into the hospital room worried about her mother. the one who smiled at him for saving her mother. a sweet little girl you have. but then he remembers how similar she looked to him, like him. the features and traits he carried, she did too. when he pinned the points together, miguel wanted to crumble. not only he’s been dying to talk to you to know how and where the hell you’ve been the last seven years but also to ask about your daughter. a question that’s been infiltrating his mind since the day he saw you.
“your daughter…” miguel hesitates for a moment, preparing himself for possibly the hardest truth he has ever faced. “is she…?”
you close your eyes. the moment you’ve been dreading for, it has finally come.
“yes.”
his heart shatters. he brings up a hand to conceal the painful expression on his face. if he didn’t had enhanced strength, miguel would’ve collapsed.
he is a father. to a bright little girl.
tears swell up in his eyes. it’s earthshaking, unbelievable. these past seven years, he had a daughter. a daughter he shares with you, the love of his life, the girl he fell in love with from college. thinking back on college, miguel remembers you disappearing from his life after graduation. blocked him on everything, unable to reach you.
now it made sense.
but there’s one question bothering him.
“why didn’t you tell me?” he whispers, bringing down his hand from his face but refuses to look you. as if he’s scared to, scared to face the truth.
tears prickle in your eyes. the emotions that have been buried inside for so many years finally start boiling up. the dam breaks, the volcano erupts.
“because i didn’t want to hurt you.”
miguel looks back with shocked eyes, in pure disbelief. “what?”
hurt him? how could you possibly hurt him? he is the one who did the hurting, leaving you alone to carry and raise a baby. but a baby he never knew of.
the tears couldn’t hold back, now trailing down your face. “the week before graduation, i found out i was pregnant. i-i was so s-scared. angry at myself for being so fucking careless but we both were.”
yes, you both were stupid careless barely young adults. miguel should’ve known better, that his pull out game was terrible and should’ve stacked up on condoms more often. god, he wants to smack himself. such an irresponsible fucking idiot.
“i was so scared, miguel, i-i didn’t know how to tell you.” you sob, unable to control the tears any longer and honestly you don’t care. “then, i remembered you told me about your internship at alchemax a few weeks before and how excited you were. you looked so happy, miguel…” you offered a teary smile that shattered his heart into a million pieces. “i knew how much that meant for you and i was so happy for you. you had your life planned and i couldn’t ruin that. i couldn’t, miguel… i couldn’t hurt you. i couldn’t ruin your life with an unexpected pregnancy. it felt wrong, i loved you too much to hurt you.”
the truth finally revealed after seven years.
miguel’s heart crumbles into more pieces. he can’t believe it. physically, mentally, emotionally, all of the above. this heartbreaking revelation completely destroys him. you kept the most life-changing, earth-shattering secret because you didn’t want to hurt him? ruin his life? his heart aches terribly with immense guilt. he feels like the biggest fucking asshole. you went through so much painful emotions and inner turmoil while he was what? celebrating about his internship and graduation. what a fucking asshole. it breaks his already broken heart.
“that’s why i left you. blocked you on everything right after graduation. i left the stadium crying because i couldn’t face you. i couldn’t tell you so i left… it’s my fault.” you confess through teary eyes. “it’s my fault you never knew, not yours. please don’t blame yourself, you never knew. you shouldn’t feel bad for not knowing, not being there because it’s my fault. and no matter how many fucking times i wanted to call you, reach out to you to tell, i was too scared. scared that you’d be mad, that you didn’t want to be a part of it.” you wipe some tears off your face, not caring if it ruined your makeup and look like a melted candle. “i’m so sorry, miguel… for hurting you, keeping this from you, keeping her from you.”
now miguel is crying too, silently.
“i’m so, so sorry!” you completely break down, burying your teary face into your palms. the guilt caught up to you, consuming you entirely.
miguel swiftly charms in and takes you in his arms before you could collapse, holding you tight against his chest. one arm wrapped tightly around you and his other hand cupping the back of your head. each sob breaks a piece of his heart, causing him to tighten his hold on you as you continue sobbing into his chest. miguel has always hated seeing you cry, but this one hurts more, too painful. even though you said it’s your fault, miguel still believes it’s his too. it takes two to make a baby, he is the reason why you never told him. he is responsible too.
“i forgive you.”
you pull back a little to look up at him confusingly. “w-what? but i lied to you, hurt you for keeping—”
“i forgive you,” he states softly, bringing his hands up to gently cup your face. “because i love you.”
your eyes widen in shock. “w-what?”
“i love you. i’ve loved you since the moment i met you in biology.” the pad of his thumbs gently wipe your tears. “the day i became your tutor was the best day of my life because i met the most beautiful girl ever.” a heavy sigh escapes his lips. “i was stupid to not tell you, it was the biggest mistake in my life and i hated myself for it. because of that and our stupid mistakes, i lost you...” the thought makes his heart ache. “when you started avoiding me, i was worried and thought i did something wrong and tried reaching out to you but you never did. then, i never saw you again after graduation. i looked for you everywhere, called you, text you but then when i realized you blocked me completely… i broke.” he swallows those emotions building in his throat. “i… i cried… because i lost the love of my life.”
his confession makes your heart swell with intense love and a thousands other emotions. unbelievable and overwhelming but in a positive way.
“i tried looking for you everywhere, tried reaching out to your friends and family but they never answered. all i could think about was wondering what happened to you, why you disappeared, why you never told me anything.” those crimson orbs bore into your soul. “i never stopped looking for you.”
your breath hitches, staring up at him with wide eyes. all this time, he’s been looking for you?
“i never stopped thinking about you, wondering where you were, if you were okay. i never stopped.” miguel confesses. “then when i saw you that day with… your daughter… i couldn’t fucking believe it. after seven fucking years of wondering and searching, i found you. i actually found you…” he lets out a heartily chuckle. “beautiful since the day i met you, even more now.” his compliment makes your cheeks warm, something he always manages to do. “but then seeing you with her…” you know he’s referring to gabriella, your guys’ daughter. “seeing you as a mom wasn’t what i expected. i couldn’t believe it but then when i noticed how familiar she looked, i thought i was going insane.”
the shocking realization on miguel’s face from that day flashes through your mind. you knew he put the pieces together and figured it out at that moment.
“i’m sorry for avoiding you,” you softly inject, looking up at him with glossy eyes. “i-i was scared, of your reaction, what you’d say, if you were mad. i freaked out and couldn’t bare to face you.”
miguel shakes his head. “i wasn’t mad, never. i just was… shocked.” his eyes shift down for a moment while his hands caresses your face. “shocked that i had a daughter…” then, his gaze returns to yours. “she has my nose, the first thing i noticed.”
that elicits a soft chuckle from you. “yeah, i noticed too when she was born. she’s your mini you.”
a soft moment bonding over your daughter.
“i never stopped loving you, miguel.” you quietly confess, placing your hands on top of his. “even years later, i never stopped either. every time i look at gabi, i see you.” your lashes flutter and heart soars. “she’s so smart and passionate like you. sometimes i wonder if she even got anything from me since she’s so much like you in so many ways.” a soft chuckle slips past your lips. “she is you in every way.”
his heart soars too, with such love. this furthers his desire to get to know his daughter and build a possible relationship. most importantly to win you back, to be in your life again if you want to. to be part of yours and gabriella’s life. to be a family. something miguel never thought he could have.
“now… i know this is a lot for you. i mean, come on, you just found out you have a kid after years without knowing. so i want you to know that i don’t expect anything from you at all.” you assured him. “i don’t wanna pressure you into this. it’s your decide if you want to be part of her life. i know i took away those first seven years from you and i’m sorry. but… you have the choice if you want be there or not.”
“mi alma, of course i want to be there for her.” miguel doesn’t hesitate to answer. this news doesn’t stop his world from spinning. an opportunity to not miss. “but i want to be there for you… if you let me.”
his words caught you off guard.
“you… want me?”
“sí, mi vida.” miguel leans a bit closer, a loving smile tugging on his plump lips. “i’ve always wanted you, to be with you. officially, this time.”
your heart swells with intense love, a bit overwhelming but in a good way. he truly wants to be with you, part of your life, as well gabriella’s? it’ll be a new change but you gladly accept it, especially if it means for your daughter to have both loving parents.
“i’ve always wanted to be with you too.” you confess softly with a light smile and fluttering lashes.
miguel’s heart is swoon, swollen with adoration. words he has been dreaming of for years. he’s not gonna lose this opportunity. he’s not gonna lose you again. there will be many changes to come but miguel is willing to do that for you, and his daughter.
when you told gabriella the truth, it took her some time to process it. even for a seven year old, learning a difficult truth can be hard to understand. all her life she has only known her mother and never learned much of her father. in the beginning, you simply explained that her dad went away. although it was not entirely a lie, you had to explain to your daughter why she didn’t have a dad like other kids. but now with the truth, it was a little challenging. gabriella wasn’t convinced at first. mainly due to the fact that her father is the same guy who was bothering you at the store and also saved you from the accident. she was honestly shocked. interrogated both you and miguel, mainly him. never had he felt nervous because of a kid. you both were an anxious mess when you all gathered in your living room, you seated next to gabi and miguel across. despite wanting to be together again, to give it another shot, you had to make sure gabriella was comfort with it all. comfortable with knowing her father, welcoming him into her life, and being a part of it. prior to the conversation, you thought to yourself: would gabi be okay with this? okay with miguel being in her life? okay with him and you together? despite how happy you and miguel were about the possibility of a future together, you still wanted to make sure she was truly comfortable with it. you didn’t want to push the idea on her or make her feel uncomfortable. like every parent, the child must come first.
but over time, gabriella accepted it and welcomed miguel into both your lives. in fact, she was elastic to finally have a dad in her life. the moment she jumped into his arms, miguel’s heart swelled with immense love and happiness. forever grateful for her acceptance and to finally be her dad. tears swelled up in your eyes when you witnessed that heartwarming moment and joined in the hug after gabi begged you to. it was the beginning of a new chapter for your family, welcoming a new member. one of the happiest days of your life. a day you dreamed of but never thought it would happen. as time passes, new adjustments were made. miguel being part of your life now is so… different but amazing. he really stepped up into the role of a father. offering to take and pick up gabi from school. show up to her soccer games, proudly wearing a jersey with her number on it and being the loudest parent in the crowd cheering her on. participating in family outings like going to playgrounds, movies, the beach, cool restaurants, and amusement parks. attend any school events, volunteer as a chaperone for field trips. the man is really putting the effort and you can’t be any more grateful for it.
currently, you’re doing your nightly routine. freshly washed, skin lathered in lotion, dressed in a mini lilac satin nightgown, your playlist softly playing from your phone, candles glowing softly in the dark. a perfect evening for selfcare. gabriella is staying at your parents for the weekend, meaning you have the apartment to yourself for the next two days. a chance to relax and enjoy being child-free. while fixing up your hair (in whatever way you usually do depending on your style/texture before going to bed), you hear a light thud coming from your room which makes your head snap in that direction. sudden anxiety does through your veins. what the fuck was that? black cat mode turns on. grabbing the blow dryer since it was heaviest object accessible, you quietly exit the bathroom and steadily move towards your room. hiding behind the wall, right next to the doorframe, you turn a little to catch a sneak peek of the intruder. your eyes widen in shock. that sneaky son of a bitch dressed in red and dark blue climbs through your window, which you idiotically forgot to lock. a huge wave of relief courses through you as you lower the blow dryer in your hands and come out from hiding approaching him.
“what the fuck, miguel?”
you notice those crimson orbs briefly scan your figure, trailing over the silky nightgown. lingering a little too long on, what you suspect, your cleveage. the top of the nightgown is quite low, giving him a nice glimpse. typical but it doesn’t offend you, rather makes you smirk a little. a simple nightgown can make him his mind go haywire and you love it.
his eyes finally meet yours then the blow dryer in your hand. “you chose that to defend yourself?” he deadpans, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“shut up,” you scowl, rolling your eyes. “it was the heaviest thing i could grab.” you place the hair dryer on your vanity. “why the hell did you climb through my window? i thought you were an intruder.”
“why didn’t you lock your window?”
“no me jodas, miguel.” you cross your arms, matching his stance. “contéstame.”
your feistiness is one thing he loves about you.
“i wanted to see if you were okay.”
your heart flutters. “well, i’m fine despite the fact you almost gave me a damn heart attack.”
“dramática,” that earns him a glare, causing him to chuckle a little. “i’m sorry, i was out on patrol so i couldn’t be seen by your neighbors.”
you roll your eyes but you understand. “just give me a heads up or something next time.”
he nods. “and gabi?”
“with my parents, remember? for the weekend.”
“ah, sí…”
small silence falls in between you. only the gentle tunes of your music playing from your phone lingers in the background and distant beeps of cars flying outside. although, it wasn’t awkward silence but there is some tension. you and miguel have been alone together numerous of times before, but strangely enough this time feels different. you notice it when miguel starts averting his eyes from yours, looking down or around your room. the clenching of his jaw, tensed shoulders, sight frown on his face. he’s thinking, conflicted with something.
“what’s wrong?” you ask, slowly stepping closer.
“nada… i just…” he paused before sighing. “lo siento, mi alma for disbursing your night. ya me voy.” he turns to leave but you quickly yet gently grab his wrist, stopping him and looking back at you.
“don’t leave… please.” your soft plead almost makes miguel crumble to his knees. “what’s wrong? i know you’re thinking, you can tell me.”
those thick brows furrowed, crimson eyes glancing at the ground instead of your own. a glint of hesitation in them. he sighs before finally speaking.
“do you want this?”
now your brows furrowed. “do i want what?”
“this,” his eyes finally meet yours. “me being part of your life, gabi’s life. are you really okay with this?”
your expression softens a bit but the confusion remains. “of course i’m okay with this. i’m happy you’re part of this family, miguel. are you not…?”
you can’t help the doubt clouding your mind, afraid that he is having second thoughts about this because the truth is miguel being a part of it all has been amazing. in fact, your life has been better since miguel became more involved. not only for you but for gabriella as well. it feels like a true happy family and you didn’t want that to end.
his eyes widen worryingly, internally panicking. “no, no, no, mi alma. of course i’m happy, the happiest i’ve ever been in my life.” his large hands gently rest on your upper arms, holding you close. “it’s just… i know we’ve been doing this for gabi pero…” a small pause to release a sigh. “i wasn’t sure if you wanted to be with me again, if you were okay with me.”
your expression softens even more, replaced with a sympathetic one. insecurity gets the best of us, you understand where he’s coming from. “i meant what i said back in the alleyway that night. i’ve always wanted you, miguel. i’ve always loved you since that day you became my tutor for bio.” you smile at the memory. “so yes, i do want to be with you and i do want this.” you lean closer. “i want you.”
that confession and tender glint in those pretty eyes were all he needed to give in. his hands very slowly rise to gently cup your cheeks as miguel bends down to reach your face, not giving a shit about the potential back pain. those scarlet orbs boring into your pretty ones, overflowing with immense adoration. the close proximity makes your lashes flutter and both your hearts racing.
“¿puedo?” he whispers against your lips.
you roll your eyes, grinning. he’s still respectful even when you desperately want him to kiss you and devour your lips after what feels like an eternity because goddamnit you miss those plump ass lips.
“ya bésame, miguel.”
your inpatient attitude makes him grin before leaning forward to finally capture your lips with his after a fucking lifetime. the moment you both have been waiting for, dreaming of for years. like fireworks exploding in both your bodies. the longing, the desperation all expressed in the kiss. two souls finally reconnected after what felt like an eternity. goddamnit did he miss those soft lips, the same ones that haunted his dreams for seven years. too damn long and he ain’t gonna waste it, leading miguel to apply more pressure into the kiss which earns him a heavenly moan that almost makes his core throb. the kiss advanced more heated and desperate, savoring the taste of each other. a full blown makeout session. soft moans and groans lingering in the air, hands roam over each other’s bodies. your hands gripping his thick neck, one hand gripping his brown locks which elicits a groan from him. softly gasping when miguel’s large hands squeeze and grope your curves over the silkiness of your nightgown a little possessively, leaving you hot and bothered.
while messily making out, miguel hoists you in his arms and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he walks towards the bed. your lips never detached as he carefully placed you down on the plush mattress, your back against the silky sheets and him settled in between your legs. fingers digging and gripping those soft brown curls, hands roaming over those muscular shoulders and thick neck, sending shivers of pleasure down miguel’s spine. those same damn muscles you missed touching, the rippling sensation underneath your fingertips, digging your nails into them. miguel has always worked out since those college days, had muscle since but definitely gained more these past seven years and you can feel how muscular he’s gotten. maybe that half-spider DNA thing had some influence, enhanced his muscles and build. but besides that, you just miss touching them. thankfully you recently got your nails done, a fresh set ready to mark your canvas. you’re even more eager to do so because you know digging your nails into his back drives miguel crazy, to hear those heavenly groans.
a soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel one of miguel’s gloved hands slowly slip the hem of your nightgown up your thigh, his fingertips reaching your inner thighs. a move you’re familiar with and always made you tremble, still remember even years later. god you miss him touching you. those calloused hands roaming and groping your curves, every inch of you, melting under his additive touch. miguel moved away from your mouth but eases your concerns as he travels down, leaving a trail of kisses from your jawline to your neck. soft moans fall from your lips at the addictive sensation, mind becoming putty. one hand rested in his hair and the other gripping onto his shoulder, feeling the holographic particles of his suit under your fingertips. his hands continue roaming your body as miguel leaves wet kisses on your neck, intending on marking you.
“missed this,” he mumbles in between kisses and licks, drunk on your skin. “missed you, bebita.”
that old nickname from college, the one you adored, makes your heart flutter, responding with a soft whimper and a tug on his hair. “miguel~”
“seven fucking years…” a gasp escapes your lips when you feel his fangs gently prickling your skin. “you have any idea what that did to me?” his voice drops an octave, seductive. “the love of my life taken from me for seven years? drove me insane, bebita.”
another soft whimper falls from your lips when his fangs gently nipping your skin then leaves kisses over the sensitive area, making you arch your back. so utterly desperate to feel more of him. also, him calling you the love of his life? drove you over the fucking edge even more. god, you love this man.
“seven years without you, your voice, your laugh, your scent, your lips…” he whispers while his hands slowly roam and grope over your body, sending shivers of please through you and making your mind putty. “drove me fucking crazy, hermosa.” another few kisses on your neck before he lifts his head up to look down at you with intense adoration, lips hovering yours. “i’m not wasting a fucking second.”
your heart flutters and you don’t waste a second either by cupping his face and yanking him down to your lips together in a kiss filled with intense love, reuniting your souls. miguel swiftly trails down to your chest and buries his face in your cleavage, making out with your covered breasts. soft moaning as his calloused hands squeeze and knead your tits through the silky material of your nightgown. your hands play with his hair again, digging in those soft brown curls as endless soft moans spill from your lips at the incredible sensation miguel is providing you. moaning out his name and arching your back as his tongue slides over the roundness of your exposed breast. alternative between each one, kissing and licking the soft sensitive skin as his hands continue kneading and squeezing the squishy fat.
“miguel!~” you moan a bit louder and arch your back as he sucks your nipples through the silky nightgown, leaving a wet stain on the fabric.
he responds with a muffled groan, busy with providing much affection towards your delicate breasts. miguel then slowly trails down your body, kissing over the silky fabric of your nightgown, mind hazy from your fingers combing through his hair. god he misses that addictive sensation so much. like your nails were meant to be digging and playing with his hair and it always made his mind putty. miguel reaches towards the hem of your nightgown and slowly raises it, exposing your stomach and cute white panties. the cool air hitting your core makes you gasp softly. miguel grins at the wet stain on your panties but his attention is on your belly. he peppers it with adoring kisses and sinful licks, eliciting more of those cute soft noises he adores so much. that same noises that drive miguel fucking crazy. he’s drunk on your soft skin, savoring it and worshiping your body like a temple. to him, you are his temple.
a soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel his own on your clothed pussy, a bit too eagerly inhaling your scent. “still have that same sweet fucking scent, years later and it still drives me crazy.” he murmurs against the fabric. that sweet scent of yours is a like a fucking drug, intoxicating and addictive.
“miguel, please~” you whine, your needy fingers gripping onto his hair as a sign. he’s right there, your core throbbing terribly, and you’re losing your mind.
the bastard has the audacity to chuckle at your neediness. “¿qué quieres, bebita?” the teasing is inevitable, you’re adorable when you’re needy for him. but he’s also losing his mind too.
“no me jodas, miguel.”
that earns him a slightly harsh tug on his hair, causing his grin to widen. miguel has always adored when you’re bossy. the man may be 6’9 of pure muscle but will succumb to his knees when bossed around by a woman. a major turn on for him.
“relájate, bebé.” he softly chuckles. “i’ll take care of you like i always do, lo prometo.”
he is right, miguel always took care of you during sex. teasing but always a gentle provider. flashbacks of all your guys’ hookups during college ran through your mind. he always made sure you were comfortable, asking if you were okay no matter how steamy or soft the moment was. that baritone voice laced with tenderness whispering sweet praises, like dipped in honey while his body provided you pleasure in impeccable ways. hitting that sweet spot so perfectly, releasing intense yet fantastic ecstasy like waves coursing through your body. calloused hands roaming and groping every curve that makes your mind droopy. every touch, thrust, praise is overwhelming pleasure. you had always appreciated miguel’s care and thanked him every time, which resulted in him responding that you deserved to be treated with gentleness, every girl does. made your heart flutter every time. seven years later, he still cares the same and your heart still flutters.
using his talons to grip the edge of your panties, miguel slides them down your legs. “chinga… estás mojada, preciosa.” miguel curses at the fucking fountain between your legs. seven years later and you’re still wet for him? drives him fucking insane.
the mouthwatering sight fuels that burning desire inside him, causing him to quickly toss the discarded panties somewhere in the room as miguel gets on his knees at the edge of the bad and grab you by the thighs pulling you closer towards him. you squeal his name but miguel is too focused on your glistening folds, licking his lips in anticipation for the greatest meal that he has been dying for after what feels like an eternity. there is no time to react when miguel swiftly puts your legs over his bulky shoulders and immediately dives into your glistening pussy. yelping in surprise as his lips viscously suckles and tongue rapidly flickers your clit. one hand instinctively gripping his hair while the other does the same with the bed sheets as you throw your head back in pleasure. the alternation of him sucking and flickering your sweet bundle of nerves causes intense waves of ecstasy coursing through you.
“oh!~” you moan loudly, gripping tightly on those brown locks like a lifeline. “miguel!~ oh my g—” cut off by your own moaning as he continues eating you out like a damn starved man, basically making you see stars sooner than you expected.
miguel is too lost in the pretty valley between your legs to form any proper thought other than how fucking sweet you still taste after all these years. the same sweet taste that he was addicted to, his own drug. brought back memories of all the times he ate you out, which was very often. the first time is a memory still imbedded in his mind to this day. oh his life changed forever that day, nothing never tasted better than that sweet pussy of yours. that sweet, addictive essence. pretty cunt weeping and swollen in pure arousal that burned his senses. a taste that lingered on his tongue for ages and still craved for more. this moment now was like he found an oasis after suffering from eternal heat for centuries.
“fuck…” his moan vibrates against your pussy, causing you to shudder while moaning endlessly. “seven years later and you still taste fucking sweet, bebita.” his tongue feverishly swirls and flicks your precious clit, eliciting endless pretty moans and whines that makes his cock twitch. motivates him to hear more of those pretty sounds like are music to his ears. his lips give your little pearl a few sucks, making you squirm cutely, before shifting down and dipping his sinful tongue into your throbbing pussy.
a loud squeal erupts from your throat as miguel’s tongue starts penetrating you. “miguel!~” your back arches off the bed like waves as the wet muscle maneuvers that send jolts of pleasure shooting throughout your body. a chorus of moans and whines bouncing off the four walls of your bedroom.
that sweet chorus is proof he is doing it right, providing you pleasure that you deserve. it fuels his desire to continue, to make you come undone on his sinful tongue. those crimson eyes look up at your panting figure in admiration. pretty lips opened letting those heavenly sounds. pretty back arching off the bedsheets like ocean waves. pretty belly contracting due to panting. the most gorgeous angel experiencing immense pleasure above him. a sight that miguel loves. if he could stay in between your legs forever, he would and die happily.
miguel’s tongue continues fucking you mercilessly as he uses one thumb to rub your precious bundle nerves. the sudden sensation elicits a loud moan from you, almost a scream. your cute reaction puts a smile on his face. his thumb draws slow sinful circles on your sensitive clit before sliding it up and down, side to side. the way your legs tremble on his bulky shoulders makes him chuckle.
“you remember that, bebita?” he whispers against your sensitive folds as his thumb continues playing with your clit, admiring your squirming form.
god, yes you do.
he pulled that move all the time when he ate you out back in college. those slow sinful circles on your delicate bundle of nerves. his thumb slowly moving it up and down then side to side. playing with you until you’re seeing stars and forgetting everything.
only miguel could do that to you.
“brought back memories?” his thumb keep toying with your clit while admiring you. “years later and i still remember, preciosa. i still remember it all.”
memories of your time in college flooded his mind. all the nights you and him hooked up. miguel taking you back to his dorm, barely opening the door while eating each other’s faces off and hands roaming each other’s bodies. clothes spread across the floor and hard to find the next morning. the dents on the wall from the headboard repeatedly banging against it due to miguel’s powerful thrusting which earned him multiple complaints from the guys next door. your sweet scent lingering in his sheets for weeks and refusing to wash them until it completely worn off. the few bras or panties you’d forget after leaving his dorm and he’d keep in his drawer for later purposes. some miguel would give back but keep the rest. endlessly changing the bag for his trash bin due to the big amount of used condoms filling up like a mountain and didn’t want his roommates to see it. the few times you’d hook up in the shower, whether at his dorm or yours. the bathroom mirrors fogged up, moans bouncing off the tile walls of the shower. the times you two would sneak off from public events like hanging out with friends. finding a secluded spot and miguel fucking you against the wall, trying to be quiet as much as possible.
the flooding memories makes miguel’s mind hazy and cock throb terribly. but his heart also aches because all those times neither of you confessed your feelings. just two stupid kids messing around until the consequences came up. he should’ve confessed back then and maybe you’ve been together raising gabi like a family. you wouldn’t have been alone raising her and dealt with the issues you’ve been through. a ping of guilt stabs his heart but miguel shakes off the feeling away, not wanting to to ruin this passionate moment. the confession and feelings have already been addressed. this moment now is rekindling your relationship.
miguel glances at you one last time before focusing back on your fluttering folds with his tongue. drawing patterns among your wet walls that elicit more heavenly sounds from you. the more flicks of his thumb and tongue, that warm feeling in your lower belly increases and your moans become louder and pitchier. a small whine almost falls from your lips when miguel removes his thumb from your swollen clit until it’s replaced with his tongue and two fingers slip pass your soaking folds, making you moan and gasp simultaneously. you moan out his name and he gently shushes you while continuing on pleasing you.
“m-miguel- oh my- OH!—” your back arches off the bed to an insane degree, thanks to your flexibility, as his fingers reach that sweet spot inside.
the combination of his tongue flickering your clit and his fingers pumping inside you was sending you to cloud fucking nine. miguel provides passionate licks on your sensitive little pearl before suckling on it, lowly moaning at the sensation. his fingers continue pumping inside your wet sensitive walls, curling them as they repeatedly hit your sweet spot. both his fingers and tongue pick up pace, determined to make you cum. miguel knows you’re close by the increased volume of your moans, urging him to go faster and make you see the whole damn universe.
“ah~ i’m gonna— miguel, i—”
“dámelo, bebé.”
his voice dipped in lust and adoration like honey was the cherry on top. more flicks of his tongue and fingers, you finally cum with the loudest moan ever, almost like a wail. back arched off the sheets and stars in your vision as you gush all over miguel’s face. the pleasure is so intense you even squirt, which he doesn’t mind at all but enjoy it all. miguel devours all of your sweet nectar like his life depends on it. acting like a greedy little shit and he isn’t ashamed of. slurping all of your cum like there is no tomorrow. his favorite meal ever and damn does he miss it so much. seven fucking years without your sweetness is torture. obscure noises flooded the room, the wetness of your cum and miguel’s muffled groans. your thighs tremble around his head, feeling overstimulated by the never-ending pleasure he is still providing with that devious tongue of his.
“m-miguel, stop~ please~” you whine, squirming in his hold. “it’s too m-much…” if he continues, you’re for sure you’re gonna pass out from pleasure.
his greed consumed him, still savoring your sweet cum. licking and sucking every ounce, not allowing a single drop go to waste. it’s been seven fucking years, miguel ain’t wasting this moment. finally once he has his fill, miguel releases your poor sensitive pussy with a pop! and has a huge smug ass grin. oh he really enjoyed his meal and ain’t afraid to show it. his lips and chin glistening with your cum. you’re too fucked out to even open your eyes, laying there breathless and a bit overstimulated. miguel wipes his chin clean with the back of his hand and licks the leftover of your cum around his lips as he gently lifts your legs from his shoulders and hovers above you.
“are you okay?” he looks down at you concerningly with a gentle hand on your cheek, a major contrast to his lustful attitude moments ago.
you respond with a weak ‘mhm’ due to your breathlessness, eyes still closed. that man really did a number on you and hasn’t even fucked you yet.
those scarlet eyes scan over your fucked out, angelic form. eyes closed, chest heaving with a coat of sweat glistening in the moonlight, breathless, hair disheveled, thighs trembling, cunt swollen. the afterglow looks so beautiful on you.
“you’re glowing, preciosa.” he coos with a heartfelt grin on his face, caressing your cheek.
“stop it~” you whine softly, trying to turn away from him but your tried body refused to. your cheeks are already warm, now you feel like a furnace.
he always complimented you after a steamy moment and it made you flustered every time.
even now, he still does.
miguel softly chuckles at your cute flustered expression. “es la verdad,” he leans down closer towards your ear. “you’ll be glowing more soon.”
the drop in his tone makes you shiver. finally opening your eyes and looking up at him, you admire his pretty face in the dark atmosphere of your bedroom for a moment. crimson eyes filled with adoration staring down at you. remembering the old chestnut ones you adore. no matter the color of his eyes, they are still beautiful and you never get tired of admiring them. raising your arms, you cup miguel’s face with your hands and pull him closer to kiss him, which he gladly reciprocates. you can taste yourself on his tongue as the passionate kiss continues.
much to miguel’s dismay, you pull away from the kiss and he frowns a little. a soft groan almost escapes his lips as he tries chasing yours but you keep moving away. his grumpiness makes you chuckle.
“take off the suit, arañito.” a hint of seductiveness in your tone, grinning up at him.
his body shivers at that. with no hesitation, miguel’s suit disintegrates by command. revealing his muscular nude form in all its glory. a soft gasp falls from your lips at the glorious sight above you. thick muscular arms caging you in. bulky shoulders that need to be gripped. broad chest decorated in scrumptious body chair. delicious abs followed by a mouthwatering happy trail that leads down to the thing you’ve been anticipating for.
throbbing cock sprung out, tip leaking with precum. damn it looks bigger than before. well, it’s been seven years so of course it has grown. that spider DNA really did some enhancements in all accepts. staring at it makes you wonder if it’ll fit.
miguel senses your apprehension, his expression softens. “i’ll go gentle, preciosa, lo prometo.” he brings up a hand and caresses your cheek with such tenderness, hoping to ease your worries. “if you need me to stop, dime. don’t be afraid to.”
your eyes shot up back at him, seeing the soft glint in his eyes before nodding. “i know you will.” you offer a soft smile, leaning into his touch.
his heart swoons, a feeing miguel hasn’t felt in a long time. a feeling that only you could make.
miguel stares at you for a moment longer, making sure you’re truly okay with this before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss, which you gladly accept. he pulls away to position himself in between your legs. one arm holding himself above you while using the other to grip his throbbing cock in his hand. just as he aligns himself with your entrance, you strip yourself from the nightgown and toss it somewhere across the room, leaving yourself completely bare to his eyes. miguel’s breath hitches and pupils dilate drastically as those crimson eyes roam over your nude form. admiring your soft skin, stretch marks, supple breasts, perky nipples, every curve like a piece of art. you are a masterpiece.
“hermosa…” he whispers, mainly to himself but doesn’t mind that you heard him.
he can’t help it, you are utterly breathtaking and miguel isn’t afraid to admit that.
his compliment makes your cheeks warm and heart flutter. before he could properly align himself, miguel grabs a pillow and carefully slips it underneath your hips for support after softly asking you to lift them. once you’re comfortable, miguel realigns his cock with your cunt and slowly begins sliding in. a soft mewl escapes your lips as his thick length slowly slides through your warm, wet walls.
“fuck…” miguel curses, brow furrowed at the sensation of your slick cunt gripping onto him like a vice. “breathe, bebita. okay?”
you can only answer in a small mewl, trying to follow his advice but goddamn this man so big. it’s been seven years since you had him inside you and he feels a bit bigger now. will he even fit?!
the small frown on your face makes his chest ache. he’s hurting you. “i’m gonna stop.”
“no!” you quickly grip onto his bulky shoulder preventing him from moving away, leaving miguel surprised. “just give me a sec…”
“mi alma, you’re in pain. i’m stopping right now—”
“if you move right now, i’m gonna kill you.”
miguel stares down at you with a firm expression. you look back at him with the same look.
“i’m fine.” you reassure him, a sincere glint in your eyes. “it’s just… you’re… different now.”
he raises an amusing brow. “different?”
your eyes roll in annoyance. “oh shut up, you know exactly what i mean and don’t gloat about it.”
the bastard chuckles, which only fuels your annoyance and impatience. “no, preciosa, i don’t know what you mean. dime.”
that stupid smug ass grin on his handsome face.
ugh you just want to slap him.
“¡chingado, miguel!” you exclaim. “it’s been seven fucking years! of course you’re different!”
seeing you frustrated is utterly adorable. “oh so you feel a difference, huh?” his grin widens.
“ugh, yes! it’s been fucking ages since i’ve done this so that’s another thing!” you admit frustratingly, removing your hand from his shoulder.
that smug ass smirk completely wipes off his face and his expression turns more serious, eyes softened. “wait… you haven’t… been anyone since?…”
a sad sigh escapes your lips, turning your head away from him to the side concealing the embarrassment spreading across your face. “yes… i haven’t. especially with gabi, i haven’t had time to so…”
it’s true, since gabriella was born, you’ve been focused on taking care of her. no time for new romances. sure, there were a few gentle callers when your older siblings encouraged a few date nights. most were nice men but things never got serious mainly due to you rejecting afterwards and using gabriella as an excuse. which wasn’t entirely not true since she was, still is, your main responsibility. never participated in one night stands either, never liked the concept of them anyways. there wasn’t time to fulfill personal needs. for the last seven years, you’ve been focused on being a mother. perhaps now the lack of romance and pleasure is biting you in the ass now and god you never felt so embarrassed.
but besides that, your love for miguel never vanished. he still has your heart after many years. no other man could steal it the way he did. it was always him.
miguel’s eyes widen at your confession. all this time, you haven’t been with anyone but him since? seven years is a long time. you’ve actually… loved him… all this time? your heart still beats for him all this time, the same way his beats for yours? your love for him hasn’t outgrown? you truly still love him? miguel’s heart is overwhelmed with adoration for you. part of him is in disbelief because you, the woman he never stopped loving, still love him after everything you went through. never once your heart changed? it still beats for him after these many years? honestly, miguel believed you had moved on for the longest time. forgot about him and gave your heart to someone who truly deserved it, someone who wasn’t afraid to admit their feelings for you. although the thought of another man having your heart made his own ache but miguel believed you deserved a loving, caring partner. yet here you are confessing your underlying love for him all these years.
miguel allows your words to process for a moment, still hovering above you with only his tip slipped through your slick, throbbing folds. those crimson eyes meet your face, still turned away from him, and his brows frown a little in concern. he may not possess a spidey sense but he definitely senses your discomfort and wishes to fix that immediately.
“mi alma…” he calls softly, carefully bringing up a hand to caress your cheek in hopes of getting you to look back at him. “don’t feel guilty, it’s okay. i understand, i…” he grows quite for a moment, finding the right words. “i haven’t been with anyone either.”
his confession makes you turn and look back at him with surprise. “seriously?” you ask softly.
“sí…” he nods lightly, a bashful grin on his face. “there was never time for me either. always cooped up in the lab, sometimes stayed overnight.”
“miguel!” you whisper-yelled, gently nudging his shoulder as reprehending him.
his grin widens as he chuckles. “i know, i know.” he gently grabs your wrist that nudged him and give them a little kiss before resting your hand against his cheek. “some nights my coworkers and i would head to the nearest bar after work. they would try to get me drunk enough and hook me up with random women but i never did, was just never interested.”
the thought of miguel with another woman makes your stomach churn. but you can’t blame him if he wanted to since you disappeared from each other’s lives and went your own separate paths. during that time you never really thought of that possibility, only when you thought of miguel at times. but here he is reciprocating the same feelings. now both of you realize you haven’t been with other people since college, evidence of your love for each other.
the thought causes you to break into laughter, leaving a slightly confused miguel above you.
“¿qué?” miguel can’t help but crack a little smile, relishing the sweet sound of your laughter.
“sorry.” your laughter dies down, now softly chuckling while covering your eyes with a hand. “it’s just… that proves that we never really stopped thinking about each other.” you admit bashfully.
his smile widens into a toothy grin, his fangs peeking out. “no, we never did.” a soft chuckle slips passed his lips, leaning into your hand on his cheek. “and i won’t stop.” with his free hand, miguel gently removes yours that is covering your eyes. “nunca.”
there he goes again making your heart flutter. bringing up your other hand to cup his face completely, you stare up at him with a soft smile.
“me neither.”
you and miguel share a smile before colliding lips together once again. a symbol of unity.
much to your dismay, miguel pulls away for a moment. “do you still want this?” he glances down at the space between you two for emphasis.
you quickly nod, a bit too eagerly. “yes, i’m gonna fucking explode if you don’t get inside me right now.” that earns you a snort from him.
“alright, alright. i’m coming, amor.”
“oh you will for sure.”
a moment of shared laughter before settling down. after confirming you were okay one last time, miguel slowly slides through your slick walls. his thick length ever so carefully slipping through, letting you feel every inch, until he was balled deep. mouth hung open at the overwhelming stretch of his cock, a feeling you miss so damn much. a shared moan mingles in the air as your bodies connect. bulbous tip rested against your womb, making you whimper.
“¿estas bien, mi amor?” miguel softly asks, caressing your cheek as comfort.
you hum, eyes fluttering. “mueve, miguel~”
he could’ve cum from that whiney plead alone. with a staggering breath, he slowly draws his hips back before rolling them in. a slow deep thrust, making you moan and arch your back. miguel’s brows furrowed in concentration, keeping a steady rhythm to not overwhelm you. lifting himself on his strong forearms rested on each side of your head against the sheets. muscular form consuming your smaller one, clouding your vision. yours hands on his back, nails digging into the muscles that miguel adores. legs wrapped around his waist, thighs above his sturdy ones, cores connected as one. bodies moving in harmony, releasing pleasure within you both. this is the moment you and miguel have been yearning for after a very long time of separation.
miguel’s pupils dilate immensely at the sight of you underneath him, taking everything he is giving you. pretty lips shaped in an “o” shape releasing the prettiest sounds his ears have ever heard. eyes screwed shut and face contorted in pure ecstasy. back arched off the bed, gorgeous body moving in waves at each thrust he makes. it all drove miguel over the edge, creating a sense of pride coursing through his body. all those sounds and movements of ecstasy were because of him. also this the first time you’re having sex since him back in college so that also adds to his pride. all so overwhelming but miguel relishes it, causing his thrusts to increase.
“miguel!~ oh my—” you cut yourself off with a moan as his tip hits that sweet spot inside so perfectly. back arched off the bed and nails clawing his back.
your reaction makes his lips curl into a smile of pride. “qué hermosa.” miguel leans down closer, admiring your squirming form of pleasure while thrusting in your slick heat. “after seven years, you still take me so well, bebita. all this time you could’ve chosen someone else but never stop thinking about me, huh? thought about all those nights like this?” his hips thrust a bit deeper for emphasis, eliciting a gasp mixed with a moan from you. “did you, bebita?”
“y-yes i always did~” you moan shamelessly.
that inflates his pride and ego. “all those nights alone, in bed… you always thought about me, hm?” he decides to tease you a little, just like old times.
“f-fuck- yes!” a frustrated whine leaves your lips while acting like a moaning mess, causing him smile to widen before gently shushing you.
“shhh… relájate, bebé~ lo siento… ” one of his hands caresses your cheek, easing your growing frustration. “i always thought about you too.” his lips capture yours in a kiss while continuing making love, swallowing those pretty moans he loves dearly.
the air is mingled with your moans and miguel’s groans as the love-making progresses. the tip of his cock repeatedly kissing your sweet spot, driving you on edge. leaving your mind a putty mess. your hands rested on his muscular back, nails digging into his skin leaving indents and scratch marks. the burning sensation makes him hiss a little bit miguel doesn’t mind because they’ll be a reminder of you and your love for him. one of your hands slide off his back and sluggishly lands on the bed. miguel gently takes it with his own and pins it beside your head with fingers intertwined, making it more intimate.
you part away from his lips as he does a deep thrust. “oh miguel~” you moan breathlessly. head thrown back against the sheets, brows furrowed and mouth agape in ecstasy. god he feels so fucking amazing.
miguel gazes down at you with pure adoration and in his eyes. a grin tugging on his lips. “qué linda.”
in one swift motion, miguel flips you both over the bed. the sudden movement makes you gasp in surprise. if you weren’t indulging in intense pleasure right now, you would’ve smacked the back of his head as reprehending. now miguel sits up on the bed and you in his lap straddling him. you wrap your arms around his bulky shoulders, nuzzling your face into his chest as more moans spill from your lips. miguel securely holds you, one arm wrapped around your upper back and the other around your waist, as if he’s hugging you. his face buried in your hair, inhaling your sweet scent. the position is so intimate, embracing each other as you make love.
your head tips back releasing endless moans as miguel continues thrusting into your heated core, his bulbous tip angled perfectly in this position hitting that sensation spot. the intense the pleasure grows, the tighter your grip on his hair gets which miguel doesn’t mind but rather relishes it. he loved when you’d tug on his hair, it was a sign that you were feeling good. he missed that feeling, you gripping onto him in every possible way, reflecting the pleasure you were experiencing. with your head ripped back and neck exposed, miguel seizes the opportunity to plant delicate kisses on the soft skin. kissing, sucking, licking. even a little bite which makes you squeal. miguel couldn’t resist the urge to dig his fangs into your celestial skin, only just a tiny nip and that was it. he would never hurt you. only a little love bite, a reflection of his love for you. but miguel really wanted to use his fangs on you to fulfill a strange sexual fantasy of his. he knows you’ll give him shit about it later but right now he doesn’t care.
lifting away from your now hickey covered neck, miguel admires your blissful form. holding you like you’re the most delicate piece of art. witnessing you experience immense pleasure is a sight he will never ever get tired of. his beautiful angel.
“mi amor hermosa~” he coos, grinning when you let out a whimper. “qué tan hermosa~”
“miguel~” you whine softly, feeling flustered by his sweet words of affection and overwhelmed by his thick cock thrusting in and out of you.
“mírame, mi amor.”
you let out another whine in protest, already feeling too flustered to look at him but you do anyways. reluctantly opening your eyes, your blissful ones finds those scarlet orbs already looking at you filled with lust and adoration. seeing your gorgeous blown out eyes makes miguel smile lovingly.
“there’s my beautiful girl.”
the sweet endearment warms your cheeks, staring up at him with fluttering lashes before tugging him by the neck to press your lips against his.
“té quiero, miguel.” you whisper against his lips. the kind of whisper containing a sprinkle of love meant for his heart and his heart only.
and his heart was swoon with intense adoration by your soft confession. like it sealed the deal, a heart-shaped locket around your souls and forever together. never letting go of each other ever again.
“té quiero, mi alma. té quiero tanto.” he whispers in between kisses. “i never stopped loving you,” one deep thrust. “and i never will.” a much deeper one, sending you over the edge. back arched, head thrown back, moaning prettily. making him smile.
the love confessions makes the love-making more intimate, beautiful. desperately holding onto each other in a loving embrace. your nails clawing his bulky shoulders and biceps. miguel’s hands roaming over your body, worshiping you in his lap. another deep thrust from him causes your back to arch, exposing your bare chest to his hungry gaze. without hesitation, miguel dips down and captures a perky nipple with his lips, suckling it before swirling his tongue around it. eliciting more of those heavenly moans that are music to his ears. his mouth provides much affection towards your breasts as his cock continues pumping into your slick sensitive pussy.
very slowly and steadily, miguel fills you both over back in the old position, him above and you underneath. your grip on his bulky shoulders tighten when his thrusts quicken, increasing that burning sensation in your core. miguel knows it, senses it, and it motivates him to keep thrusting until you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy. utterly lost in that sweet cunt of yours, greedily sucking him in and squeezing the fuck out of him. seven fucking years and you still have a vice grip on him.
“miguel, i—” cut off by your own moan as the burning sensation in your core intensifies with each thrust, like a firework is about to combust.
“i know, bebé. i fuck—” miguel groans, brows pinched together in pleasure as he feels you clenching around him so damn tight. reaching down with a hand, miguel flicks your clit to give you more pleasure. each flick in unison of his thrusts. “cum, mi amor.” he coos when you squeal at the sudden stimulation, observing you with pure adoration.
several more flicks and thrusts, you cum beautifully with a loud moan of his name. probably the loudest moan of the night that the whole neighborhood can hear. the most beautiful moan falling those gorgeous lips, pretty back arched, head thrown back in ecstasy, your sweetness gushing over his cock. miguel savored it all, a sight meant for him and him only, forever imbedded in his mind. after a few thrusts, his hips stutter before spilling himself inside of you, hot white spurts into your womb, and pumping you full. the warm, filling sensation makes you moan softly. feeling utterly filled by him. you both remain like that while recovering from your intense highs. sweaty bodies connected. your synchronized breathing echoing in the room.
“you okay?” lifting himself by the elbows, miguel looks down at you with a concerned look. “did i hurt you?” he caresses your cheek lovingly.
you lean into his touch with closed eyes, softly humming. “no, i’m fine. just had a nice workout.”
miguel huffs, rolling his eyes but has a grin tugging on his lips. “tonta…” he leans down and plants a gentle kiss on your forehead before slowly pulling out, eliciting a soft whine from you. he gently shushes you with another soft kiss then slowly rises off the bed to fetch a towel from your bathroom.
you simply lay there, allowing exhaustion to flow through your sweaty overheated body. not even a minute, you hear him come back and softly hum when you feel the fabric of the towel down your inner thighs. he’s being gentle as possible to not overwhelm you. giving your thighs tender rubs and kisses as comfort while cleaning you up. even years later, miguel is still ever so gentle with you and providing the aftercare you need. it brought you back memories from your college days. a younger version of miguel, who wore glasses, being so gentle with you and whispering the sweetest praises after a good fucking. still carries that gentleness but now as a man. a man you wholeheartedly adore.
once you’re cleaned up and cleaned himself, miguel tosses the dirty towel in the hamper and digs into your drawers for new panties. you hear the ruffling, causing your eyes to open and turn your head to the side. grinning at the hunk of a man digging through your dresser. almost laughing when he opened the wrong drawers before finding the correct one. as your lips part open to say something, your eyes detect the fresh cold water bottle on the nightstand. the sight brings a smile to your face.
always thoughtful.
once he finds a new pair of panties, miguel returns and kneels by the your side carefully slipping the new garment for you, which you deeply appreciate, then proceeds to slip into his boxers. you sit up and reach for the water bottle on the nightstand but miguel swiftly steps in and grabs it, opening it for you.
“loving the royal treatment.” you can’t help but giggle at his chivalry and he shakes his head. you definitely caught that little grin.
kneeling by your side, he brings the bottle up to your lips while his other hand is placed on your back as support. “drink, hermosa.” you so do, taking a few sips that leaves him unsatisfied. “más, mi amor.”
complying, you drink bigger sips. relishing the cool, refreshing water down your bit irritated throat from all that moaning and screaming. once you’ve drank enough that left him satisfied, miguel drank some himself while you get under the covers. he leaves the bottle on the nightstand and joins you in bed. his muscular arms scoop you up, bringing you to his chest. you softly sigh as you snuggle into his warmth that always felt comforting. his heartbeat against your ear, soothing you into a relaxed state. embracing each other in comfortable silence as the weight of tonight’s events slowly soothes down.
“did you seriously bite me?”
miguel groans embarrassingly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i knew you were gonna mention that.”
“got a biting kink?” you tease.
“it was just… in the moment.”
you snort, lightly slapping his chest. “in the moment, my ass. you definitely got a biting kink and went to town on my neck. probably gonna look like dracula bit me… oh shit, you’re basically dracula.”
miguel swiftly looks down at you with a frown, baffled that you compared him to one of the most famous gothic fictional characters. “i’m not dracula and i don’t have a biting kink.”
oh that’s a fatass lie. he does have a biting kink after attempting it on you. but of course his stubborn ass refuses to accept it, mainly due to embarrassment.
“mentiroso.” you give his chest another teasing, heartfelt slap. “pinche dracula.”
“ay por dios, mujer.”
the nickname may not be pleasing to him but hearing you laugh makes it up for it.
“i mean- i don’t mind, just don’t get too crazy or else i’m not gonna have enough foundation to cover it and gabi is gonna ask questions.”
that makes him laugh. miguel can already imagine the shit ton of questions she would ask and honestly can’t blame her. he should be more careful.
“oh, i should probably tell gabi her dad is dracula—”
“¡mujer!”
his reaction makes you laugh. lost in laughter before miguel swiftly turns you both over the bed, making you yelp as he lays on top of you with all his weight. now he’s the one laughing and you annoyed with his dumbassery. not long until you’re laughing too.
the night ended on a cute note.
the cool breeze of the night flows through you as you jump from one rooftop to another. a smirk grows on your face when the faint sounds of webs slinging from behind reaches your ears. smoothly landing one random rooftop, you silently admire the beautiful night sky when you hear a light thud and footsteps approaching from behind. that smirk turns into a smile when a certain pair of strong arms wrap around your waist and gently tug you against a solid chest.
“though you retired from this?” miguel asks, mask already disintegrated. allowing the cool night breeze flow those his dark brown locks.
you shrug nonchalantly, leaning into him while still staring at the sky. “just wanted relive old times.”
“being a pain in the ass, stealing all the time?”
“a girl gotta make a living.” another nonchalant shrug. “but it was for our little girl.”
he immediately softens the moment gabriella is mentioned, causing his arms to give you a gentle loving squeeze. “i know… but we’re better now.”
“we are…” you glance down at the pretty diamond ring on your finger, gleaming in the moonlight.
it’s been a year since you and miguel reunited. finally became a family but made it more official when you two got married a few months ago. sure, it seems like a short time getting back together but you and miguel knew you were meant for each other. no more waiting, hiding feelings, sneaking around, doing dumb shit. this time is official, the real deal. miguel continues to work at alchemax, which most of the income comes from. after the wedding, you quit your job at the diner and became a writer for a highly acclaimed fashion blog with an incredible pay. bought a beautiful house with a big ass backyard that includes a pool. the perfect place for your family to create wonderful memories together.
“we should head back.” he suggests. “we have to pick gabi from your parents early tomorrow.”
“it’ll be fine. besides, they love having her there all the time and she loves their house so it’s okay. let’s just stay here a few more minutes, please?” you look at him with fluttering lashes, knowing that he can never resist that cute pleading look.
“fine, five more minutes.” miguel mumbles, biting back a smile as he holds you closer.
the two of you silently admire the gorgeous night sky, holding each other close, relishing this cute intimate moment. bringing back memories of your black cat and spiderman days when neither of you knew of each other’s true identities. silly, fun times.
but it’s even better now you and miguel are back together, officially this time. being great parents to your precious daughter and being a happy family. a dream that you’ve longed for, now came true.
perhaps curiosity killed the cat but in a good way.
The diversity and representation you’re looking for already exists. Instead of complaining that authors aren't catering to your exact standards, put that effort into finding and lifting up the creators who are actually doing wonders with their craft!
Pairing Key
Anime | TV show/movie | K-pop | Video games | OCs /Original works | Comics
No Symbol: The author exclusively writes M x F (Male x Fem!Reader) or their stories feature OCs (Original Characters) with fixed genders.
☁️: Gender Neutral Reader
💌: queer fiction (wlw, mlm, etc)
🤎: All of the above (including mxf)
🌬𝒮𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩 𝐼: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
[Category: Fluff, Domesticity, & Pure Tenderness]
For the tender love, the awkward meets, and the pure adoration we’re told is rare. No struggle, just sweetness
Featured Authors:
@iamaslutfor3dman - only writes fluff and angst. If you like Ryomen Sukuna, you are in for a treeat. ☆
Masterlist
@kajismp3 - writes incredible fluff and angst—no smut! I'm always left with a warm feeling after reading her stories. Her work is wonderful. ☆
Masterlist
@moralisist - writes exclusively SFW fluff. Her work is incredibly sweet and highly recommended if you're looking for something wholesome! ☆
Masterlist Story rec 1
@mrs-livvy - You have to check out her masterlist. She’s got stories for Tyriq Withers, M’Baku, MBJ, Henry Cavill, and more. They’re mostly multi-chapter series, so get ready—it’s a total journey. ☆
Masterlist
🤎@mtcloudsworld - has a good bit of fluff, mainly smut for the DC fandoms. The way she writes sensory details is *chefs kiss <3 ☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2 Story rec 3
@pinkhoodi - is a truly versatile creator, offering everything from fluff and angst to crack hcs and SMAUs. She has moodboards paired with headcanons for both characters and Reader archetypes—like a Pop Princess Reader. ☆☆
Masterlist Story 1
@s0urw00lf - has lots of fics for Supernatural, Teen Wolf, TVD, etc. I loooove her Sam x reader fics. ☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@usoppshoneydew is pretty much exclusively black reader fluff fics for Marvel and Call Of Duty!! She has a lot of good stuff. Her works with Simon are my favorite. ☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2 Story rec 3
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🥀𝒮𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩 𝐼𝐼: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐔𝐓-𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇
[Category: Angst, Mixed Emotions, & Melancholy]
For when you want to feel something raw. Angst that varies and stays with you long after you close the tab.
Featured Authors:
@krys4h - pretty much falls under anything, but her angst stories are amazing and one of a kind. HER WORK STAYS ON MY MIND FOR WEEKS AFTER I READ IT. ☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@alaiasole - Falls under other categories as well, but her multiple part stories and angst one-shots are amazing. ☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
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🗺 𝒮𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩 𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐄
[Category: High-Concept AUs, Folklore, & Fairytales]
Out of the box plots, folklore, and fairytales. Think high-fantasy world-building where Black women are the center of the myth.
Featured Authors:
@neighbourscat - Another extremely versatile creator. She has amazing fluff, smut, and aus (like fallen entertainment idol!tyriq withers x tech balancer!blackfem!reader, or bestfriend from overseas!tyriq withers x royal descendant!blackfem!reader. If you’re looking for content that feels unique and high-effort, she’s exactly where you need to be. ☆☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2 Story rec 3
@raggycookie - Her Vampire!Eren fic is amazing—the dacryphilia and exhibitionism elements are handled so well, and the chemistry is explosive. It’s unique, it’s intense. ☆
Story rec 1
@otakufilms did an apocalyptic sci-fi fic with Ony!! Her work is consistently incredible. 10/10, highly recommend. ☆
Story rec 1
@zensei8 - is extremely creative. Think big bad wolf!sukuna x little red!reader. Incredible world-building and fairytale reimagining. ☆
Masterlist
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🌶 𝒮𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩 𝐼𝒱: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭
[Tender & Creative Smut]
This is for the well-written and creative fics that actually have plot/story to go with the freaky stuff.
Featured Authors:
@blkkizzat - She crafts rough, otherworldly smut that pulls you in, but it’s the storytelling that keeps you there. Her mini-series are god sent. ☆
Masterlist
@k0niiii-blog you'll find fluff, angst, and smut. Her stories are not centered on sex, and they all have great depth to them. So you'll find plot, emotional intensity, etc. ☆☆
Masterlist
@otakufilms - Her works are a beautiful blend of grit and domesticity—written with such warmth they’ll make your heart ache in the best way possible. From her earliest pieces to her newest, everything she touches is a masterpiece. ☆
Masterlist Story rec 1
@shawtuzi - The smut is top-notch, but you'll stay for the way she makes you fall in love with the character's personalities. ☆☆
@amourflores - Her library is still in the making, but keep a close eye on her; she’s working on greatness!!
incoming...
🤎@liliacsdelight - I do this genre justice. ☆☆☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@loonatears - Her dark content library is still in the making, but she has amazing angst and smut for DC. ☆☆☆
Story rec 1
@tojisteddy - Featuring tropes like daddy kinks and fauxcest. The Simon Riley and Toji Fushiguro girls are well fed over there! ☆☆☆
Masterlist
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💮 𝒮𝐸𝒞𝒯𝐼𝒪𝒩 𝒱𝐼: 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬, 𝐓𝐨𝐞-𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭
[Gritty & Edgy Erotica]
This is for the creators who write. brain-chemistry-altering smut. Whether it’s minimal to no plot, or character-driven intensity, these authors deliver. It's not your average smut!
@2neaky - Her descriptions are so visceral and detailed, you’ll forget you’re even reading. Her work is truly on another level... it’s just so good 😣. FEMDOM AND SWITCH DYNAMICS>>. ☆☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2 Story rec 3
@chrollohearttags - Writes the kind of smut that lives in your head. You’ll re-read it all day, and dream about it at night. ☆
Masterlist Story rec 1
🤎@h3avenlyglory - Another amazing writer. She has a variety of fics on her account. Her masterlist is a goldmine. I love you heavenly. ☆☆☆☆☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@jazzthatonewriterchick - Writes a bit of everything tbh. The tension she builds is so thick—and when it snaps?? 10S ACROSS THE BOARD. ☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@jjdaddywrites18 - Quality over quantity. Every piece she drops is great. She balances soft, sugary fluff with top-tier spice. ☆
Story rec 1
@ridingreeves - Incredibly intense. Her writing creates a physical tension that lasts from the first sentence to the very last (it be throbbing the entire time while reading). ☆
Story rec 1 Story rec 2
@st4rbwrry - Her one-shots are written perfection, delivering exactly what you need in every genre imaginable. ☆
Story rec 1 Story 2
@tojiseviltwin - She writes for multiple fandoms. Has great fluff too! Every fic will leave you giggling and kicking your feet. ☆
Masterlist
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Masterlist Disclaimer & Notes
I am constantly updating it and adding more creators. While I’ve gathered these names to celebrate the community, I haven’t thoroughly read every single piece of work by every author listed, which leads me to my next points.
Categorization: Authors are placed in categories based on what they seem to write the most or what they are best known for. Authors, if you’d like to be moved to a different category, please just dm me!
Featured Stories: For now, I have linked individual author masterlists or included 2–3 stories to get you started. Authors, if there is a specific story you’d rather have featured or if you want to swap a link, my dms are open.
You Should Know: This specific post is intended to highlight authors. I am currently working on a separate, massive Fic Rec Masterlist that will feature specific stories across all these categories and more!
This is just a small corner of the community. If you know a Black creator doing something unique, tag them below so I can check them out and add them to the list (please add what category they fit in)!
Disclaimer: No illegal or extremely taboo content/creators will be featured.
Thank you @krys4h!! You basically recommended half the list.
Him being called “Bebe” or “Amor” for the first time? Like does he ask what it means or gets defensive. Would he already have learned your native tongue and go with it and have cute names for you back?
You look around the table in the common room. Swearing your pen was just here. Like literally just here a second ago, you looked up to say hi to Mina and looked back down and the damn thing vanished.
Looking at the chair, under the table, under every single piece of paper, even checking your hair.
“Oh my god! Bebe!” you yelled into the kitchen. Frustration taking over.
Bakugou was already defending his pre-work out snack from Kirishima. Breaks his neck realizing you were talking to him.
“What woman?” he grunts.
“My pen is gone, my favorite one, can you help me please, I swear it was just here!”
He makes his way over to the table, giving a quick glance before letting out a long sigh. Picking up your pencil case and taking out your pen.
“It’s right here, you always put it back and then get angry when you can’t find it.” he says it as if it’s a fact. Which it is but you’re not giving him the satisfaction.
“Ugh thank you Amor, you’re the best” you reach up to kiss his cheek and take your pen. Attitude completely gone.
He looks at you in confusion, how your emotions changed at the drop of a hat.
A hand lands on his shoulder giving a gentle pat.
“You’ll get used to it” Sero laughs. Stealing a bite of Bakugous snack.
“What does that mean? What she said to me?” He asked, using Sero as a translator.
“Bebe means baby, and Amor” he sighs, “that means love, so if you’re not official, you’re definitely not going anywhere now.”
It didn’t bother Katsuki, because there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Y/N sat cross-legged atop the kitchen counter, screwdriver tucked behind her ear, entirely unrepentant.
That was the problem with her.
Bill was always so calm chaos never reached him.
Charlie was so good at managing to navigate through chaos so he never really minded it.
Percy was always reciting what happened during chaos with wierd accuracy.
Fred and George caused trouble because they enjoyed chaos.
Ron stumbled into trouble accidentally.
Ginny caused trouble because she was terrifying.
But Y/N?
Y/N genuinely wanted to know how things worked. Every object became a mystery. Why did enchanted clocks choose specific magic? How did cursed necklaces recognize intent? Why were magical objects almost emotional sometimes?
Arthur adored those questions.
Molly feared them.
Ron suffered through them.
“You cannot take apart dark objects just because you’re curious,” Ron told her for the thousandth time during fifth year while following her through Hogwarts corridors.
“Actually I can,” Y/N replied.
“That’s not the point.”
“It literally is.”
Ron groaned dramatically. “One day I’m going to walk into the common room and find you possessed.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You licked a cursed gobstone in third year.”
“To see if it was really cursed.”
“You were unconscious for six hours!”
“But I was RIGHT.”
Harry laughed so hard he nearly walked into a suit of armor.
Hermione sighed without looking up from her book. “Honestly, I stopped questioning her years ago.”
—
By fifth year, Y/N had developed a reputation around Hogwarts.
Not popular exactly.
More infamous.
She bought strange artifacts from older students.
She snuck into abandoned classrooms looking for leftover enchantments.
She once got detention after trying to “improve” Peeves with rune work.
Flitwick secretly thought she was brilliant.
McGonagall looked tired whenever she spoke.
Snape acted like her existence shortened his lifespan.
And Draco Malfoy absolutely could not stand her.
“She’s deranged,” he informed Blaise one afternoon while watching Y/N argue with a malfunctioning telescope in Astronomy.
“She’s talking to it.”
“She talks to everything,” Blaise replied.
The telescope sparked.
Y/N pointed at it accusingly. “Don’t you start.”
Draco stared.
Because somehow the infuriating part wasn’t that she was strange.
It was that she made strange look easy.
Her robes were always ink-stained.
Her hair was never fully tied properly.
Her hands constantly carried tiny burns or scratches from experiments gone wrong.
And yet she moved through Hogwarts like she belonged there completely.
Like the castle itself amused her.
Draco hated that he noticed those things.
He hated even more that she noticed him noticing.
“What are you staring at, Malfoy?” she asked lazily without looking away from the telescope.
“You’re one failed experiment away from national tragedy.”
“You sound obsessed with me.”
“I sound concerned for public safety.”
Ron appeared instantly. “Why are you talking to my twin?”
Draco smirked. “Protective, Weasley?”
“Yes,” Ron said immediately.
“Pathologically,” Harry added.
Y/N looked offended. “I can protect myself.”
Ron pointed at the telescope, which had started smoking.
“No you cannot.”….
Then Colin Creevey got the camera.
At first it was just another Muggle novelty.
A Polaroid his parents had sent him over Christmas.
Colin adored it instantly.
He photographed everything …friends, lessons, food, ghosts….sleeping students.
Then one afternoon he misplaced it near an abandoned dueling room on the fifth floor.
A room everyone avoided because old magic lingered there strangely.
When he found it again, the camera had changed.
The first weird photograph was Neville.
The picture showed him covered head to toe in dirt and holding a snapped flowerpot.
Three hours later it happened exactly.
Then Dean’s photograph showed him failing a quiz before he took it.
Then Lavender’s predicted a fight with Parvati.
And naturally, the second Colin mentioned “possibly cursed magical object,” everyone pointed toward Y/N.
Ron looked immediately horrified.
“No.”
“Yes,” Y/N said instantly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You are not touching haunted future magic.”
“Ron.”
“You promised after the screaming kettle incident.”
“The kettle screamed first.”
Hermione leaned forward immediately as Colin handed over the camera.
“A predictive enchantment…” she murmured.
Y/N’s eyes practically glowed.
That was the exact moment Ron knew everyone was doomed.
—
For the next two weeks the camera consumed her entirely.
She carried it everywhere.
At first the future predictions stayed harmless.
Tiny moments.
Embarrassing accidents.
Quiz grades.
But Y/N quickly realized the enchantment wasn’t stable.
It was growing.
And instead of being frightened like a normal person, she became fascinated.
“There’s layered magic inside it,” she explained excitedly late one night while sitting in the Gryffindor common room surrounded by tools. “Not just prediction. Emotional imprinting too.”
Hermione frowned. “Emotional?”
“The photos aren’t random. They’re choosing significant moments.”
“That’s deeply unsettling.”
“That’s deeply BRILLIANT.”
Ron grabbed a silver screwdriver before she could use it.
“No.”
“You can’t stop scientific progress.”
“I can absolutely stop YOU.”
But she kept tinkering.
Tiny rune stabilizers.
Modified enchantments.
Spell rewiring.
Every adjustment pushed the photographs farther into the future. Days became years.
The camera started producing images before the button even clicked.
And somehow through all this, Draco Malfoy kept appearing.
At first to mock her.
Then because he was curious.
Then because hours passed strangely fast around her.
He’d find her hidden in empty classrooms muttering over glowing runes, sleeves rolled messily to her elbows.
“You know,” he remarked one evening while leaning against a desk beside her, “normal people have hobbies.”
Y/N didn’t look up from the camera pieces scattered around her. “I do have hobbies.”
“Potentially fatal ones.”
“Don’t be jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You’ve visited me six times this week.”
Draco paused.
“…Have I?”
She smirked.
And annoyingly,
Draco felt himself smirk back.
That was the problem.
Somewhere between insults and arguments, something shifted.
He started lingering.
Y/N started expecting him.
Ron started noticing.
Which made him unbearable.
“Why is Malfoy always around you lately?”
“He’s fascinated by my genius.”
“He’s plotting murder.”
“He can multitask.”
—
Rain battered the castle windows while Y/N sat on the floor surrounded by tiny silver tools and scattered parchment.
The camera rested between her knees.
“You’re going blind,” Draco informed her from where he leaned against a desk.
“I’m enchanting.”
“You’ve been staring at microscopic runes for three hours.”
“You’ve been watching me for three hours.”
Draco rolled his eyes.
Y/N grinned slightly and reached for the camera.
“I think I finally fixed the stabilization.”
“That sentence never ends well.”
“Oh relax. Worst case scenario, we explode.”
“Comforting.”
She adjusted the final rune.
The camera sparked violently.
“Ah.”
“Why did you say ‘ah’ like that?”
“Because it’s not supposed to smoke-”
Draco lunged forward at the same moment she grabbed it.
Their hands collided.
FLASH.
The room went silent.
A photograph slid out slowly.
Neither moved at first.
Then Draco picked it up.
And froze.
Y/N frowned immediately
“Why do you look traumatized? Do we see how I die?”
He didn’t answer.
For the first time since she’d met him, Draco Malfoy looked genuinely shaken.
Not annoyed.
Not sneering.
Shaken.
Y/N stood slowly.
“Malfoy.”
He handed her the photograph wordlessly.
And suddenly the air disappeared from the room.
It was them.Older. Far older than any photograph before.
The image moved softly.
Warm golden light filled a cluttered workshop lined with enchanted inventions and half-built magical objects.
Y/N sat perched on a wooden table wearing one of Draco’s black button-ups.
A wedding ring gleamed on her finger.
Draco stood between her knees, one hand spread possessively over the curve of her pregnant stomach while she laughed at something outside the frame.
Then moving gently, future Draco kissed her.
Not dramatic.
Not desperate.
Familiar.
Like it was the thousandth time.
Y/N physically stumbled backward.
“No.”
Draco looked equally horrified.
“That’s impossible.”
“Obviously.”
“You tampered with the camera.”
“You grabbed it too!”
“You’re the one feeding dark magic into Muggle objects!”
“Oh yes because my lifelong dream was clearly reproducing with Draco Malfoy!”
The moving photograph continued behind her words.
Future Draco murmured something against her mouth that the picture couldn’t quite capture.
Future Y/N smiled.
Actually smiled.
Soft and completely in love.
Y/N stared at herself like she was looking at a stranger.
“No,” she whispered again.
Then she grabbed the photo and shoved it deep into her bag like hiding it would erase it.
After that,everything got worse.
—
Y/N started noticing the way Draco always moved closer unconsciously when she explained something excitedly.
Draco noticed she only forgot to hate him when she laughed.
Arguments stretched too long.
Silences became dangerous.
So they avoided each other.
For exactly six days.
Then Harry accidentally walked in on Draco pinning Y/N against a bookshelf in an abandoned corridor while she whispered furiously “This is your fault.”
“You kissed me first.”
“That was tactical.”
Harry backed out silently and later informed Hermione he’d “seen something deeply upsetting.”
Sneaking around after that became a disaster.
Ron was constantly suspicious.
Fred and George were worse.
“You’re hiding something,” Fred announced one breakfast while Y/N nearly inhaled pumpkin juice.
George narrowed his eyes dramatically. “She’s glowing.”
“I am NOT glowing.”
“You’re defensive,” Ginny sang.
Hermione looked up from her book slowly.
“Oh my God.”
Y/N kicked Harry under the table before he could choke laughing.
The worst part was Draco found the whole thing amusing.
“You’re terrible at lying,” he murmured later that night while Y/N adjusted his tie in an empty corridor.
“I’m excellent at lying.”
“You look guilty every time your brother enters a room.”
“That’s because Ron looks like he wants to kill you.”
“He usually does.”
Then Draco kissed her.
Quick.
Hidden.
Addicting.
And suddenly months passed like that.
Secret meetings in unused classrooms.
Hands brushing beneath library tables.
Kissing in dark corridors while trying not to laugh.
The camera kept producing photographs.
Draco asleep beside her in a workshop.
Y/N dancing barefoot in Malfoy Manor.
Tiny red-haired children racing through hallways.
Every single picture terrified them.
Every single picture came true piece by piece…..
—
Y/N stood in a warm workshop cluttered with magical inventions.
Exactly like the photograph.
Her wedding ring glinted under golden light.
Draco’s arms wrapped around her from behind automatically while one hand rested over her pregnant stomach.
“You’re overworking again,” he murmured against her shoulder.
Y/N laughed softly.
Then froze.
Because sitting on the nearby table was the old Polaroid camera.
And beside it, faded with age, was the original photograph.
The first future it had ever shown them.
Draco followed her gaze.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Then moving exactly like the picture had predicted years ago, he leaned down and kissed her gently.
summary: In the quiet aftermath of losing your bending, Aang refuses to accept it as permanent, rallying the team and holding onto unwavering hope even when you’re struggling to feel anything at all.
The kind that sat in your chest and made everything feel just a little harder to breathe through. You didn’t say anything when Aang helped you onto Appa. You just held onto him. Tightly.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your face pressed into his like if you let go even a little, you might fall apart completely.
And Aang…
He didn’t try to move you. Didn’t tell you to sit differently. Didn’t even tease you like he normally would. He just reached back, one hand covering yours, holding it there.
Grounding you.
Reassuring you.
Every now and then, you felt his fingers tighten just slightly like he was checking that you were still there. Like he needed it just as much as you did.
By the time you reached the hideout, your body felt drained.
Not just physically. Everything in you felt… empty. Aang noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said softly as he helped you down, his hands steady on your arms. “Easy.”
You barely nodded. You didn’t trust your voice. He didn’t push you to talk.
Instead, he guided you inside, one hand resting gently at your back, never leaving your side for even a second. “Sit,” he murmured, guiding you toward your bed.
You hesitated.
“I’m fine”
“You’re not,” he said gently, but firmly.
You looked at him. There was no harshness in his tone. Just care. Concern.
And something deeper, something protective.
“…Please,” he added quietly.
That was enough.
You sat.
Aang knelt in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to understand everything you weren’t saying. “I’m going to fix this,” he said again.
You swallowed hard.
“Aang- ”
“I mean it,” he interrupted softly. “Whatever it takes.”
Your chest tightened. He reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek you hadn’t even realized had fallen.
“You’re not alone in this,” he added.
You nodded faintly.
You wanted to believe him.
You really did.
He stood slowly, hesitating for just a second like he didn’t want to leave you. “I’ll be right outside,” he said. “Just… rest, okay?”
Your fingers caught his sleeve before he could turn away.
“…Don’t go far.”
His expression softened instantly.
“I won’t,” he promised.
He gently squeezed your hand before stepping away.
And when he closed the door
It was soft.
Careful.
Like he didn’t want to disturb you any more than you already were.
But the second the door shut.
Everything about him changed.
His posture straightened.
His expression hardened not cold, but focused.
Serious.
He turned to the others immediately.
“We’re fixing this,” he said.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Sokka crossed his arms, frowning. “Yeah, that’s kind of the goal, but how?”
Katara stepped forward, her brows knit with concern. “I’ve never seen something like this before… but if it’s anything like energy disruption, I might be able to help.”
Aang looked at her quickly. “How?”
“I can try healing,” she explained. “Sometimes bending is tied to the body’s energy paths. If I can restore that flow…”
“Do it,” Aang said immediately.
Katara nodded, though uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “I’ll need time… and she’ll need to be stable.”
Zuko, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke.
“There might be another way too.”
Aang turned to him.
Zuko’s arms were crossed, his expression thoughtful. “Firebending isn’t just power, it’s breath, control, energy from within. If she can still feel that, even a little… I can help her try to reconnect to it.”
Your heart skipped from inside the room.
You could hear them.
Every word.
“…You think it’ll work?” Aang asked.
“I don’t know,” Zuko admitted honestly. “But if there’s even a chance, we should try.”
Silence fell for a moment.
Then Aang nodded.
“We try everything,” he said firmly.
No hesitation.
No giving up.
Sokka sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figures. We don’t exactly have a ‘give up’ option with you.”
Aang didn’t respond.
He was already thinking ahead.
Already planning.
Already fighting for you in every way he could.
Inside the room, you sat quietly. Listening. Your hands rested in your lap, fingers curling slightly as you tried again, to feel something.
Anything.
Nothing came.
But their voices... Aang’s voice
It reached you.
And for the first time since it happened. The emptiness didn’t feel quite as suffocating. Because even if your fire was gone
content: firelord!zuko x black!reader, yearning, arranged marriage, miscommunication, newlyweds reader has locs
word count: 4.1k
synopsis: ever since you and zuko married things haven't been like you imagined they be. And you yearn to truly connect with him again.
A/N: this came into my head the morning after I watched the movie! please for give me if it's a little ooc I tried to do as much research as possible before hand. I'm currently watching the show to get a better grasp on everyone's backstories and personalities.
I'm currently on S2! It's so good! I can't believe it came out when I was one.
Big thanks to @duffymaycry for proofreading this for me!
The sun’s rays marked another day, waking up alone in bed once again in chambers that you now must call home.It had been sixty- one days of the same song and dance :the same amount of time since your wedding.You and Zuko had been married off quite quickly, a political endeavor that would save your people from total annihilation, it seemed like a great idea at first to salvage your tiny kingdom from the blockade that had plagued your people endlessly for centuries.
All you had to do was marry the prince of the strongest empire in the world but to be frank if you knew your days would be filled with constant seclusion from your betrothed, you selfishly would have rejected the offer: if your kingdom wasn’t at the forefront that is.
The people were nothing but delightful to you. They always tried their best to make you feel welcome, asking about your food, clothing and activity preferences, anything to keep you interested day after day they even threw a banquet in your honor but to no avail you still felt the same: hollow. What was the point when the person that you were supposed to share it with wasn’t even there? Wasn't that the point of marriage to spend your days with the person you loved growing your everlasting connection?
Your mind was constantly bursting with these same meddlesome questions even now they tormented you as you lay awake in a bed that felt like it could devour you with its size alone.
Why would you want to spend the rest of their life in a foreign land with people they didn’t recognize?
Why don’t you break it off?
There had to be other ways to save your realm from total damnation without this sinking ship disguised as a marriage of convenience… right?
Was everything he said to your parents a lie just to obtain your hand and along with his title as lord?
Did he even love you?
The last two were the ones that overwhelmed your thoughts the most even if this marriage was solely political. Your parents weren’t going to just hall you off to just anyone they wanted nothing but the best for you.
In the three long months that Zuko was in your family and kingdom's presence he was nothing but what some would consider a gentleman.
Doting on you every chance he got,showering you in gifts,helping the town’s people in the central village, he even took initiative to draw up the details of the alliance himself which benefited your land the most allowing it to prosper in six months time but that wasn’t what primarily drew you to him.
It was the way his eyes sparkled when you talked like he was hanging on to every word you said no matter the topic, giving meaning insight while you talked back and forth. The glances during family dinners made you feel like you were the only two people in the entire world even if your giggles would get the whole table's attention giving away to your antics.
He even agreed to sneak off with you to your place of solitude at night,a gorgeous meadow filled with beautiful flowers by day and a sky full of stars and constellations by night all hidden behind the castle’s trees.
Your heart swelled bigger everyday.
He seemed so carefree, so alive in contrast to now you barely were able to speak a word to each other. Now Zuko was constantly gone, meetings in the morning til dinner but when dinner came around you’d arrive and his plate would already empty Zuko nowhere to be seen forcing you to eat in silence.
And when night felt you were always hopeful that maybe he would be awake so you guys could confide in each other about your days but that hope was slowly shattered by the time your ladies in waiting finished preparing you for bed he would already be asleep.
Every. Single. Time.
You yearned for that version of him: that blissful connection. Would you ever see that Zuko again? or would you be stuck in this unending cycle forever? Your rumination was abruptly silenced by a soft knock echoing through the room,you slowly rising at the sound. The mountain of illustrious pillows sinking in at the sign of your weight comforting you like a cocoon,your locs slowly cascading down your back.
“ My Lady, are you awake? It's time to get ready for the day! Flora your head lady in waiting chimes the door opening a sliver.
“Yes”
The door opens fully revealing Flora,Annette and Hyacinth in their entirety.“Good morning my lady!” they say in unison their smiles meeting the sparkles in their eyes. Your shoulders slump as you sigh “Calling me by my name is fine”
“ Unfortunately we can’t my lady” Flora says swiftly making her way inside over to you
“Why?”
You stand up from the bed, tiredness releasing its claim to your body. Without delay Flora leads you down the hall to your dressing chambers Hyacinth and Annette quickly shadowing behind. Oil lamps illuminate the large room full of jewelry,informal robes,pulling out the stool and sitting you down in front of your vanity as she did
every day. The mirror reflects your appearances back at you: resetting the time loop once again.
“Because we just got word from the council that you and prince Zuko’s coronation will be taking place in four mouths time so we must not only prepare you but ourselves for this monumental transition” her lips curving into a big smile showing her dimples
Removing the silk cloth from your head Flora focuses on gathering your locs letting the room simmer in silence as she twisted them into a neat french twist securing it with a couple discrete pins adding some flair with a golden hair cuff adorned in rubies one of many abundant gifts from Zuko. Your chest tightens to the unspoken and verbal mention of your husband's name.
Straightening up again you make your way to a pedestal with mirrors placed in all directions the Flora steps away leaving the other two ladies to make quick work:Annette replacing your nightgown with a formal crimson robe while Hyacinth applied a berry stain to full lips. It was breathtaking on your brown skin, the robe signaling to you that you’d be meeting with someone important.They leave shortly after leaving you alone.
Flora makes her presents known again with a pair of gold earrings slipping them in your ears “Which means starting today you will meet with the seamstress and designer to discuss your ceremonial robes! Your lips stretch upwards at her words as you bend over to put on your flats a warm feeling starts to fill your chest.This could finally be the moment Zuko needed them too so he had to be there.
“ That sounds great! Will Zuko be meeting with the seamstress and designer alongside us?”
Flora’s eyes soften shaking her head “ No My Lady lord zuko will have his meeting scheduled at another time” Even though You and Flora relationship wasn’t as tight-kit was it could’ve of been she was always there for you when you needed someone,able to see first hand how your current situation was affecting you the tears you shed in private she even saw the mask you put on at the banquet. She even tried contacting Zuko’s advisor but ultimately turned up empty.
“Well we don’t want to keep the seamstress waiting do we? You mutter your expression blank
You surveyed the room as you walked, it was jam-packed with so much equipment, fabric jewelry samples on the round table,racks full of white robes, prototypes maybe? And a big display case of elaborate headdresses. You hadn't seen such beautiful craftsmanship since your wedding day. The one you wore then was vast and hefty; these looked not only smaller but weightless.
Two identical women stood on both sides of the room, backs turned to you,soft blue robes, hair as dark as a crow’s feathers and skin tan as if the sun had kissed them revealing its quiet devotion. They immediately turned to meet you in the middle, bowing in the process.
“ Good day My Lady, it’s an honor to officially meet you!” they say almost simultaneously
“ My name is Miyu” she said timidly
“And I am Misaki”
It was impossible to tell the two women apart visually. They were identical down to the clothes but as you looked closer you promptly found the tell Miyu had a beauty mark under her left eye while Misaki didn’t. “ It’s nice to meet you as well” you bowed as your lips slowly revealed a smile you loved meeting new people it was something you always did back home.
“ Alright let's get started shall we! Flora proposes you could feel her excitement billowing off her in waves
“Yes! Lets” Miyu replied
The white robes are where you started first even though they were made with one shade of fabric you could still see all the illustrious details the lace,beading and the hand sown embroidered patterns each one felt a silent story being told. As you walked down the racks one caught your eye ,chrysanthemums cascading down both sleeves with lace at the bottom,the v-shaped neckline showcased the most delicate bead work you had ever seen. It felt like it was calling to you whispering “I am the one”.
“ what’s the story behind this one?’’As you raised your hand mesmerised by its likeness
“ this design is a lot older than the others our mother made it when she opened her first boutique with her best friend when we were five years marking the occasion the chrysanthemums were her idea symbolizing their long joyous friendship and loyalty to one another” Misaki stated her eyes glossy at the distant memory.
“ that’s a wonderful i’ll do this one “ your lips so tight they start hurting your cheeks
As Miyu takes the robe, setting it on an empty rack close by you all make it towards the fabric sample and jewelry. Jewelry wasn’t your strong suit before marrying Zuko. You never wore such high-quality pieces so frequently, daily even. Back home jewelry like these were saved for milestones like eighteen birthdays,coronations and weddings. You still held on to the earrings your parents gifted you on your birthday and the bangle they gifted you at your wedding. Fire nation nobility seem to wear them to “silently” indicate class and project power. It was the only thing you had to go off of. Your body goes idle as you start to think. Which did you choose?
“The one with the biggest jewels?”
“The biggest one?”
So many questions swam through your mind but were interrupted by Flora's soft voice accompanied by a comforting hand “Choose the ones that speak to you Madam as Fire Lady there will be no need to prove yourself to anyone” her words seeped into you quitting the leftover over baring thoughts.
Shaking your head, you focus back on the jewelry in front of you, picking up a necklace with garnet’s embedded, some hanging from the chain detailing and a big one dangling from the middle.the polished garnet doubling your eyes back to you.handing it to Miyu moving on to the fabrics. “ It’s tradition for the robes to be red and heavy but fortunately with the changing times more materials have become available so if My Lady wishes the robes texture and weight can be modified” Mikyu says
With your eyes closed Your hand slowly passes over the samples using one out of five senses so as to not overwhelm yourself again your hand touches a wax texture it was soft to the touch and felt lightweight.Opening them back your vision unblurs and unveils the silk fabric. “ this one” you say voice confident and unyielding
The sun had taken refuge by the time you finished revealing the moon's bright light. Your stomach grumbled as you and flora made it across the courtyard’s bridge to dinner, hands held tightly in front of as if it would conceal sound.
“ You did well today Madam” Flora says softly as not disturb the warm ambiance
“ I think so too”
Coming up on the dining room doors Flora pulled them open, stepping through the threshold turning your head behind you to speak to her once more but the doors were closed with no Flora in sight. “FLORA” but no answer, your voice traveled back to you in the empty room. That weird flora usually stays in the room to keep me company. Maybe she has other things to attend to?
Walking towards the table you pull out the tall chair and sit down. The chair across the long table was empty as you expected. What you didn’t expect was a vacant spot where your plate should be when you looked down. The utensils lay there strategy placed You could almost visualize the missing plate your mind trying to complete what was now left unfinished.. Are the cooks running off schedule?
the door on the other side opens snapping you out of your staring contest with the table looking up to see Zuko walk through despite his face being blank of emotions, you could tell his jaw was clenched his golden eyes sharp as if he was waiting for a battle to start contrasting the softness he had when calmly sleeping next to you. His long hair swayed as he sat down; he didn’t acknowledge you not a single word; it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
At that moment the servants scurry in with food and wine, placing it in front of you both leaning down until their bodies rested briefly at a 90 degree angle before lifting themselves up and turning to leave the room, not giving you enough time to thank them. It was always this way they leave, never giving you a chance to show them any form of gratitude.
After a while the only sound to break the silence was the clatter of cutlery but your gaze remained on zuko. Is this real!? Was he actually sitting across from you!? You move your left hand over top of your left and squeeze a slight pain bloomed proving that this was indeed not a dream. Your chance was finally here right in front of you. You could finally connect and break the spell of distance between you before you could think your lips opened.
“ How was your meeting” coming out louder than you meant it to
Hearing the flames in the lamps crackle as time passed you reached for your wine glass, swishing the liquid contained inside back and forth before taking a sip letting the berry flavors marinate as you waited for an answer. He glanced up briefly at you, his utensils stopping mid motion “Fine” his voice clipped looking back down to his plate.
He’d never been this curt before. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it? Setting down the glass moving on to a lighter topic. “ I met with Mikyu and Misaki today. The robes and jewelry are breathtaking. I can't -“ the creaking of the chair sliding back interrupts you. Zuko stands up straight “ Where are you going?” you swiftly interjecting
“ I have some scrolls to sign off on, I must leave” his voice was just as monotone as before, like he could care less about what you had to say. “Maybe you could stay a while longer” you lightly suggested, a shimmer of disappointment glimmered in your eyes. You had finally gotten a moment together to talk as husband and wife after so long and he wanted to cut it short for diplomacy.
“ I don’t have the time “
“ Maybe that's the problem, Zuko! “ You yell hands slamming on the table knocking over your glass of wine“ You don’t make time for us anymore! Has it even occurred to you it’s been two months we haven’t spoken let alone spent any time together since our wedding not a single word do you even care! Because it’s starting to feel like you don’t “ warmth in your body erupted anger seething out like the brightness flames, staring daggers into him.
But as hot as the flames they were soon snuffed out by the a stinging sensation rapid followed a waterfall tears
“ You have no idea how hard it is to wake up everyday in a bed alone surrounded by walls and people alien to you having to learn a new way of life just so your people can have a chance for a better one! For the carefree, awkward and charming person you fell in love with to vanish only to be replaced with someone you don’t recognize hoping and pleading to the gods that things would change! That the Husband that looked you in the eyes so lovingly and vowed to love and protect you would be there for you! talk to you.
“ But I guess that’s too foolish to wish for..” Your voice disappearing
Quickly whipping your eyes you stalked off not wanting to hear what he had to say, leaving nothing but the echo of your shoes behind.
The water in the bath chamber sloshes as your body moves further down, relaxing your muscles. After your outburst Flora led you here she must have heard everything standing outside waiting for you.the heat in your body rose just thinking about it. Groaning weakly, you place your hands going over your face in embarrassment. According to Flora she had overheard some ladies in waiting talking to the cooks about dinner and hearing Zuko’s name mentioned. She had wanted it to be a surprise hoping that you two could finally reconnect but after how things went down she profusely apologized. Not wanting her to blame herself you dismissed the apology after all she did have your best interest at heart.
Dipping your hands in the water watching as it streamed out of your cupped hands and back into the endless pool of itself. Water was something that had always calmed you but it was doing very little to compose you right now. Sorrow still plagued your mind the longer you thought about it. You had finally got to tell Zuko how you felt but where did you go from here? Do you give him even more space? Resolve it right away? In all honesty you felt lost “ Maybe getting a goodnights rest will help” you say to yourself stepping out of the bath letting your lady in waiting wrap you in the silk robes that seemed to weigh more on your shoulders.
Flora and the others readied you for bed. Locs safely secure under one of your main satin scarves.You walk down the hall to your shared room. Flora had suggested the idea of sleeping in a separate room for the night but you kindly declined wanting to avoid pushing the conflict further. Deciding to face this head on approaching the door you slowly opened it quietly closing it on your way in. The candles in the room silently flicker in a quiet dance with one another reminding you of a slow sway in a dance that reminded you of your coronation day.
Zuko’s laid on his back in bed still his long hair sprawled out some strands obstructing his eyes. His forearm resting over his eyes made him look asleep, but unknownst to you he was spiraling. Walking over to the bed you sit letting it dip ever so slightly under your weight. Looking over you take in his form wanting to say something, but alas you held your tongue. You reveled in the room's silence and waited for sleep to take you but before it could a low voice interrupted.
“ I’m sorry”
Your breath hitched, fingers curling into the silks of the blanket beneath your hands. Opening your eyes, you turned ever so slightly. Zuko was awake, golden eyes locking with yours. Even though you didn’t respond, he continued to speak, something heavy laced within his voice. “ I've been thinking about everything you said and you were right, I've been so caught up in my duties that I've been totally neglecting you and our marriage.” he says as he rises up. You rise alongside him hands now resting elegantly atop of the silks.
“ I've gotten so obsessed with the preparation of changing everything my father built. I started to lose sight of myself and the person who I'm supposed to love and care for. I should've been more attentive toward you.” He clenched his fists tightly against his lap before continuing.
“ I may not know how it feels to leave my home so my people can have a better way of life. I was banished at a young age. I should’ve known the feeling of not being home, having someone to turn to in need of comfort. Instead I put myself deep into diplomatic duties to fix everything my father destroyed. Not knowing how that would have affected you, my wife. For that I truly and deeply apologize for my digressions ” Zuko gently takes your hands in his, bringing them up to rest against his forehead in deep apology.
“ I declare to you, the Zuko you know, love, and chose to stand beside is still here. No, I give you my word that I’m still here. “ Zuko states, placing your hand to rest against his beating heart. It felt warm….sincere. It felt…good. “ From this night forward I promise to be the husband that I vowed to be.” Tears prickle from the sides of your eyes.
“ We may all get lost in our pursuit of work balance Zuko, and we may have not known each other for long, but I’m here for you always. I know I’m the one who normally talks and you listen, but as your wife, and as future Fire Lady. Please come to me, rely on me whatever you need. I'll be here. You don’t have to rule all by yourself.” You say, the hand he had placed upon his chest curling tightly into his robe.
Zuko puts his forehead on yours. Inhaling deeply “ Will you forgive me”
“ Yes I’ll forgive you…under one condition “ a small smile comes across your face.
“ And that is?” His breath tickles your face, eyes serious.
“We must come together three times a week, whether it’s through tea, frolicking through the garden, walking through the village, or even resting here in our chambers. I want us to spend more time together, not as Fire Lord and Fire Lady, but as husband and wife. ”
“ I can do that. I will do that for you, my wife. I’ll even have it put in writing by tomorrow “
A giggle escapes your lips. The thought of Zuko sitting in the council room writing such a request on a divine scroll with such seriousness and dedication plagued your mind. It was a cute thought indeed.
Zuko leans forward ready to push his lips against yours before stopping halfway. “ May I? “ His eyes flicked to yours, his hands now holding yours. “ Yes, my husband. You may “ He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, eagerly pushing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Your response being just as passionate as your lips move against his. Heat rose in the apples of your face. It’s truly been a while since you’ve both kissed like this.
Pulling back for some much needed air. Foreheads resting against each others, His calloused hands resting upon your cheeks, as yours rested upon the back of his head, “ Even if you get lost again. I’ll always guide you back to me like the moon does the tide. ” You spoke softly.
“ And I’ll be waiting for the moons ever so bright and effortless light to guide and bring me back to you”
“ I Love You” he declared, pressing a kiss on top of your head before pulling back. His eyes so full of fondness as if he had never left in the first place.
“ And I love you, Zuko ”
“ It’s getting late, You need your rest to put my conditions into writing ” You whisper teasingly.
Sliding under the sheets, you and Zuko move as close as possible to each other. Hands clasping together as you lay your head on top of his chest. You squeeze his hand tightly once more as if afraid he would disappear on you if you didn't. The silence in the room felt warm and comforting as if everything was back how it should be. The loop had shattered. No longer were you stuck in endless distance and loneliness, everything had finally fallen into place upon you.
Are you okay writing Tony's parents alive? I was thinking something around Reader meeting his parents for the first time (they are good parents, please) and she's so nervous to meet them but they are so sweet to her and proud of Tony finding such a good woman... Maria teaching Reader some Italian recipes... the family our favorite genius deserves and all the fluff in the world. 🤧
Sunday Dinner at the Starks'
Pairing: Tony Stark x Girlfriend F!Reader
Warning/Rating: PG, Fluff, Family Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Tony's Parents Alive
Word Count: 3.4 K
The Stark family estate loomed before you, all elegant stonework and manicured gardens that probably cost more to maintain than your entire apartment building. Your hands were clammy against the leather seat of Tony’s Audi, and you had checked your reflection in the visor mirror at least seventeen times during the drive to Manhattan.
“You’re going to wear out the mirror,” Tony said, amusement coloring his voice as he pulled through the gates. His hand found yours, warm and steady. “Sweetheart, you look perfect. You’ve looked perfect for the last hour.”
“What if they hate me?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “What if they think I’m not good enough for you? What if -”
“Hey.” Tony pulled the car to a stop in the circular driveway and turned to face you fully, his brown eyes soft with affection. “They’re going to love you. How could they not? You’re brilliant, you’re kind, you laughed at my jokes - questionable taste, but still - and you make me happier than I’ve ever been. My mom has been pestering me for months to bring you to dinner. She’s probably watching from the window right now.”
You glanced toward the house and sure enough, a curtain in one of the front windows fluttered.
“Oh God,” you breathed.
Tony laughed, that warm, genuine laugh that had made you fall for him in the first place. “Come on. I promise, they’re going to adore you almost as much as I do.”
The front door opened before you even reached it, and Maria Stark appeared in the doorway like something out of a classic Hollywood film. She was elegant in a simple cashmere sweater and tailored slacks, her dark hair swept up, but it was her smile that struck you - warm and genuine and so much like Tony’s that your heart squeezed.
“Finally!” she exclaimed, moving forward with her arms outstretched. “Anthony, you’ve been hiding this beautiful girl from us for far too long.”
Before you could even process what was happening, you were enveloped in a hug that smelled like expensive perfume and something warm and comforting - vanilla, maybe, or cinnamon. Maria pulled back, keeping her hands on your shoulders, and looked at you with such genuine warmth that some of your anxiety began to melt.
“Mrs. Stark, it’s so wonderful to meet you,” you managed, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “Thank you so much for having me.”
"Mrs. Stark?" Maria laughed, a musical sound. "Please, call me Maria. And this -" she gestured behind her as a tall, distinguished man appeared in the doorway, "- is Howard."
Howard Stark was every bit as imposing as you had imagined, but the moment he smiled, you saw where Tony got his charm. He had the same mischievous glint in his eyes, the same easy confidence.
“So you’re the woman who’s managed to tame our son,” Howard said, extending his hand. His handshake was firm but friendly. “I’ve got to know your secret. We’ve been trying for thirty-four years.”
“Dad,” Tony groaned, but he was grinning.
“I haven’t tamed anything,” you said, finding yourself smiling back. “I’ve just learned to appreciate the chaos.”
Howard barked with a laugh. “Oh, I like her. Maria, I like her.”
“Of course you do,” Maria said, linking her arm through yours and guiding you into the house. “She has excellent taste and clearly good sense. Now come, dinner won’t be ready for another hour, but I have wine and entirely too many questions.”
The interior of the Stark home was as beautiful as you had expected - high ceilings, original artwork, furniture that was probably worth more than your car - but it was also surprisingly warm. Family photos lined the walls of the hallway, chronicling Tony’s life from gap-toothed child to awkward teenager to the man you loved. There were candid shots, vacation photos, pictures of birthday parties and holidays. It felt lived-in, loved.
Maria led you to a spacious living room where a fire crackled in the fireplace despite the mild autumn weather. She pressed a glass of wine into your hand - something red and probably expensive - and settled onto the sofa beside you while Tony and Howard gravitated toward the bar cart.
“So,” Maria said, her eyes twinkling, “tell me everything. How did you two meet? Anthony has been frustratingly vague about the details.”
You glanced at Tony, who was watching you with an encouraging smile. “We met at a charity gala, actually. I work in art restoration, and I was there representing the museum. Tony was -”
“Bidding ridiculous amounts of money on things he didn’t need,” Tony interjected, bringing over his own drink and settling into the chair across from you.
“I was going to say ‘charming,’” you said diplomatically, “but yes, also that. He won a Pollock in the auction and then spent twenty minutes telling me everything that was wrong with the museum’s climate control system.”
“It was inadequate,” Tony said defensively. “Those pieces need proper environmental controls.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” you admitted to Maria. “And he was so passionate about it that I found myself giving him a private tour of our conservation lab. We talked for three hours. I missed the entire rest of the gala.”
Maria’s expression had gone soft, and when you looked at her, you saw something that made your chest tight - approval, affection, and something that looked almost like relief.
“He called me the next day,” you continued, “and asked if I wanted to get coffee and talk more about art preservation. Which turned into dinner. Which turned into… this.”
“Six months,” Tony said quietly, and the way he looked at you made you forget anyone else was in the room. “Best six months of my life.”
“Oh, Anthony,” Maria said, and when you turned back to her, you were startled to see her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you.”
Howard cleared his throat, and you realized he looked a bit emotional too. “It’s good to see you like this, son. Really good.”
The moment was interrupted by a timer going off somewhere in the house. Maria stood, squeezing your shoulder as she passed. “That’s my cue. Dinner needs attention. Darling,” she said to you, “would you like to help? I’d love the company, and I promise not to interrogate you too much more.”
“I’d love to,” you said, meaning it.
The kitchen was enormous, all marble countertops and professional-grade appliances, but it was also clearly well-used. Cookbooks lined a shelf, their spines cracked and pages marked. A collection of wooden spoons stood in a ceramic holder by the stove. Fresh herbs grew in pots on the windowsill.
“I hope you like Italian,” Maria said, moving to the stove where several pots were simmering. “It’s Howard’s favorite, and I’ve been making these recipes since Tony was a boy.”
“I love Italian food,” you said, moving to wash your hands at the sink. “My grandmother was Italian, actually. She tried to teach me to cook, but I’m afraid I never quite got the hang of it.”
Maria’s face lit up. “What region was she from?”
“Tuscanyy. A little town near Siena.”
“Ah! My family is from further north, near Lake Como, but we share the same love of good food and loud family dinners.” She handed you a wooden spoon. “Here, stir the sauce while I check the pasta. What was your grandmother’s name?”
“Lucia,” you said, accepting the spoon and moving to the stove. The sauce was a rich, deep red, and the smell of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs made your mouth water.
“A beautiful name,” Maria said warmly. She pulled a pot of water off the burner, testing a piece of pasta between her fingers. “Perfect. You know, when Anthony first told me about you, I could hear something different in his voice. He’s always been brilliant, my son, always so focused on his work. But with you… there’s a lightness. A happiness.”
You felt your cheeks warm. "He makes me happy too. Happier than I ever thought possible."
Maria moved to stand beside you, looking down at the sauce. "A little more basil, I think," she said, plucking fresh leaves from a plant on the windowsill and tearing them with her fingers before dropping them in. "There. Now it's perfect. You know, the secret to good sauce is patience and love. You can't rush it."
"Is that the secret to everything?" you asked, surprising yourself with the question.
Maria smiled, understanding in her eyes. "Perhaps. Though sometimes love rushes in whether we're ready or not." She paused, then added quietly, "I worried about Anthony for so long. He's always been so driven, so focused on proving himself. Even though Howard and I have always been proud of him, always loved him, he's had this need to be more, do more. I worried he would never let himself just... be happy."
Your throat felt tight. "He's told me about that. The pressure he puts on himself."
"But with you," Maria continued, "I see him breathe. Does that make sense? It's like he's finally allowing himself to just exist, not just achieve." She turned to you, taking your hand. "Thank you for that. Thank you for seeing him - really seeing him - and loving him anyway."
"It's not 'anyway,'" you said softly. "It's because. Because he's brilliant and kind and funny and so full of love that sometimes I can't believe he chose me."
"Oh, sweetheart," Maria said, pulling you into another hug. "He's the lucky one. Trust me, a mother knows."
You helped Maria finish preparing dinner, and she walked you through each step of her recipes - the proper way to cook pasta al dente, how to tell when the sauce had reduced enough, the secret to her grandmother's meatballs (a splash of milk in the mixture, she confided, and a light hand with the breadcrumbs).
"You'll have to come back," Maria said as you worked together to plate the food. "I'll teach you my Sunday gravy - it takes all day, but it's worth it. And my osso buco. Anthony loves osso buco."
"I'd really like that," you said, and realized you meant it with your whole heart.
Dinner was served in a dining room that managed to be both elegant and comfortable. The table was set with beautiful china, but the atmosphere was relaxed, filled with laughter and easy conversation. Howard told stories about Tony's childhood - the time he'd taken apart the family television at age six, the science fair project that had nearly burned down the garage, the first car he'd built from scratch at sixteen.
"Dad," Tony protested, but he was laughing. "You're going to scare her off."
"Impossible," you said, reaching for his hand under the table. "I already know about the time you accidentally created a small explosion in your MIT dorm."
"He told you about that?" Howard looked delighted. "Did he tell you about the time he -"
"Dad, please," Tony groaned, but his eyes were bright with happiness.
The food was incredible - the pasta perfectly cooked, the sauce rich and complex, the meatballs tender and flavorful. You told Maria as much, and she beamed.
"You helped make it," she said. "You're a natural. Your grandmother taught you better than you think."
After dinner, you all moved back to the living room. Howard and Tony fell into a discussion about some new technology Stark Industries was developing, their conversation rapid-fire and filled with technical jargon that you only partially followed. You didn't mind - you loved watching Tony like this, animated and passionate, his hands moving as he explained some complex concept.
Maria settled beside you on the sofa, two cups of espresso in hand. She passed you one, and you sipped it gratefully.
"They'll be like this for a while," she said fondly, watching her husband and son. "Once they start talking shop, there's no stopping them."
"It's nice," you said. "Seeing them together like this. Tony talks about his father with so much respect and admiration."
"Howard feels the same about him," Maria said. "He's so proud of Tony. We both are. Not just because of his accomplishments, though those are remarkable. But because of who he is - his heart, his integrity, his capacity for love." She paused. "When he told us about you, really told us, I could hear it in his voice. This wasn't just another relationship. This was the one."
Your heart skipped. "He said that?"
"Not in so many words," Maria admitted with a smile. "But a mother knows. The way he talks about you, the way his whole face changes when your name comes up... I've never seen him like this. So happy. So settled. So sure."
You looked over at Tony, who was gesturing enthusiastically about something, his eyes alight with passion. As if sensing your gaze, he looked over and smiled - that soft, private smile that was just for you.
"I love him," you said quietly. "So much it scares me sometimes."
"That's how you know it's real," Maria said, squeezing your hand. "Love should be a little scary. It means you have something precious to lose. But it also means you have something precious to gain - a partner, a best friend, a family."
The word 'family' settled over you like a warm blanket. You'd been so nervous about this dinner, so worried about making a good impression, about being good enough for Tony and his family. But sitting here, in this warm house with these kind people, you realized you'd been worried about the wrong thing. This wasn't about proving yourself worthy. This was about being welcomed home.
"Thank you," you said to Maria, your voice thick with emotion. "For raising such an incredible man. For being so welcoming to me. For... for this."
Maria's eyes were bright. "Thank you for loving our son. For making him happy. For being exactly who you are." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And between you and me, I'm already planning the wedding. I'm thinking spring, maybe in the garden. Unless you prefer something else? I won't interfere, I promise, but I have so many ideas -"
"Mom," Tony called from across the room, "are you planning our wedding already?"
"Of course not," Maria said innocently. "We're just talking about... flowers. Generally."
"Uh-huh," Tony said, but he was grinning. He stood and crossed to you, extending his hand. "Come here, you. Save you from my mother's matchmaking."
"I like her matchmaking," you said, but you took his hand and let him pull you up.
He led you to the French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the gardens. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Tony wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
"So," he murmured. "Verdict? Are they as terrifying as you feared?"
You laughed, leaning back against him. "They're wonderful. Your mom is already planning our wedding, apparently."
"Of course she is," Tony said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "She's been planning it since I first mentioned you. Dad's probably already designing the engagement ring."
Your heart stuttered. "Tony -"
"I'm not proposing," he said quickly. "Not yet. Not tonight. But..." He turned you in his arms so you were facing him. "But I want you to know that this is it for me. You're it for me. My parents see it, I see it, and I hope you see it too."
You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "I see it," you whispered. "I've seen it for a while now."
He kissed you then, soft and sweet and full of promise. When you pulled back, you saw Howard and Maria watching from inside, both of them smiling.
"They're watching," you said.
"Let them," Tony said. "They're happy. I'm happy. You're happy. That's all that matters."
You stayed outside for a while longer, wrapped in Tony's arms, watching the sun set over the Stark estate. Eventually, Maria called you back inside for dessert—tiramisu that she had made that morning, she said, though you suspected she'd been planning this dinner for weeks.
As you sat around the table, listening to Howard tell stories and Maria laugh and Tony's hand warm in yours, you felt something settle deep in your chest. This was family. This was home. This was everything you had been too afraid to hope for.
"Next Sunday," Maria said as the evening wound down, "you'll come back, yes? I'll teach you the Sunday gravy. And maybe we can look at some old photo albums. I have the most adorable pictures of Anthony as a baby -"
"Mom, no," Tony protested.
"Mom, yes," you said, grinning at him. "I absolutely need to see those."
Maria clapped her hands together. "I like you more and more. Howard, doesn't she fit right in?"
"Like she's always been here," Howard agreed, raising his wine glass. "To family. And to the wonderful woman who's made our son happier than we've ever seen him."
"To family," Maria echoed, her eyes shining.
"To family," Tony said softly, looking at you.
You raised your own glass, your throat tight with emotion. "To family."
Later, as Tony drove you back to the city, your hand in his and the taste of Maria's tiramisu still on your tongue, you felt lighter than you had in years. The anxiety that had plagued you all week was gone, replaced by a warm certainty that settled in your bones.
"Thank you," you said quietly.
Tony glanced at you. "For what?"
"For sharing them with me. Your family. Your home. For..." You paused, searching for the right words. "For letting me in."
Tony brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you for wanting in. For seeing past the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist thing -"
"You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Never," he agreed cheerfully. "But seriously. Thank you for seeing me. The real me. And for loving me anyway."
"Not anyway," you said, echoing your earlier words to Maria. "Because."
Tony's smile was soft and genuine and so full of love that your heart ached with it. "I love you," he said. "In case that wasn't clear."
"I love you too," you said. "And I really like your parents."
"They really like you too," Tony said. "Mom texted me three times while we were saying goodbye. She wants to know if you're allergic to anything because she's already planning next week's menu."
You laughed, pulling out your phone. "I should probably give her my number. For recipe emergencies."
"Recipe emergencies," Tony repeated, amused. "Is that what we're calling wedding planning now?"
"Tony!"
"I'm just saying, you should probably start thinking about flowers. Mom has opinions. Strong opinions. She's been collecting pictures from magazines for years, just waiting for me to find the right person." He paused. "She stopped collecting about six months ago, by the way. Right around the time I met you."
Your heart felt too big for your chest. "She couldn't have known—"
"She's my mother," Tony said simply. "She knew before I did."
You looked out the window at the lights of the city coming into view, thinking about Maria's warm hugs and Howard's proud smile and the way they had welcomed you into their home like you had always belonged there. You thought about Sunday dinners and Italian recipes and photo albums full of memories you'd soon be part of.
"Next Sunday," you said. "I'll be there."
"I know," Tony said, squeezing your hand. "You're family now. You don't get to escape."
"I don't want to escape," you said softly.
And as the city lights blurred past and Tony's hand stayed warm in yours, you realized you'd never meant anything more in your life. You had come to dinner terrified of not being enough, of not fitting in, of not measuring up to the Stark family legacy.
Instead, you had found something you’d been searching for your whole life without even knowing it: a place where you belonged, exactly as you were. A family who welcomed you with open arms and open hearts. A future that stretched out before you, bright and warm and full of Sunday dinners and Italian recipes and love.
You had found home.
And it was more beautiful than you'd ever imagined.
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