#and gabri would do the same for you

[scandals-r-us]

You can't tell me Gabri wouldn't use his brother in the classic "call my big bro to get my ass out of fights I picked I know I can't win" and Migs "i love my brother so much" o'hara would absolutely help every time EVEN when on da trabajo

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ✮ K. YILDIZ

summary. an old friend of yours is in need of cheering up and it’s your job to fix him.

warnings. none! except reader is ferdi kadıoğlu’s younger sister and kenan is v sad in this.

gabri speaks! i’ve been seeing so many videos of the hate kenan is getting and just felt like writing this. oops.

THE NOISE OF scattered footsteps on your way to your brother’s room was enough to grab your attention. as you turned the corner in hopes of finding out what was causing such commotion you came across half of the team huddled around one of the rooms. your face instantly filled with confusion wondering what they were doing there and who’s room were they gathering around. were they planning some sort of prank?

“guys what are-” you try to ask but you’re shushed before you have the opportunity to finish your sentence.

“shh!” your own brother scolds you as you stand there bewildered. you quickly smack ferdi on the arm before joining the guys. you had nothing better to do anyways.

“wait, your sister!” bariş yells. “she’s a girl.”

you immediately turned towards him with a face of disbelief wondering what the hell was going on. not to mention your brother’s teammate had decided to just state the obvious and you were beginning to get anxious.

“she’s a girl?” your brother repeated mocking him.

“i meant that she understands feelings better than we do maybe she can help. maybe she can get him to catch his flight. it’ll be even worse for him if he gets in trouble with his club too.” and now you’re wondering who the hell he’s talking about.

“okay, ferdi you better tell me what’s happening before i call mom and tell her about that vase of hers you broke trying to impress sera.” you scold him earning a glare from him.

“it’s kenan.” you freeze at the mention of his name. “he hasn’t left his room since we got back and arda noticed he was reading some of the comments on his post. we think he’s upset but he won’t talk to any of us. he has a flight back to italy in six hours but he hasn’t so much as gotten out of bed. maybe you can help? please?”

it takes a lot of pleading and begging from the players but soon enough you’re carefully opening the door to his room. you’re careful to not trip on anything or cause the slightest little noise in an effort to not bother him. although you conclude that as soon as he realizes you’re in his room he might be bothered. your relationship with him wasn’t the best and the last time the two of you had talked he’d made it clear the two of you would never be friends.

you spot him laid down on his bed with a hoodie covering him. he lays still but you’re quick to notice the rhythmic beating of his chest. he’s either asleep or completely zoned out. either way it’s not good. you notice all of his belonging scattered around the room and his suitcase completely empty meaning he was more than ready to miss his flight. you felt bad.

“kenan…”

you notice his body tense at the sound of your voice but he doesn’t move. he stays still hoping you think he’s asleep, but you know better, you know him better. you had been friends once and although that was left in the past you remembered things. he was clearly upset and not just about the loss there was something more. you manage to catch a glimpse of his phone. it was replaying the same video over and over again and you noticed the comments open. every single one criticizing him. he’d probably spent the last few hours reading all of them. you quickly shut off his phone placing it on the counter, away from him.

“kenan, you need to get up.” you beg him but again he stays still.

you take matters into your own hands and walk towards his side of the bed. you spot his hazel eyes staring away into oblivion. it’s obvious he hasn’t slept at all but before you can reach out to him he rolls over. in any other situation you probably would’ve laughed and playfully smacked him but you weren’t even his friend anymore.

“you can pretend i’m not here but i’m not leaving this room without you.” you scold him.

he budges at that sitting up straight next to you. it’s oddly comforting the way the two of you sit next to each other. you notice he hasn’t taken his hoodie off and recall some of the comments that scolded him for touching it. you wondered if that was the cause of him having his hair hidden. you knew kenan, you knew he was confident, and this? this wasn’t him. you know it’s risky but you place your hands on his trying to break a barrier to make him comfortable. there was a time you’d hold him close and hopefully you could again today to help him. surprisingly he lets you.

“why are you here?” he whispers remaining still.

“ferdi told me that- they’re all worried- we’re all worried about you.” you struggle to say.

“why? i’m fine.” he scoffs.

“no, you’re not-” you’re once again interrupted by his loud voice.

“how would you know? you don’t know me anymore.” he scolds you.

“maybe we’re not friends anymore kenan, maybe we don’t make fun of ferdi’s messages to sera anymore, but i still know you and i know you’re upset.” you rub your thumb on his palm. “i’m here because i still care.”

there’s a brief silence between the two of you almost like an understanding. he knew you cared but he was scared to be vulnerable in front of you. he didn’t want to be hurt in front of you just in case you left again but he can’t keep his feelings in any longer. he’s leaning into you until his head is resting on your thighs. he seeks your comfort once again like he used to before.

“they all hate me.” he whispers. you begin to rub his back at that trying to soothe him. “it’s all my fault.”

“no, kenan it’s not. they’re just upset about the loss and using you as an outlet because all their girlfriends find you hot.” he laughs a little at the comment but you can still spot a little resentment in his voice.

“they’re right though i should’ve played better, i should’ve created more chances, i should’ve scored.” he ranted. “it hurts more because they’re right.”

“okay. you should’ve played better okay that’s fine but laying here and rotting into your bed isn’t. you want to be better? fine, but moping around isn’t going to get you anywhere. you want to prove yourself? let them know that you’re better than that? you need to get on that plane in six hours and become juventus’ greatest young talent.” you try and motivate him.

“what if i can’t?” he chokes out.

“sit up.” you demand and shockingly he does. “look me straight in the eyes.”

you’re careful with your next moves not wanting to invade his personal space so suddenly but you don’t feel that you have a choice. you grab him by the cheeks making sure he’s looking directly at you, making sure he’s attentive to your words, and making sure that he knows you’re on his side.

“hey! do they know you? do they know the sacrifices you put in day in and day out to be where you are today? do they know the pressure you put yourself through to be better? no, but i do. so i know that you can prove yourself to them. kenan, you are a star and you can’t let some silly comments about your hair take that away. you made mistakes so what? we all make them. there’s always a next time. especially for you. you’re one of a kind.” you look into his eyes hoping he absorbed in all of your words. you let go of his face soon after hoping you weren’t too pushy.

“you should be a motivational speaker.” the two of you laugh and that’s when you realize that he’s going to be okay. maybe not right now but he would be.

the two of you spend the next couple of minutes joking about and chatting. the two of you catch up with your lives mentioning future plans and past events. it feels like you have your best friend back with you. the conversation is flowing and secrets are shared once again between the two of you. and with that so are secret glances. as soon as you turned away he found time to admire your face and when he would turn his face another direction you’d do the same. you hardly noticed but his fingers would touch yours every once in a while practically begging to be enveloped by yours.

it’s not until you’re on the way out the door ready to announce to everyone that kenan would be out soon that she stops you. he’s finally taken his hoodie off and you can see him completely. it was comforting to see him like this, all joyful and less upset.

“be there for me.” he blurts out.

“what?” you stare at him dumbfounded.

“when i doubt myself again, when everyone is saying i only care about my looks, when i move leagues, be there for me. i want you there.” he pours all his emotions out for you.

“if you provide with the tickets yeah.” you joke no understanding the depths of his words.

“no, you don’t get it. i don’t want you there every other match. i want you there every match with my jersey. i don’t want you there as old friends or just best friends. i want you there as my person. i need you there as my person.” he confesses. “i let you go before i won’t do it again.”

“kenan…” you can’t finish your sentence because you’re leaning in. his hands are on your waist and yours are on his cheeks again. his hazel eyes bore into yours pleading to give in. your lips are full of fervor as they move against his. you can’t fully comprehend that you’re kissing kenan after all this time but it feels amazing. he tries to deepen the kiss but you stop him.

“kenan wait. i want this i really do but you’re still upset. i don’t want this to cloud your feelings.” you express.

“yeah, okay. you’re right. thank you.” his cheeks are crimson red as you separate from him. “i’ll text you before i head out so i can say goodbye.”

the guys wait anxiously as you slowly walk out of kenan’s room. you manage to hide your emotions as you head towards their large group. ferdi and bariş are dying of anxiety waiting for your words that will let them know what’s wrong with their friend.

“he’ll be out soon don’t worry. it’s probably best if you reassure him of his abilities in football, yeah?” you ask them and they all nod. how sweet.

“so, what’d you do to make him talk?” semih curiously asks you.

“i made out with him.” you say with a straight face. you receive a couple of gasps, some laughs, and a few screams.

“you what?” ferdi asks but you ignore him and begin walking away from him. the rest of the team watches in amusement as you walk away from your older brother. he is genuinely distraught as he chases after you and it’s quite hilarious. “did you actually make out with him? did his lips touch yours? answer me!”

from that the day forward you exchange weekends from istanbul and turin. one weekend with your person and the other with your protective brother. when you walked into kenan’s room the day you didn’t expect to walk out with a soulmate. unfortunately for you your brother is always there to remind you that the only reason you and kenan are together is because he forced you into that room. it’s a shame he’s right but you’re grateful for it because now you have your person and now you can be as annoying as he is with sera.

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.7 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

you bare your heart finally. amongst other things.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, smut (pinv), oral (f receiving). arguing.

…

Bradley had assumed it was clear that part of the deal was that you would take that thing off before you joined him. He doesn’t look up as you cross the hotel room.

He thinks about Luke, knowing that kid spends most nights in Robin’s room since you moved out, shooting a quick glance to his open suitcase still in the corner of the room. He could come back anytime, really.

It’s dark, beside the bedside lamp and a floor lamp near his makeshift desk. Luke’s things are strewn messily beside one of the double beds— Bradley’s is tidied with a military precision. It’s about the only thing about him that would ever give away that he had served.

Straightening your shoulders, lifting your chin, you walk barefoot towards him with some kind of pseudo-confidence you’re hoping he’ll fall for — and bump right into the file hanging off of his make-shift desk.

The papers slip and start to fall, shuffling the order he had taken time to organize them into. 

“What are you doing?” He chastises, wrinkling his face disapprovingly as he moves to save the cascades of papers. You stand, stuck in place, as he snatches his glasses from his face with his other hand and looks you over. “And what are you wearing?”

The satin bristles against your skin with the breeze from his open window, your skin prickling to attention as you hug the pages you had managed to save to your chest. “I’m trying to help.”

His gaze flicks downward with a beat. It lingers for a moment on your bare ring finger. You must have gone back for you clothes. Meaning, you chose not to put it back on.

The last thing he wants is your help. Morning is creeping closer and he isn’t anywhere close to being finished. He begrudges you, pushing his chair back from the table, motioning for you to sit.

The wood of the chair is cold against your half-bare ass. Feeling exposed, and scolded, and humiliated all at once, you settle into your seat.

He regrets his comment for a moment, seeing you tug shamefully at the edge of the lace as if it’ll cover you more. A muscle in his jaw ticks. He opts for silence; he should really finish this.

You know what you should be doing by now, Zoe and Abi helped with that. You swallow the thick lump in your throat as you pull the papers towards you and start scanning for anything that could help with Bradley’s research topic. You figure you’re still probably on the same chapter he was on at the Gabris house.

Work begins in silence, the two of you sitting opposite one another with so many things to say that it’s easier to just not say anything at all.

There’s an invisible barrier between the two of you, yesterday hangs in the air like a fog. The small, dimly lit study feels even smaller, like the walls are closing in on the two of you. 

The waiting game is agonizing. You had started off working faster than he’s ever seen you work before, so desperate for him to tell you that you’re doing well. It dwindles and dwindles, until it’s one yawn too much. 

As the afternoon heat fades, the chill creeps in through the open windows. Bradley pretends not to notice you shivering as much as he pretends not to notice the way your pert nipples are perked against that pink fabric. Well, he pretends for as long as he can.

“You should get some sleep.” He interrupts finally, making you spring up from where you had been drooping against your own arm.

You blink tiredly at him from across the table, frowning like that’s some kind of baseless accusation rather than an affectionate suggestion.

“I’m not tired, and we aren’t finished.” You answer him. His gaze flickers downward, his brows drawing together a little as you sit up straight, seeming to forget exactly how much of you is on display.

“You’re falling asleep on my annotations.” He corrects you.

Maybe if you stay here and let yourself fall, he’ll carry you to bed. He would, too. Begrudging you even more as he sets you down gently, cradling your head onto the pillow and guiding the sheets up around you. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering if he’ll ever even touch you again. A frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as you fiddle absently with the babydoll you’re wearing; he finally understands why you’re so fidgety. You don’t want to be in it.

“So, you bought that for my sake?” He asks incredulously, trying to keep the smile off of his face. He hasn’t ever needed lingerie to appreciate what’s right in front of him. His lips tug at the corners, thinking of how giddy and embarrassed you had been for him to find your Wednesday embroidered panties.

“Yes.” 

He presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek, watching you thoughtfully, shamelessly. After all, it’s all for him. Sitting here in this aged hotel room, you’re all his to look at. Even with another man’s ring on your finger.

If you had asked him, Bradley would have told you that he hasn’t ever cared more for lingerie. He has always preferred what comes after. 

“Well, are you going to let me see it?”

Your brows knit together. He has already seen it, he’s looking at it — at you — right now. Bradley sits back in his chair and parts his knees, jerking his head for you to come closer.

Cautiously, you push up from your seat. Instinct tells you to cover your face with your hands and hide from him like a child, your nerves tell you to cover up and pretend this never happened, the humiliation of this whole exchange prompts you to argue back and tell him that this is all his fault.

You swallow back all three and trust that he isn’t going to make you regret it. He watches you cross the short distance around the table and come to stand between his legs.

It’s sheer, and pink. His gaze falls unashamedly to your nipples, bristling against the almost transparent fabric. The satin bow that sits just between them against the curved neckline. Frilly, lacy straps sit against your shoulders. His gaze trails, falling to the matching pink panties.

He has seen items like it before, but he hadn’t stopped to consider for one minute what you might look like in something like this. Staring at him like he’s about to knock you down a peg, it’s a feeling that makes something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

His gaze flickers back up to yours with a beat, his gaze analytical and calm. Your throat constricts around a dry swallow, as your hands come to fiddle with the hem. 

Bradley reaches for bare skin, skimming his palm over the back of your thigh. Still studying your face like he’s waiting for you to break. 

“What made you pick this one?”

You close your eyes for a moment as his fingers toy with the hem of the garment. “I’ve been told that pink is my colour.” 

He hums, considering. “What was the plan? — That I’d fuck you and we would go back to pretending you don’t have a fiancé waiting for you at home?”

Shame courses through you, hot and pulsing. Dizzying, like a wave of nausea. You look toward the ground and just find your feet settled between his, and his feet still tucked into those stupid, sporty Nikes. 

Still, you’ve been made to feel small before. It’s not time to shrink back and hide. You close your eyes for a moment, gathering yourself. Then, exhale.

“Let me explain myself,” The words all rush out in one breath as you lean into him, brows pinched together and a serious look in your eyes. “Please.”

Bradley hesitates. He doesn’t want to hear it. He knows that when he’s looking you in the eye, his opinion will be far too easy to sway. Even if you weren’t wearing that sheer number.

He looks to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Fine.”

“I panicked,” It’s no explanation, but it’s where you start. “Yesterday, we were in bed together — and… I don’t know, it didn’t feel like we were on the same page.”

Malcolm would speak now. He would defend himself, often skewering through the middle of your next sentence. Even though Bradley would like to defend himself here, he waits.

“When I told you that I wanted us to… you know… it felt like that wasn’t much of a big deal to you, and it probably wasn’t, I get that, you must have done this all the time, and then everyone was talking about how you were screwing Miss Penny and—“

Now he interrupts.

“Miss Penn— April?” Your mouth wrinkles as he coughs out her first name, you hate to imagine how many times he must have called her that. How many times she might have sat across his lap like this. “Would you stop worrying about what I did before I met you? — Yesterday was a big deal to me. I know what it means to you, I know what you mean to me.”

It surprises you that he doesn’t deny sleeping with her, and then it doesn’t. You start to think back and, beside denying his relationship with Natasha when you were accusing him — he hasn’t lied to you. Not that you know of. Something tells you that he just has nothing to lie about.

His head had, admittedly, been a little scattered yesterday morning. He should have noticed that you weren’t okay.

“I’m sorry that you felt like it didn’t,” Bradley whispers, skimming his hands along your middle. “The call from your father kind of threw me off, you didn’t even want me to speak with him.”

“Because he’s a jackass!” You rush back. Bradley blinks at you, trying to stop his lips from tugging at the corners. He just can’t help it. “I was trying to protect you.”

At once, he softens. Amusement coats the honeyed brown in his eyes, he lifts his palm from his leg and tugs you down against his knee. Dragging you in, he presses one soft kiss to the swell of your lips.

“I don’t need protecting, honey,” He murmurs against your mouth. “I’m sorry. You look incredible, and I… I care about you, but I meant what I said — this isn’t a good idea anymore.”

You push forwards the second that the last syllable is out of his mouth, kissing him again, hard. Your chest presses firmly against his, that sheer fabric doing nothing to keep your peaked nipples from grazing up against his shirt.

“It wasn’t a good idea to begin with.” You agree against his mouth, grabbing firmly at the fabric of his shirt. Your lips trail away from his, working down to the curve of his jaw and nipping softly at his skin. The action almost makes him jump.

You, sitting on your knees in a sheer lace babydoll and a thong, biting at his neck. He feels like he’s dreaming.

“Right, we lost our heads for a bit,” Bradley hums, skimming his palm down your back,  eyes closed as he lets you kiss across his throat. “But it’s alright, you’re going to be fine. A couple more weeks and you’ll— you’ll be home.”

Your mouth stops. You glance downward, eyes widening slightly. Between you, Bradley’s cock has already stirred to life, struggling against the seam of his shorts, and his free hand is white knuckling the edge of the table. The other sits politely on the small of your back.

You nod at him, wide-eyed, as your palm skims down his graphic tee, 

“Exactly, it’s just a couple more weeks,” And suddenly you have flipped the conversation, you’re not agreeing with him anymore. Your soft hand is wrapped around his cock over his shorts and Bradley, for once, is speechless. “It wouldn’t make a difference, given what we’ve already done.”

“Is that right?” Bradley realizes the thought you have put into this little plan — and how it extends far beyond pretty pink lingerie, half-amused and half-shocked. His hand skims from the small of your back to the swell of your ass swiftly. His other comes to grip at your hip as he drags you into his lap.

Your eyes meet as you land haphazardly. The swell of his stiffened cock sits against your ass. You stare back at him, suddenly bashful.

“I just want us to be like we were.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the rejection. Your heart thuds at a sickening pace in your chest, fingers suddenly stiff and uncertain against his shoulders.

Bradley squeezes your hips firmly, “No, not if you’re going to marry him.” 

Your eyelids fall into a heavy blink, closing all together as you sit forwards for one more kiss. “I told him no.”

It’s not the entire truth. Bradley’s eyes widen a little, confused as he blinks. His mouth falls open and you watch his mind race to decide which pressing question must be answered first.

“We spoke on the phone and— I told him that I didn’t think I ever wanted to see him again,” That’s a little more of the truth. Bradley’s fingertips press softly against your thighs as you squeeze your eyes shut. It feels ridiculous to say, “I don’t trust him the way that I trust you.”

The light beside the bed flickers as you lean in for one more kiss, his mouth soft and pliant against yours as he skims his hand back to your ass.

“That’s why I want you to be my first.” 

He swallows softly. Bradley is used to telling his students no — he’s sure that most of them think that he’s an asshole for how frequently he does. No, I won’t curb your grade. No, I won’t tell you which chapter the exam will be on. No, no, no. But when you’re sitting in his lap and looking at him with that wide-eyed, trusting, pleading look— he’s putty. 

“Baby…” He whispers. His head starts to shake weakly, but he knows deep down that he wouldn’t really tell you no. He should.

You kiss the bridge of his nose, and then the high-point of his cheek. “Whatever happens, I’ll always know that my first time was with someone who really cared about me.” Putty, he’s pure putty in your hands. “Right?”

“Of course.” He whispers against your neck, closing his lips around the soft skin. He sucks a delicate path, slow and growingly tender with each spot his mouth settles, until he reaches the fabric covering your breast.

His thumb strokes back the flimsy strap, letting it fall off of your shoulder. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure… if you still want me.”

He scoffs against your chest, letting his forehead rest there for a second. Your fingers are in his hair again, so gentle with him that it almost makes his chest ache. He kisses at the space between your breasts, letting his nose brush against the lace covering them.

How ridiculous of a suggestion, that he would be losing so much sleep over a woman he didn’t want.

“I want you.” He mumbles, pushing the other flimsy strap off of your shoulder. He bunches at the lingerie around your thighs and stops, then watches with fervor as the cups slip off of your breasts and the fabric falls to hang around where your legs are bent. So bad, and you don’t even know.

Bradley’s eyes are on you as his warm hands come up to cup at them. He watches you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, his touch achingly slow as he kneads them both in his hands, swiping his thumbs along the swell of them.

He finds something on your face, some kind of tell that you must have that you have never noticed. He squeezes at your tits, eyes flashing with excitement as his lips tug at the corners.

Those warm brown eyes drop from your face to your chest with a beat. There’s no shame in the way he watches himself touch you. Something that resembles intrigue, maybe, as he trails the pads of his thumbs across your pebbled nipples. He lowers his mouth to them, warm and gentle as he sucks at the tops of your breasts the way that he had with your neck.

Then, his tongue leaves his mouth. He remembers how you had damn near smacked him the first time he had slipped his tongue into your mouth — how far you have come.

Your fingers press into the flexing muscles of his upper back as his tongue works over the sensitive bud, so expertly. One of his large hands falls to grab at the supple flesh of your ass while the other caresses the side of your chest that his mouth isn’t touching.

The bristle of the facial hair you used to begrudge him for makes you fidget and shift, an almost electric kind of ticklish feeling. One fidget too much and Bradley’s palm grips your ass a little tighter, his torso twisting as he turns and pushes his hips up into yours — grinding the tip of his cock against you through his shorts.

Then, he stands swiftly. Your feet barely have time to hit the floor, eyes blinking wildly. He walks you backwards and tangles a hand into your hair, taking you down onto the bed with him. 

Like this, he finally has the freedom to tear that scrap of pink down your body, discarding it onto the floor. From the second that his mouth is on your chest again, you’re whining in complaint, reaching for his t-shirt. Bradley pulls back solely to give you what you want, tossing the shirt to the ground.

He’s on you again at once, this time holding your jaw steady as he kisses you. Everything feels like such a blur, even as his kisses grow slow and steady, deeper, like he’s melting into you with each one. You don’t remember when he parted your thighs and settled between them — you don’t notice until he’s pushing his hips against you.

The growing excitement between your legs seeps through the pink thong, soaking a spot into the middle of it. 

Bradley nips softly at your shoulder, kneading at your thighs, spreading them wide. His mouth is divine, spreading like wildfire along your exposed skin. Your fingers skim through his curls, brushing them swiftly back off of his forehead.

If Malcolm could see you now — keening into another man’s touch in a way you never had with him. 

Bradley is enthralled, tracing the intricacies of your skin with his mouth. He goes down to your navel and back up, winding up by your exposed collarbones, rocking you against the growing tension in the front of his shorts.

Glancing up at you, the deepened look in his eyes has you squirming again. Lust-filled, deep, oak-coloured eyes stare up at you. He lets them fall shut as he works open-mouthed kisses along your sternum. 

Your eyelids are heavy, that dazed feeling that comes with his mouth on your skin trying to lull them shut. The intrigue of watching him drink you in tries to pry them open.

Bradley lingers as his mouth reaches the waistband of this silly pink thong. He leans slowly forward and presses a soft kiss to your clothed pussy, right where that soaked spot permeates the pink gusset.

A soft sound slips his mouth, something deep and wanting. 

He could take them off here and now, but as much as he hasn’t ever been a lingerie kind of man — he can’t help but admire that soaked shade of pink on you. He hooks them to the side, kissing the apex of your thigh softly.

Bradley starts off slow, pushing his fingers through that growing excitement until his fingers are glistening, kissing at your stomach and your hips with a feverish magnetism. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as he sinks two fingers into you. He kisses tenderly at your hip, then across those pretty pink panties.

“That’s it, take ‘em just like that, honey.” He whispers, nipping gently at the soft skin of your navel. His fingers pump slowly a few times, easing you into the steady rhythm of being filled.

Your short breaths increase with his speed as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot deep in you that has you grabbing at his shoulders. You shudder under his touch, grinding against his fingers. 

His hand tucks your thigh over his shoulder in the same swift movement that his head drops down between your legs. Nosing the edge of your panties to the side once more, he drags his fingers to an agonizingly slow pace.

Those honey-oak coloured eyes flicker up as he purses his lips and kisses the lowest part of your pelvic bone, letting his lips gaze your soft skin the rest of the way down. His fingers curl sharply as his lips wrap around your sensitive clit, making you gasp in sharply.

You whimper at the fervor of his mouth, eyes squeezed shut like they always are when he touches you. The sounds of excitement as his fingers curl deeper into you. You wish he was closer, and that you could hold onto him as you grow closer to your climax.

He groans with you, fidgeting almost uncomfortably at the strain in his pants as he shifts against the bed. Even with his growing discomfort, he’s not done, pulling you closer to his face.

Curling your fingers into the sheets just doesn’t cut it with how he makes you feel. Bradley’s tongue patterns across the sensitive nub like he’s French kissing, his fingers keeping steady pace. Despite your best efforts, those panting breaths spill into quiet moans all too quickly.

Maybe there’s a little competition in all this. Bradley doesn’t know what you got up to with that little fiancé of yours, but he knows you’ve never felt like this with him, and you never will. He’ll never have you trembling and choking back sheepish, graphic sounds like this.

“Let me hear you, honey,” He murmurs, lips wet and glistening as his fingers make your body jolt. “Yeah, that’s right, little louder.”

Slow and steady wins the race, sure, if this was a competition. Bradley could be slower, he could drag this out, bring you to and from the edge, but he feels the way you’re trying to grind against his mouth and his fingers. You’re chasing him, and you’re too sweet to beg him.

His lips quirk at the corners as your heel presses into the muscle of his back, writhing against him as the shudder of your orgasm rolls through you like crashing thunder.

He kisses his way away from you, down your thighs and across your stomach, reveling in the sounds of your pleased sighs.

Then, he sits back on his knees and hooks his fingertips into the sides of your underwear. You take in the sight of him. 

Broad, golden shoulders. His gold chain dangling between his collarbones. His stomach taut and strong. His cheeks freckled and warm, his lips terracotta.

You’re starting to understand all of those lewd artworks now, someone feeling the need to immortalize their lover looking like this.

“Still with me, pretty girl?” Bradley murmurs, his voice tinged with an affection neither of you had been expecting to develop. Eyelids heavy, you nod your head at him and lift your hips. His smile turns to something cocky, a lopsided grin as he cocks his head at you while he waits for his answer.

That shining look in his eye and that confident smirk on his mouth has him looking devilishly handsome. You press your thighs together, giving him a polite nod.

Underwear discarded, Bradley moves to undress himself. You push up onto your knees and kiss his mouth and his jaw, as he fumbles open the buttons on his shorts and shoves them down his legs.

He tugs down his boxers, your mouth is otherwise occupied. It hangs open just slightly, your lips flushed and swollen, studying his newly naked form. He tosses his underwear and wraps his hand around the base of his cock, pumping it a few times as his free hand captures the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

“Tell me that you’re sure.” He mumbles against your lips, brows drawn together as you keen against the tip of his cock, smearing pre-cum across your navel. “And not for my benefit, I want you to mean it.”

“I do mean it,” You answer him giddily, fingers in his hair and your chest pressed flush against his. “I trust you, and that’s why I want you to— us, to do this.”

Bradley ducks forward, his next kiss firm and soft at once, his hand skimming along the naked length of your spine until he’s got a firm grasp of your round ass. He squeezes at the flesh, pulling you into him and planting you on your back.

“Sit tight, honey,” Bradley breathes out, stepping one foot off of the bed to grab his work bag. You aren’t going to like this. He plucks a condom from the inside pocket, sitting back on his knees. You watch, one brow quirked, as he tears the packaging and lines up the latex. He takes one glance at the look on your face and quirks a smile. “Don’t give me that look.”

He’s right, you’d rather not think about why Bradley might have packed protection for this trip. And, as his mouth hits yours and his chest plants your body firmly to the bed, there’s not one chance that you’re thinking of anything but him.

It’s a tangle in the soft-lamp light, his body covering yours like a blanket as the street bustles below. The smell of your perfume fills his senses, drawing him in like magic. His nose brushes your hair, his hands skimming across your naked waist.

Just like he had when he was between your legs, Bradley kisses you lewdly, his tongue doing most of the work in a way that makes you shudder against him. He nips softly at your bottom lip as he pulls away, turning his attention to your jaw and the shell of your ear.

His hand squeezes firmly at your ass, a smile tugging at his lips. He feels the way you’re rocking softly against him, soaking the tip of the latex that’s covering him.

“You just tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” Bradley hums, kissing pliantly across your jaw and down your neck. A half-way incoherent sound of acknowledgement comes from your lips.

He shifts his hips, dragging the tip of his dick through your folds. One last cautious look toward your face, he swallows softly before he presses the tip into you. You grab onto his shoulders tighter, squeezing your fingertips into his muscle.

He hisses softly, his stomach muscles tightening at the way you’re squeezing him.

“How’s that, honey? — Talk to me, I wanna hear it.”  Bradley breathes out, his voice all deep and desperate, coming out hot against your neck. His adam’s apple bobs just slightly as he swallows back the dry feeling in his mouth. 

Your fingers press into the muscle of his back, brows knitted in concentration. You’re cute when you’re focusing. 

“It — yeah, it’s great.” You’re lying to him, you just don’t expect him to know that so quickly. His lips quirk up with abject amusement as he gives his head a soft shake.

“I’m just checking that I’m not hurting you,” He clues you in on what’s making him smile like that, pressing his lips softly to yours. “Am I, baby?”

A little. It’s not necessarily a pain. A slightly uncomfortable stretch, maybe. A foreign feeling. A slight discomfort. Nothing to write home about.

“No, keep going.” You urge him, draping your arms around his shoulders. His palms find your hips, already weighted to the mattress by him on top of you. He glances down between the two of you.

He drags back his hips until just the tip of him remains buried, then pushes slowly forwards once more, feeling your thighs squeeze around his hips. It’s been a long time since he was so cautious in bed.

His focus is torn. There are few things that he lets himself get in his head about, he’s usually a pretty laidback guy. But this, this is important. You’re important. “You’re beautiful. Looking at me like that — you’re gonna have to be careful or I’ll never let you go.” He whispers, barely joking.

His lips press softly to the column of your throat, more of that French-kissing kind of assault across your skin. His lips on your throat have your head falling back into the sheets, eyes rolling as you tip your jaw to give him better access.

Bradley wraps his arms under you, hugging you close, cradling you against his body. As you keen into the feeling of his tender mouth on your collarbones, a soft gasp slips your lips. He begins to thrust in and out, slow and shallow, holding you to him. 

“That’s it, honey, just relax,” He murmurs against your skin. Your head falls backward as he hits you deep. You smell the soft sweat on his skin and the intoxicating perfume of his cologne, you’re wrapped in his weight and his warmth— how could you not be relaxed? “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. And he does. In his arms and beyond that too. Your ring sits, discarded, in your room down the hall. 

As his hips push forwards once more, you’re struck by the realisation that it doesn’t hurt anymore. It — It feels good. More than good, he drags through you like velvet as his warm breath fans out across your skin.

He feels when it happens; there’s no way to miss the sudden way your rigid thighs melt their way around his hips and your fingers squeeze into the flexing muscles by his shoulders. You gasp, moaning into the curve of his neck and he grunts like he has been punched.

His hand smooths over your bed-mussed hair, his lips on your temple and your cheek and your mouth.

“Atta girl, there you go,” He murmurs affectionately, the pattern of his thrusts almost musically rhythmic and fluid. He’s so deep that your head is spinning, hitting that one part of you that makes you want to scream. “That’s it, baby. You’re so good.”

The sudden praise has you clinging to him tighter, panting hard against his skin, pressing your heel into the apex of his thigh.

His hands skim along your naked back until he’s got two handfuls of your ass, squeezing at the soft flesh. You’re so full that you’re practically mindless. 

There’s an urgency to your movements that makes his lips tug. He grins breathlessly against your hair. Your breaths shallow out, rushed and spilling over with soft moans. 

“I’m— I’m— Ugh.” You sigh, giving up on communicating as you cling to his shoulders. He nods his head against yours, knowing anyway.

“Tell me, baby.” One of his arms withdraws from around you, slipping down between your bodies to stroke tentatively at your clit. And then, he turns his face towards your cheek and kisses softly. “Wanna hear how good you feel.”

Your legs stretch and the static comes for you next. You try to muffle the shriek by burying your face against his neck, but you know that he hears it all the same because of the way his hips twitch. He slams into you hard, stroking your hair back off of your forehead and kissing your temple.

He should have guessed that with an attitude like yours, you’d be loud. Whimpering into the curve of his neck as his hands explore your writhing body.

Your comedown hits him hard. His stomach tightening and his muscles going rigid as a fraction of his weight presses into you, just that much heavier. His voice grows deeper, growly and desperate as he curls his fingers into your roots and tugs your head back.

Lips hanging open, breath sucked out of you, your eyes wide and pleading as your legs tremble around him. 

The warm light from the bedside lamp casts an amber glow over him, his brows knitted seriously. He pants softly, squeezing at his hold on your roots, drawing you in for another kiss. He punctuates each draw of his tongue with a slow, deep thrust of his hips.

His free hand squeezes at the soft flesh of your thigh, his already rigid body going totally firm as he drops his head down against your shoulder, spilling into the condom.

Eyes still closed, he peppers your salted skin with soft kisses, stroking his thumb along the nape of your neck, his palm along your waist. You inhale softly as he pulls out of you, blinking through hazy eyes as he kisses across your collarbones.

Hugging your breast in his palm, he flicks his thumb across your nipple once more before drawing it into his mouth. You watch him curiously, as he kneads at and kisses your body.

Finally, his chin resting against your navel, he looks up at you with his hands hooked around your hips. His brown eyes glint with affection. “Hey, honey.”

“Hi.” You whisper back, your face growing hot under his sudden gaze. His smirk tips, lopsided as he presses another chaste kiss to your hipbone.

“How do you feel?”

“Fuzzy all over,” You blurt out, before you can consider how embarrassing of an admission that might be. Bradley grins at you as he moves to lay beside you and drags you onto his bare chest. He strokes your hair back from your face. “Does it always feel that good?”

His smile just grows. He chuckles softly as he leans in and kisses your mouth again, slow and romantic. “I dunno. Maybe we’ll have to find out.”

He’s just kidding around, but your eyes go wide with intrigue and excitement. 

“Like… do it again?”

Bradley strokes across the ends of your hair, breathing out a chuckle that has you rattling against his chest.

“You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?” He has already sparked the idea of having sex again and just the idea has you feeling restless.

His brows knitting firmly as you push up from his chest and spin around to face him.

His gaze flickers down to the hand that you’ve got planted on the centre of his stomach, then back to your face.

“Could I take a picture of you?”

His brows dip toward each other. His lips tug at the corners. His head tips slightly to the right. Perplexed, really, is the only word for it.

“Now?” Bradley gives you some room as you push yourself onto your elbows, hair mussed and bedsheets tangled around your hips. He takes note of the way the sun catches on the already faded ghosts of rough kiss marks that he left on your chest and considers propositioning you for a photo opportunity yourself.

“Only if you don’t mind,” You tell him, already twisting around and stepping off of the bed, letting the sheets fall in your place. His eyes trail the length of your spine all the way down to the round swell of your ass. He swallows softly, losing all of the humour he had just found in you wanting to do it again, as you bend over and search the little bag you had left by the table. “I just… want to remember how you look right now.”

And then you turn to face him, the Siena summer sun setting behind you. It occurs to Bradley that this is the first time he has seen you so bare. No fidgeting, covering or hiding. Your bare skin bathed in a pure gold shadow. 

Powerless, he gives you a certain nod. 

One foot in front of the other, you toe your way back into bed and settle down on your knees. Bradley doesn’t even register that he’s reaching for you until his palm has balled over your smooth knee. 

“How do you want me?” Bradley asks, lips quirked as he remembers the time he had been talked into posing nude for an art class. A story that would have scandalised you weeks ago. 

“Just relax.” That’s rich, he thinks with a soft smile tugging at his lips. You, who had damn near hit him for having the nerve to dip his tongue between your lips, naked and telling him to relax. 

Still, he tucks his free arm behind his head and gives your knee a soft squeeze. His bicep swells, the veins in his forearm still pressing against his skin, his auburn curls spilling onto his forehead. His expression settles, calm as ever, terracotta lips quirked at the corners, just hinting at a smile. Affection in his eyes.

You smile back at him, lift the camera to your eye and squint. Peering through the viewfinder, you study its version of him. His big, broad shoulders and matching biceps, the look in his eyes isn’t deafened at all by the lens. The shutter clicks. 

You pull back and set it down against your thighs as the picture starts to put itself together and peel out from the top of the camera. He smiles softly, giving your knee a gentle squeeze, winking one of those pretty brown eyes at you.

Flapping the picture back and forth, you lift it to take a look and he watches your mouth twist upward. He’s laying back against the pillows with one arm tucked behind his head, his curls messy and his smile all-knowing. He’s beautiful. His eyes are on you.

…

tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover @diorrfairy

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

You up? (baby daddy AU: College days prequels)

Baby Daddy Masterlist

Context: this is Post break up.

Word count: 400

Not proofread

—

12:35 am.

Fourteen month old Gabri is sleeping peacefully in her crib, the room consumed in darkness with exception to the light glow from your laptop. Tired fingers idly typing out yet another senior paper, trying to not type too loudly since she is such a light sleeper. With your phone turned on silent mode, you didn’t even noticed you got a new message till you checked the time.

Miguel 🫤: You up?

Oh god. You bite your lip as you stare at the message. I shouldn’t respond, I’m just gonna end up in his car and either we end up making out and arguing. You thought as you placed your phone face down, shifting your attention back to your laptop…

For only about five seconds until you reached for your phone again and opened the message.

You: I’m doing homework.

You: why?

You didn’t even have a chance to put your phone back down before the screen lit up again.

Miguel🫤: Miss you.

You: Gabriella’s asleep.

Despite your front of resistance at the idea, you have to admit it was hard for you to say no. It was always hard to say that to him. The break up was bad, messy, the only reason you haven’t blocked his number and never show your face around him was because of your daughter.

But… You missed him.

You missed the sharing of a bed with your little bundle of joy tucked between you two. You missed baking cookies at three in the morning when you were supposed to be pulling an all nighter studying. Missed being invited to the same group hang out without the other being excluded, and the way Mj and Peter would coo and all but steal Gabriella away from you both the entire time. Missed the tender kiss, and the whispered sweet nothings, the ‘I love you’s…

Now, everything is different, just you and Gabriella in your old childhood room a few streets away from your old apartment where your ex boyfriend is.

So like always, like every other time he called… you came.

“Hey mom, dad…is it okay if you can watch Gabriella for a bit? I-I know it’s late but Mj and Peter got into a fight and-“

God you hated lying to them.

“Of course honey, go go. I’ll turn on the baby monitor.” Your dad assured you as he got up and out of bed, giving you a kiss on the forehead as he walked past you and back into your room.

You hated how trusting they were of you.

“Thanks, I’ll be back soon.”

You hated how you still craved Miguel so much despite it all.

—

“Hey…”

“Hey.”

You hated the nerves you always got appearing on your his doorstep.

“You gonna come in or just stare at me?” The way his head tilted when he teased you, how you saw the glimmer in his eyes when he looked at you still…

You made sure to lock the door behind you.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @mcmiracles @mangoslushcrush

@queerponcho @yournextbimbogf @tinybirdhideout @reader-1290 @laysmt @migueloharasoulmate @fruityfucker @pigeonmama @scaryplanetdestroyer @migueloharastruelove

@krentkova19 @genny1019 @maiyart @stressed-cherry @haveclayeveryday @leonsbimbogf @bmoplanet @carmison @c4rm1son :

@scaleniusrm @ginnysculture @mishaglass @wusyanmee @bunnibitez @miguelzslvtz @dahehow @sinners-98-world @othersideoftheparadise @toyfortoji @yeshajane @yvesbi @hanjisgf @deljojeisbackagain @safixiovi @emmalandry

@maxinemus3 @aaaaslaaaan @kenz-ee @esmedelacroix @whattheshock @syler-griffin @comeonatmebruh @xwonderlandresidentx @m4dyy @the-pan-liquid @lilbrababe99 @jxstanemo @badbitchhour @freehentai @sillysillygoofygoose @nj452896 @jadeloverxd @faretheeoscar @ce3stvu @scorpihoooe @blossomofbismuths @nxxav3rs3 @ilovespiderverseeee @ghost-lantern @saaaaaaaaaaaamiiiiiiiiiiiira @lavenderslemonade @rinnako @reirain @nommingonfood @miguelsfavwife @tomalymme @farrowroyale @beckberin-xo @chrishy973 @amberpanda99 @thesmutconnoisseur @candied-snails22 @nanam1 @namjoons-baby @urbimom @cherrycosmos392 @beaberr-xo @night-spectrum @Chrissymodi-frost @electricgg @ohara-whore @coquitokisses @lilmiss-stussy @Sukunash0e

[feyhunter78]

By Any Other Name - Nerd!Miguel

Description: You + his last name? He knows it's all hypothetical, all circumstantial, but it's killing him. Artist cred: Lintufrikki on Twitter

Miguel remembers the first time it happened. You asked him if he wanted to get lunch before your next classes, it’s a two-hour stretch, one he knows you’d rather spend at home, and honestly normally so would he. But when you broach the topic, dangle it before him like a carrot on a string—though he knows you’d never do that maliciously, you just don’t understand what you do to him, how you make him feel—he can’t bring himself to say no.

Chick-fil-A, it’s the only food you’ll eat from the student center, and you lean against the pillar with him, your shoulder brushing against his.

“You didn’t have to do that; I would’ve gotten my own food.” You tell him, your expression a soft mix of guilt and gratefulness.

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking down at you, at the way you fidget with your nails. They’re that same long almond shape you always get, but this time colored a smooth, glossy pink. They make a pleasant sound when you tap them together in thought, and for a moment he wonders how they’d look against his skin. Not in a vulgar way. Just your hand in his, or pressed to his chest, or resting on his back when you hug him. Or maybe around his throat as you ride hi—he stops that thought in its tracks and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Gabri: So, you’re finally on a date with your sorority girl? Took ya long enough.

Miguel: It’s not a date, we’re just getting lunch between classes.

Gabri: Yeah, okay, and water isn’t wet.

Miguel: Fuck off.

“O’Hara?” The girl behind the cash register calls out.

Before he can even take a step, you bound up to the register, with a happy "right here!" on your lips.

His stomach flips, his hand curls around his phone. You acted like it was nothing, sprang up before he could even react, as if O’Hara had been your last name all your life.

Y/N O’Hara, it sounds nice, he savors the thought, rolls it around in his mind before locking it away.

You hand him his bag with a bright smile. “Want to go sit outside?”

The second time it happens, he’s even less prepared than before. Miguel guesses it shouldn’t be as bad, no one is calling you O’Hara, you’re just walking around with his name on your back, in big white letters. He doesn’t even know why you’re here, this is a chess competition, it’s boring, well he knows you find it boring. He’s tried to teach you to play once, but gave up in favor of hearing you bitch about your sisters, and how no one on exec knew how to do their jobs.

Then he sees Gabriel, with his arm slung around Mina’s shoulders, and it all makes sense. His stupid but big-hearted brother brought you here for “support,” even though Miguel was sure he was going to lose now. How could he focus when you were sitting on the sidelines, proudly wearing his last name for all to see?

It takes all his concentration to not let his eyes flicker to you every free moment he has, and when the competition is over, and he’s come out in second place, he finally relaxes.

Which was a mistake.

You practically throw yourself at him, smiling up at him. “Miguel! That was amazing, you were so fast, and the way you moved the pieces and won—okay I don’t really understand what I was watching, but you did so well! Second place, that’s so good!”

He shoots Gabriel a look, then smiles sheepishly at you. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise, Gabriel said people don’t usually come to support, but that he and Mina were going to come today, so I thought I’d take them up on their offer to join them.” You untangle yourself from him and turn so he can read the back of your shirt. “And isn’t this cool? Mina made them, we all have one.”

“Yeah, it’s—it’s really cool, thanks for coming, it means a lot.” He’s sure his face is red, and he pushes his glasses up, clearing his throat. “I hope it wasn’t too boring.”

“Miguel.” You drag out the L sound in his name, giving him a faux annoyed look. “You gotta stop apologizing. I told you; I like seeing you in your element.”

“Yeah, man, don’t be such a Debbie Downer.” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. “Now smile, I’m taking a picture for mom.”

Miguel smiles at Gabriel’s phone, and you turn towards Mina, whispering.

“They look good, huh? I like seeing Mina with our last name on her, feels likes I’m staking a claim without even having to do anything.” Gabriel says conspiratorially, nudging Miguel with his elbow. “How about you, feeling good?”

Miguel elbows him back. “Fuck off.”

You’re drunk when he finally gets the gift of hearing you say it yourself. You had called him from the bathroom of some frat house, all sad, and dare he say needy? You were whining into the phone, begging him to come get you because you missed him, you needed him.

He weaves through the house, nodding at Brett, who—after Miguel got over his jealousy that definitely wasn’t jealousy—he found to be a pretty decent guy. Maybe a bit too much of a people pleaser, but he was harmless. It was Brett who let him in, after all, who vouched to his frat brothers that Miguel would be in and out, just here to pick up a drunk girl.

His words, which will echo in Miguel’s head maybe till the end of time, were, “he’s cool, just here to get his girl, she drank too much, called him up, he’ll be quick.”

His girl. In the eyes of Brett and a few random guys whose names, he never learned; you were Miguel’s.

He finds you with a friend, leaning against the wall, your head on her shoulder.

“Y/N, your rides here.” She says, rubbing your bicep comfortingly.

Your eyes fly open, and you smile when you see him. “Miguel!”

He crosses the distance between you in two strides. “Hey, you alright?”

“She drank too much, I don’t know what’s up with her, she seemed fine when we got here, but then she just took a nosedive.” Your friend, Janey—he thinks—says, as she passes you to him. “Just get her something salty, it’ll balance her out.”

“French fries, I’d kill for French fries right now.” You mumble, as Miguel wraps his arm around your waist.

“Why don’t we get in the car first and then talk about French fires?” He suggests, leading you back through the house, and into the cool night air.

Once you’re away from the music and the heat of the crowd, you straighten up, and scrunch up your face, bringing your hand to your forehead. “Fuck, I am way more drunk than I thought.”

“Let’s get you home.” He says, trying to guide you towards his car.

You shake your head. “Too tired, can’t walk anymore.”

“Y/N, my car is right over there.” He points to his car that’s no more than fifteen feet away.

“Can’t do it, too far, I’ll just sleep right here.” You say, slowly moving to lower yourself to the ground.

Now he knows you’d never sleep on the ground, never sleep outside or even in a frat house. If you were by yourself, you’d be calling your friends, or an Uber and going home. And maybe he should feel honored that you feel safe enough with him to give into the drunkenness and act silly, but he really doesn’t want to stand here all night.

“No, no, why don’t you just…come here.” He scoops you up into his arms bridal style and starts walking.

“You’re so strong, how are you doing this?” You ask, amazed at his strength.

“You weigh less than the weights I use at the gym, this is nothing.” He says, unable to resist puffing himself up a bit.

“Miguel, you’re amazing, seriously, you’re like a superhero.” You say, looking up at him with such adoration it almost hurts.

“And you’re drunk.” He snorts, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other while you toy with the buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah, so?” You manage to undo the top button and are working on the second.

“So, you don’t know what you’re saying, or doing.” He says, his voice pitching up slightly at the end when you successfully undo a third button and press your hand against his chest.

“You know, it’s kinda funny, you’re carrying me like a bride. Like I’m Mrs. O’Hara, Mrs. Y/N O’Hara. I like it.” You look up at him through your lashes, head tilted to the side alluringly.

He nearly drops you. “Y-Yeah?”

You nod then yawn and rest your head against his chest. “I’m tired, no French fries, just sleep now.”

He gently sets you in his car and buckles you in. “Just sleep then, I’ll wake you up when we get to your apartment.”

“Okay, thank you.” You say sleepily, already curling up in the seat, eyes closed.

He shuts the door and rests his elbows on the hood, burying his face in his hands. You’re going to kill him one of these days, and he’ll happily let you.

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer

[miguelhugger2099]

A Knight's Oath (Pt. 2)

Summary: Miguel starts his expedition and meets someone new. <<Prev Next>> Knight!Miguel x Princess!Reader, Enemies to Lovers (?), Fluff, Angst, Word Count: 3,239

“I don’t like you going out there on your own.” Gabriel frowns as he helps Miguel bag his belongings. Miguel was set to travel to Etheria on foot to make it more believable that he is a traveler.

“It’s the king’s orders, Gabri. I must.” Miguel sighs, rolling up his tethered sleeves to his firm biceps. “Plus, the castle will provide for you and Madre while I’m gone.”

Gabriel groans and drops a bag on the floor. “That’s not what I meant. Mama and I will be fine. I’m not a skinny boy anymore. I work too, you know!” He shoves Miguel playfully which makes the older brother grin softly to himself. “I meant that this…mission of yours is stupid.” He admits. Miguel looks at him incredulously.

“We have the chance to finally give them what they deserve and you think it’s stupid? Do you spit on our country’s name?” Miguel’s bushy eyebrows turn downward in a hard glare. Gabriel, having been under that same gaze many times before, did not waver.

Gabriel crosses his arms. “So what? We fight bloodshed with more bloodshed?” Miguel huffs and turns away but Gabriel didn’t allow Miguel to stray from the conversation. “Do you honestly believe that will set things straight?”

“I didn’t take you to have a holier than thou type of persona.” Miguel glared over his shoulder.

“And I didn’t take you for such a bloodthirsty savage.” Gabriel grunts. He sees Miguel turn back away silently and angrily zipping up a sleeping bag. He uncrosses his arms and scratches the back of his head. With his older brother going away for however many months or years, he didn’t want tonight to leave a bitter taste. So he approaches behind him and places a hand on Miguel's shoulder.

“I can’t change your mind–I know that. What we went through was rough, but just like us, some people just get caught in the crossfire and it isn’t their fault. It’s not your fault that what happened to us happened and it’s not your responsibility to make it right,” He speaks gently. Despite the O’Hara brothers' height being massive, Gabriel was still a bit shorter than Miguel.

Miguel stood still and Gabriel sighed knowing that his silence at least meant he heard him.

“I love you, Mig.” Gabriel whispers. Miguel cracks and looks over to his baby brother. His face melancholy and wistful as if remembering the sick little boys they used to be.

“I love you, Gabri.” Miguel pulls Gabriel into a tight hug which is returned just as loving.

“Ugh, that was tough to say.” Gabriel’s voice muffled over the fabric of Miguel’s tunic. He laughs and shoves him off playfully.

“You’re still a boy, I see. What man can not say with his mouth with what is declared in his heart?”

Miguel asks jokingly, dramatically placing a fist over his chest where his heart would be. The two brothers laugh between themselves for a while longer before being interrupted by the sound of their cabin door opening with an eerie creak. Their heads turn to see their mother shuffling inside with her dark blue shawl around her body. The two boys look at one another before the younger one approaches her gently, taking her in his arms.

“Hola, Ma. Did you have a nice time out in the garden?” Gabriel gives a weak smile while Conchata stares at her feet lifelessly. Without a response, he licks his lips nervously. “Miguel is heading out tonight. King’s orders, remember?”

Miguel frowns, looking off to the side and fiddling with the strings of his shirt. “He’s gonna make us proud, mama.” He hears Gabriel whisper to her. Conchata moves out of Gabriel’s arms and moves towards Miguel. Miguel turns his head and his eyes widen slightly.

He straightens up, thinking his mother would do…well, anything. His eyes meet hers and he can feel himself becoming a little boy again. Something stops him though, her eyes seem to be going through him rather than looking at him. Miguel watches as she passes by him and towards the kitchen, the faucet beginning to run and the clanking of dishes faintly heard from the other side. He deflates and Gabriel sighs, feeling the same discomfort that hasn’t gone away in years.

“Mig, you know Mama—”

“She’s the same. It’s fine, Gabri. It’s all my fault anyway Madre is like this.” Miguel moves past Gabriel to collect his bags. Gabriel scoffs.

“You know it wasn’t your fault,” Gabriel’s lips turn into a deep frown. “It was traumatizing. For all of us. We’re all coping with it.” He tries to reassure Miguel but it falls on deaf ears. He knows this because Miguel is still moving around, distracting himself.

Gabriel turns around to see the threshold of the kitchen and he can still hear the sound of their mother cleaning quietly. He turns back to Miguel. “See you tonight?”

Miguel faces Gabriel with a small smile, pretending like nothing had happened. “See you tonight.” He confirms.

He was set to leave at midnight, a giant wooly coat to keep him warm and a hefty amount of pouches and bags that didn’t really bother him with his massive strength. Gabriel watched as Miguel lugged the weight on his back, a feeling of discomfort in his heart. He just had a feeling that this isn’t what Miguel was meant to do. He thought his brother grew strong to protect–not to kill. However, he knew his brother was hard headed and stubborn. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to change his mind about it without a fight. Gabriel just hoped he’d come back safe and this would all be worth it. “Don’t get yourself killed.” Gabriel says grimly. Miguel takes his concern leisurely, brushing him off with a toothy grin. “Don’t worry about me, Gabri. I promise I’ll come home in one piece.” He faces his brother after putting the hoodie over his head. Gabriel’s frown doesn’t lift. “I’m serious, Miguel.” Miguel keeps grinning. “I know.” “Be safe. Mama and I will miss you.” At the mention of their mother, Miguel strains a smile and nods, patting his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder

“Yeah, I’ll miss you too. I’ll see you soon.” Miguel then turns away and walks off. He takes a few steps before his baby brother calls out to him again. “And send letters!” He hollers. Miguel doesn’t look back, offering a thumbs up in response. Gabriel groans but watches until his older brother is out of sight. A terrible feeling swirling in his stomach that nothing about this was right. Miguel at the center of their king’s bidding wasn’t something he wanted him to be a part of. He closed the door as he stepped back inside their small but cozy home, hoping and praying for Miguel’s return in one piece.

Miguel had been walking for days at this point. Etheria was definitely not a neighboring country. He had spent days and nights hitchhiking and using the money his king had given him for transportation on boats. When he left, fall had begun, a chilly air that would surely become rougher in the coming weeks. So, Miguel had hoped to reach at least the border’s of Etheria by the time the first snowfall came. When he had gotten the chance to jump on a small merchant boat to Etheria, he was also muddled with commoners looking for work. He paid them no mind and instead sat in a corner where he ate his bread and butter by himself. “What are you here for?” One man asks another. “Same as everyone here, most likely. There’s an opening for Etheria’s royal guards.” “Ah, they say there’s a lot of work there–not just for their army.” “Well with the war, there've been hundreds looking for jobs. With their iffy reputation too…I guess not many want to take chances.” A baby starts wailing and immediately a mother tries shushing it quiet, rocking it in a panicking manner. Miguel glares from the side, finding the crying unbearable. “And…what’cha here for, miss?” A man asks, shifting his legs uncomfortably.

The mother looks up with wide scared eyes. She holds her baby to her chest, the child grabbing at her shirt to find her milk. “I-I’m…looking for work. Escaping my country. I-It’s not safe.” “Pfft. Which country? All of them have gone to shit.” He shakes his head. The woman turns her head down meekly, helping her baby under her shawl to feed in privacy. “I’d rather not say… It’s not safe.” She mutters again, face contorted in fear and panic but her hands cradles her baby gently in her arms. Miguel rips his eyes off of the commoners and looks at the floorboards. He’s glad the crying had stopped.

Miguel kept his hood up and over his head when the boat docked the pier of Etheria. He quickly made a hast getting out, tired of the long weeks of sailing on water–he nearly got seasick. The workers on the port began surrounding the small ship, collecting and doting down the different goods that had come in. They ignore the commoners spilling out, unbothered and almost used to the amount of people sneaking on the boat. Miguel rested his bag on one shoulder, nearly all of his resources had been spent thus making it ten times lighter than when he left. He looked up at the night sky, the shades of dark blue had started to become a light blue with a light orange and yellow, but the sun hadn’t peeked just yet. He saw some dark clouds overhead, trying to overcome the sun’s warm light. Miguel hoped it wouldn’t be a downpour. He sighed to himself, a puff of air showing, before walking out of the pier. Miguel sniffled every few seconds and he got very annoyed very quickly. After seeing the town come into view, he decided to descend into the woods to rest. Miguel found a log to sit on and looked around the perimeter to find some sticks and rocks to make a small fire. Once he found what he needed, he began setting up his little campfire, lighting it up and huddling towards it for warmth.

“Damn this weather…” He shivered. He looked back up at the sky, the dark night sky had been replaced with a murky gray, some parts darker than others. He rested his back on the log, wrapping a soft blanket around his shoulders. Slowly, Miguel’s eyes had fluttered shut–exhaustion of the travel catching up to him and the relief of finally making it weighed on his body into a deep slumber.

He can’t remember how long he slept for, nor did he realize it. Which is why he woke up with a start, heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline running through his body and pulled out his blade from his belt up to his chest to defend himself when he felt someone poking him.

Miguel jumped back a few feet, a threatening glare in his eyes as he brought the blade up in a defensive stance. The stranger jumps back as well, not expecting that reaction and puts his hands up in mock defense. “Woah, woah! Slow down there! Easy with the knife, my wife would kill me if I dragged blood through the house.” He chuckles nervously and Miguel narrowed his eyes, unamused. “Who are you?” Miguel growls. The stranger slowly puts his hands down. “Name’s Peter. Now I know a lot of folks like camping and being out of their homes for a few nights but you’re obviously–uh– shaken, for a lack of a better term. So, are you a, uh, traveler?” Peter asks, squinting his eyes and raising his eyebrow. Miguel scans Peter. He could tell he had a lean frame even if his coat covered his whole body, he could see his legs. Skinny and shorter than him and it doesn’t look like he’s carrying any weapon but he couldn’t be too sure. He lowers his blade but still keeps it up to his body. Miguel remembers all the commoners in the boat. “Yes, I am.” He answers hoarsely. It had been a while since he spoke. “I’m… looking for work.” Peter claps with a grin and small laugh. “Oh, I gotta tell ya, you’ve come to the right place, big guy.” He places his hands on his hips and examines Miguel. Big muscle-y guy. Young and–just by the knife prepared when Peter nudged him awake with his foot–prepared and trained. “Y’know there’s a lot of job openings listed but, uh…I think one of ‘em would suit you nicely.” Peter nods, rubbing his chin in self approval. “When’d you get in?” Peter asks, snapping his fingers and pointing at Miguel. Miguel lowers his knife to his side. “A few hours ago.” Peter winces. “And you wouldn’t happen to have somewhere to stay, would ya?” Peter groans as he realizes that. He taps his foot on the ground, the grass making a soft shuffling sound with each tap. Miguel keeps his gaze hard as he watches Peter mutter to himself. Are the people of Etheria this…unprofessional?

“I got it!” Peter snaps his fingers again and laughs. “Oh, I’m a genius. I still got it.” He chuckles to himself that leaves Miguel dumbfounded. “I’ve got the perfect temporary place for you.” Miguel stares at Peter and Peter groans. “If you don’t want to sleep on a log for another night. Consider yourself lucky that I even thought about going on a hike this morning.” Peter dusts imaginary dirt off his coat shoulder. Miguel grumbles under his breath. He’d rather not sleep on a log–he guesses. “Show me where.” He grunts. “Oh,a little rough around the edges–noted. Traveling does that to ya, I guess.” Peter clears his throat. “Right, well, follow me. I can’t guarantee it though. My friends are a little picky but I’m sure with my word, they’ll consider it.” He eyes Miguel’s giant bag. “Need help?” Miguel quickly grabs it and sheathes his knife back into its holster. “No. Just lead the way.” Peter’s eyes squint subtly up at Miguel but nods, turning around to lead them both back into town. “So, where’re you coming from?” Peter asks, their shoes now meeting the cobblestone of the town hall.

“A small country. Rather not say.” Miguel mutters. Peter hums in understanding. “Right. Sorry. I forgot how…sensitive everything is.” He murmurs and glances at Miguel to give him a weak smile. Miguel notices his gray hairs clearly, eye bags under his eyes. “But wherever you come from, I promise it’ll get better. Especially here. Here, everyone has something for them.” Peter turns back to the front and doesn’t see the disdain on Miguel’s face. How dare these people be so blindsided and brainwashed that their country is doing good? Do they not know their history? Miguel begins to notice how they’re walking out of the town hall and passing by the commoner homes scattered across the plain. Instead they continue on the stoned path upwards to the gated entrance of the castle. He could feel a shiver run down his spine, his heart speeding up. “Where are we going?” Miguel demands, hand itching to grab his knife again. He knew he’d win against a man as weak as this ‘Peter’. He could crush him in seconds. “We’re meeting my friends. Just be cool, alright?” Peter grins over at Miguel and eventually reaches the gates where two soldiers stand on either side. Peter shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “Guys.” He greets them. “Peter! I thought you were still on leave?” The man on the right asks. “I am, Eddie. I just found this traveler guy, uh…” Peter stutters, realizing he hadn't asked for Miguel’s name. He leans back and whispers not so subtly. “What’s your name?” “Miguel.”

“Miguel! Miguel here is looking for work and a place to stay so–two birds with one stone–I brought him here.” “I don’t know, Pete. The queen–” Eddie speaks but is interrupted by the blonde soldier on the left. “The queen would most surely not like it!” Eddie sighs. “Ben’s right. Not just…everyone can step into the palace.” Peter scoffs. “What? The queen loves helping travelers find their footing here.” “Not directly inside the castle.” Eddie groans. “He’d do better doing it the normal way.” Miguel listens carefully to the conversation. He holds back his smile by biting his cheek. Could it really be this easy to step inside the castle? All because of this one naive man? He felt his heart pumping, the thought of being so close to pierce the princess’s heart. “I’m not just anyone, Eddie. The queen will understand–she’ll listen. Let us through. I’m still your superior.” Peter crosses his arms over his chest. Eddie tries to keep eye contact with Peter but closes his eyes with a deep sigh. “Ben, open the gates.” “Hell yeah!” The two guards open up the heavy black bar gates with a push. Miguel has to stop himself from racing in and finishing the job too early. Despite his excitement with how fast this plan was succeeding, he knew he had to be diligent. He had to make sure nothing could go wrong. Peter pats Miguel on the shoulder. “I’ll be introducing you so don;t worry about customs. Travelers get a pass for that.” He jokes and continues walking through with Miguel, Eddie pouting from behind as him and Ben reclose the gates.

Miguel looks on as Peter leads him towards the front of the castle. His eyes wander around the lavish and pristine marble look the royals of Etheria call home. He can’t help but scowl. Did your family achieve these luxuries by trading the blood of innocents? Miguel tipped his chin up, clenching his jaw. No matter how delicately sculpted and beautiful this place appeared, he could clearly see the crimson liquid staining the walls. His eyes landed on a figure at the top of a tower, where they loomed over the balcony. There stood a fair maiden with a small tiara on your head and a fluffy baby pink robe over your casual light pink dress. He figured you had to have been the princess. His blood boiled just seeing your face at peace, calmly and admiring the gray sky above. Suddenly, Miguel felt a frigid breeze and along with it came a few flurries of fallen snow. He looked up and saw tiny snowflakes fly down, decorating the grass and bushes with white sprinkles. He looked back to you and saw you sticking your hand out as if trying to collect the snow in your palm. You shivered and snuggled yourself back in your fluffy robe but still peeked into the sky to watch the snow fall. Your eyes followed a snowflake, watching it swirl and spin in a dance with the wind. It landed in a faint growing pile of snow next to someone’s shoes. You trailed your gaze up to the owner and met Miguel’s eyes. Shocked that there had been a person standing there for god knows how long, you scurried back inside and shut the balcony doors closed. Miguel tsked in annoyance and heard Peter call his name inside. With heavy steps. He swallowed down his anger of this situation and walked inside the castle doors where Peter waited with a warm smile.

A/N: if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, let me know :') Taglist { @allysunny @laysmt @marvel-moviesfan @latenightcravingz @hysterian111 @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @gejo333 @lavenderosemarylove }

[kairiscorner]

Watching miguel marry somebody else? Then gabri courts us /j

(sighs)

walking down the aisle with someone who isn't me — miguel o'hara x reader

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

summary: you felt your whole world crumble when you were there with him, by the altar—just not you as the one he'll be marrying. you feel like crying, screaming, running away—you just can't stand the sight of miguel being with anybody but you. but could you blame him? you waited too late to tell him the truth, what you really felt. word count: 868

you were never one to cry at weddings, you honestly couldn't care about someone starting their life again with the addition of another person in it. if anything, weddings always brought smiles to your face. you always dreamed as a young child what your wedding would be like, how beautiful your spouse would be, how tall your cake would be, how much tears your parents and friends would shed, and just... how happy you were going to be for the rest of your life. and just when you thought you found that person... everything comes crashing down on you when he tells you himself, with a wide grin and his right hand over his left, obscuring his surprise, that he's found someone special to him.

why, oh why, universe, do you find your sorrow entertaining?

and the worst part of it all was... you were the person of honor at his wedding. you stood there, close to him, but not close enough to be that special person who he gazed at with such affection, held overflowing love and devotion for in his heart, the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with. you were none of those things to him, and for the first time, you saw yourself outside of your body, you wanted to grab yourself by the shoulders and shake you awake. you wanted to slap that fraudulent smile off your face, it hurt to force yourself to stretch a smile this wide when all you wanted to do was sob yourself into next month.

but you couldn't do that, no. you'd be selfish for not being there when he specifically asked you to. besides, it was your fault for not admitting to him sooner. you had loved him for more than a decade, you had adored him for what was about to be 15 years in the making. he held your heart in the palm of his hands without even knowing it; with his silly smiles when he would be caught off guard snickering at something, when he'd look all aloof and stoic when completely in focus, and when that shine and widening of his eyebrows when his interest has been piqued—when he's completely enamored with something—or someone, it seemed—you felt your heart beat a little faster, sometimes skipping to beat once or twice altogether.

you realized it at the end of your junior year, you were in love with miguel o'hara, the only guy who ever looked at you like you were worth something, despite his unbearable attitude and snarkiness—he cared about you a lot more than he's ever cared anyone else. but caring for and loving are not one in the same. you were the one he cared for, but you never were the one he loved.

you supported him and were there for him even after you realized your feelings for him. you were there when his previous partners left him, when he was struggling with his powers at first—you were actually the first person he admitted about them to, he trusted you that much. you were there for him when he needed immediate medical attention, and you were there to listen to him go on and on about his inner turmoils.

you were there. you were always there. you hoped that maybe he'd open his eyes one day to the truth of it all, that no one would ever love him the way you loved him. you felt like you were owed to be with him at the end of all this, that one day, he'd ask you if you loved him, and you'd say yes, and he'd take you up in his arms and thank the stars above that you loved him back. but that kind of stuff only happens in fairy tales, and you were living in a bleak, gray reality where nice people can only go so far.

and here you were, the only one who ever really loved him, never once being seen that way by the man you loved. he was getting married to someone else, someone whose name you didn't care to remember, whose face you didn't wish to keep stowed away in the depths of your mind. you knew he was a catch, you knew a lot of people have the same dreams as you do, to have a piece of him—to bed him, to wake up with him, to hold his hand and kiss him and forget your worries as he holds you close and reassures you he's here for you—but that's all it'll ever be: dreams.

as they exchanged vows and their 'i do's', miguel sneaks a look at you and smiles widely, and it wasn't out of sympathy or friendship—it was a smile that thanked you, a smile that reassured you that even if he's married... he appreciates you. and it was only here, at this very altar, that you found yourself crying for the first time at a wedding; a wedding you would've felt joyous at, proud of for your friend that he found his somebody—if you could only stop yourself from wishing that somebody was you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0

[arachine]

dc (the psychological thriller/horror type. you know i’m a sucker for horror content) for miguel would be crazy… like man lives as himself on another earth. something feels off about him but he looks & acts just like your miguel. think he would be one of the only spider-people this would be in character for too. he’s definitely darker & more brutal than the rest but also thinks he’s doing the right thing. tell me that isn’t him before he actively tries to reform himself

+ nobody steal this idea bc i wanna write a full fledged fic where reader is his s/o

oh it most definitely is him. but let’s run back that ‘man lives as himself on another earth’ because that’s such a creepy fucking concept.

like can you imagine being the neighbor who runs into him every now and then? your conversations are surface-level, usually genial, in the way that conversations go when you’re in a hurry but still don’t want to seem rude. you usually catch him when he’s heading out the door to drop his daughter off. most mornings, he’s got a cup of coffee in one hand, with a school bad tucked under an arm, while the other hand struggles to juggle his keys and a lunch bag.

gabri’s the first to speak. always bright-eyed and over-enthusiastic, a stark contrast to the man behind her who is obviously not a believer in the phrase: the early bird gets the worm. still, despite his tiredness, he isn’t too good to offer you a kind smile and a small nod of acknowledgement.

“good morning!” she beams, with the same eagerness you’ve come to anticipate everyday. miguel is usually the next to say something, sometimes it’s a simple parrot of his daughter’s “good morning” or a “hello”.

but today? today is different. there’s no greeting, no smile—not even a nod of acknowledgement. his walk is different too, straight-backed and stiff, and the bags under his eyes have all but disappeared (not that you’ve committed them to memory or anything).

“good morning,” you say first. experimenting. waiting. he stops mid-footfall and turns to look at you, but it’s strange — his face. there’s an uncertainty on it, like he’s confused by your greeting.

“oh, hi.” curt. you poke again, curious.

“hey, wait!” you close your door, running down the steps and across the grass to catch him. “i made a bunch of these last night,” you hold up a container of cookies, “maybe gabri can take ‘em to school and share with the class?”

his eyes linger on the box in your hands for a few seconds before they flit to your face. again, that hesitance, uncertainty. then, he reaches a hand out to grab them.

“alert. impending threat,” his watch announces.

“wha—“

miguel retracts his arm possessively, knocking down the box of cookies in his wake. he looks at you once, and it’s startling, amber eyes ablaze with specks of golden ire.

without saying another word, he resumes his trek to the car and drives away. when you bend down to pick up the cookies, there’s a stray wisp of silver webbing hanging from the side of the container.

whoever that was, it definitely wasn’t miguel o’hara.

[axel-silverly]

A/N: okay guys, I didn't forget about the realistic angst version of my fic, how would have Gabriel realistically reacted to Michellel's death? Well, let's see, shall we? (Oh, btw, it's the same up until "Are you proud of me, Sir?" so you can skip to that part if you want to)

After the battle (Realistic angst ver.)

A light rain pouring down on him, the smell of wet grass and blood filling his lungs, the gentle sound of thundering slowly fading away, that was what little the principality's sense could pick up in that moment.

As Michellel lied motionless on the ground, short breathed, feeling both his conciousness and his life slip away, along with the sound of rain droplets hitting the ground he heard a flutter of wings echoing through the air.

He looked up, trying to see if one of his comrades had survived the massacre, only to meet the eyes of the very being he loved most besides God, despite his whole body failing him, he couldn't help an entusiastic smile forming on his face: "Sir... Sir Gabri.. el." 

 

"I-I know- I couldn't finish the job. But I... I still gave it... My- My whole so..." he extended an arm towards his superior, as if to desperatly try and reach him like a lifeline "Are you... Proud of me, Sir..?"

No answer. The only thing Gabriel did was staring coldly in his direction, not a word escaping his lips as he patiently waited for the principality to breathe his final breath.

Realizing the silent context, Michellel's smile faded away, his heart dropping to his stomach at the realization he had failed the being he most adored.

"Oh..." his arm strenght betrayed him, his whole body flopping onto the ground, the last thing he could manage to do was forcing out a weak "I'm... So sorry... Sir-" before exhailing.

Gabriel stood still for a few, endless moments, looking down at the corpse without a sound, without a reaction, without even an expression on his face.

Only after the sky cleared, showing the bright stars lighting up the darkness of the night , did he click his toungue before stomping on Michellel's lifeless body.

"That easy of a job..."

Another stomp on his chest.

"That many resources..."

Another on his stomach.

"That huge of an army..."

And another on his face.

"And you still... Ammounted... To nothing."

He stopped stepping on the corpse, looking down at it in disgust before kicking it out of his way as he prepared to fly back to heaven. How dare he get in his way even in death?

As he spread his wings, Gabriel glanced back at his former right-hand-angel one last time.

"... Pathetic."

[wackus-bonkus-maximus]

So Wackus idk if you’ve already seen them but when representation first came out there were some anons theorising in flightfoot’s ask box about whether Felix knew about Adrien’s amoks being in both rings or not. Since you are the fandom’s greatest expert on all things Felix, I wanted to ask your opinion on the “Felix thought Adrien’s amok was just one ring” theory, which overall contends that:

- Felix only has one amok and may very well assume that’s the same for all sentis

- He and Amelie both treated the Graham De Vanily rings as family heirlooms and nothing else; neither knew or believed they were Adrien’s amoks, especially not when Amelie kept asking Gabriel to give them back

- Gabrie deliberately pretended they were just rings so Amelie or Felix wouldn’t figure out they were Adrien’s amok

- Amelie and Felix probably thought that Adrien’s amok was either MIA with Emelie or just another object kept by Gabriel

- Felix realised one ring was Adrien’s amok when Nathalie gave him (disguised as Adrien) an order in Risk

And

- Assuming Adrien had only the one amok, and that that was the ring Nathalie wore, Felix gave the other ring back to Gabriel without any qualms

This is the first theory for Felix giving back the ring that actually makes a lot of sense for me - I especially wonder if Felix lashing out at Adrien during his titular episode was partially from envy - he has never seen Adrien controlled with his amok so blatantly and perhaps assumed Gabriel didn’t have it or didn’t use it (and imo almost definitely thought Emilie didn’t)

you know, i was thinking about this too! it's the only theory that makes sense to me as well, given how felix views sentis and how he feels about adrien especially.

this was ring 1, which felix stole from gabriel in "felix."

gabriel then took ring 2 from emilie in the same episode.

i do think amelie thought the graham de vanily rings were just normal rings. however, i think felix believed they meant enough to the agrestes that they would use one of the rings as an amok. and i'm sure when felix showed up again in "gabriel agreste," he realized that adrien was still being controlled, that probably confirmed his suspicions that it was ring 2 and only ring 2. so he ruled out ring 1 as being adrien's amok and went snooping around for the 2nd.

it probably blew felix's mind when he realized adrien had 2 amoks. especially because he'd realized he already gave one back to gabriel. my guess is that dusuu told him the truth - and maybe that's part of the reason he was so angry in "emotion."

i definitely think this season could have used some more felix-centered episodes, especially tracking the progress of his hunt for adrien's amok. however, they did give us enough clues for felix's actions to make sense now, especially that trade in "strikeback!" i don't wanna say felix did nothing wrong, because he certainly acted a fool, but at least with this theory his goal to keep adrien safe is consistent.

would love to know what your thoughts are now, @flightfoot!

[miguel-owhora]

I disappeared for a bit hi hi, love your new blog theme :33

I was just curious if you have any Miguel hcs like silly little ones (spiderdad ones too?) Idk I just saw the most painful mischaracterized writing of Miguel in a fic and I'd love to hear some nice hcs if you don't mind ofc ofc🙏💕

-🌼

thank you ! im taking a big fat shit whilst writing this so enjoy :3 !!!!

i think miguel has a guilty pleasure of watching those trashy reality tv/drama or or whatever idk shows. like they're so bad and corny and cringy, but i truly believe he enjoys them, if just to make fun of them. he likes watching them from our time to his time, and probably has a collection of them. he probably destresses bt watching them 😭

im also a believer that he has, or had idk, a step by step skincare routine. this man wears robes and is just so ... fruity ! he most definitely takes care of his pretty little face, and wears his stupid robes and bunny slippers.

the bunny slippers were probably a gag gift from gabi n gabri, and he talks about how dumb they are, but theyre rhe comfiest pair he owns and they mean a lot bc.. well, yknow what happened.

this man probably has a collection of robes or something idk i feel like he would. he probably has one for every occasion. i feel like he'd have a matching one with gabri and he doesnt like wearing it that often because he will cry

okay, but spiderdads time :3 !!!

peter forced him to get a matching pink robe and despite him complaining about it, everyone knows he actually likes his pink robe. he uses it the most. actually, peter got it for him from his own world :')

peter is so silly with miguel like hes the silliest idk hes smart but dumb, and miguel is very attractive to it. he'll act all annoyed in public but in private miguel is all soft smiles and twinkling eyes whenever peter makes a dumb joke or does something stupid.

i feel like miguel is accidentally funny idk his actual jokes are so bad they're not funny, but without even trying he delivers the best comments at the exact same time and hes all ??? when everyones struggling, and failing, to hide their laughter

he does the most when hes Spider-Man like dude, have you seen his comic vers??????? peter is so CONFUSED when he sees miguel arching his back and kicking his legs and ??!?!?!! theres no reason for him to be doing all that 😭😭

idk miguels a silly idiot n i love him for it :3 he n peter are both smart but with enough time, peter tears down his walls n makes him silly !!!

[citruslullabies]

Trigger warnings: mentions of blood and a breaking in, there's not much but please skip if you are easily nauseated/disturbed by these things.

Requested by: N/A

Romantic/platonic?: neutral

Category: angst with no resolution, cliffhanger

Ship (romantic/platonic): Miguel O'Hara x reader

Word count: 668

Arachnophobia

Miguel at one point and time, had been just like any other spiderman. He was funny and kind, before he was dragged into a web he could never dig himself out of. Everyone hates spiders and leaves them, maybe he should've expected not to be the exception. The pain he felt when he lost Gabriella was what broke him, and when he started to drive everyone away from him. The universe was cruel and unfair and he understood that, what he didn't understand was why others had chances to save their loved ones but he didn't get that. He had lost everything. Everyone always left or got hurt, or in the worst case scenario he lost them forever to the depths of the universe. Maybe that's why he tried to drive you away before you got hurt, so you'd be free from his web.

"Dios mío.. I'm fine." He growled at Lyla, using cotton swabs to clean fresh wounds from a mission. He knew that the wound would heal faster due to being well, spiderman, but it still hurt and needed disinfecting. The little hologram glitched a bit and in a flash was laying on his shoulder, kicking her feet up and down. She rolled her eyes and gave a fake yawn, looking at him with an unamused expression. "Uh huh so you like, totally, aren't gonna start watching rewinds of Gabriella? Or totally aren't gonna start wallowing in regret of pressuring them to leave?" She asked with a bored tone, finding Miguel predictable at this point.

The man's upper lip twitched as he scoffed and tried to grab Lyla as if he forgot she was a hologram, upset that he couldn't smush her like a bug beneath his shoe. "Shut up." Yet, it was true. His grief and pain made him painfully predictable. He had pressured you away in hopes of saving you and yet.. Even at that he failed. He still remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Why can't you see that I'm trying to help you?" Was a sentence that you had said when he began to grow distant, you pleaded that he let you help him. Let you fix him. And yet he refused all the same, baring his teeth and scoffing. "And what could you possibly do to help me? Reality check, (y/n), you can't. This isn't like some fairytale where you can just come along and fix every problem." He growled out, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes. Unable to look into yours that held nothing but disappointment. He hated when your eyes held a mix of emotions, none of which were good. He hated being the cause for it more.

You frowned and didn't close your eyes, keeping your emotions spread out for the world to see. "I'm not trying to fix you? I just want you to recover. The way you've been coping isn't healthy, why do I always find you injured in some way? If this is about Gabri-"

You didn't even get a chance to finish before he cut you off, approaching with violent footsteps as his eyes were stern and cold. "This isn't about her. It's about the fact that you can't mind your own business. Stay out of mine." He said, trying to take it easy on you and give you some warning to stop but you didn't take it. You just kept pushing.

You kept pushing, worried about him and wanting answers. You were just as stubborn as he was. The arachnid decided that if he couldn't persuade you out of his webs, he'd force you out. So he left, he left and thought you'd be safe. He still remembered how he found you, with police surrounding the building your apartment was in, being carried out into an ambulance with bloodied wounds and cries from someone breaking in. He wanted nothing more than to help you but he knew he'd only make it worse.

It's simply what spiders did.

Hope you enjoyed reading this! (P.s you guys can send in requests.. I don't bite)

[clockwork-windmills]

something I've noticed from theory posts going around is that people seem to think that Aziraphale's actions at the end of the season are very out of character. I, to put it lightly, entirely disagree. Aziraphale's character arc in season 2 was beautifully and subtly written and the season HAD to end the way it did to let both Aziraphale and Crowley develop.

The flashbacks this season served narrative purpose beyond "haha let's see what AC got up to all that time ago". The way I interpreted the show was that these were specific memories Aziraphale was recalling throughout the season as a result of all the shit going on with heaven and hell and gabrie- i mean Jim and vinylatte and everything. Aziraphale went through a character arc known as a Fall Arc (coincidence? who knows):

Character believes lie

Character clings to lie

Character rejects truth

Character clings to worse lie (in this case, a more extreme version of the original)

This is shown not only through Aziraphale's present-day actions, but through the flashbacks.

All through the series we see how Aziraphale wants to do good. He likes doing the right thing and he - though he has moments of doubt - ultimately believes in the goodness of heaven and the evilness of hell. He hasn't had that same rejection of it as Crowley has had. That isn't a sign his mind has been tampered with or anything. That's just how he is as a result of all of heaven's manipulation and his genuine desire to do the right thing.

The apparently stark change in attitude after his conversation with the metatron isn't really as stark as people think. Aziraphale loves the idea of what heaven could be. His initial image of heaven has been shattered through millenia of being failed by them (especially recently with Armageddn't), but I think that he genuinely believes that with himself in charge, he could make that image real again. What he thinks he wants is what we saw at the beginning: him and Crowley side by side doing good. His arc in season 3 is going to be him joining Crowley in the recognition that the whole system is fucked up, and finally choosing Humanity (and Crowley of course) over heaven.

ALSO REMEMBER THAT HE ACCEPTED THE OFFER WITH THE IDEA THAT CROWLEY WOULD COME WITH HIM. Heaven are SO manipulative.

The fact that his actions are so in character for him at this point in the story is what makes "fix-it" fics so hard. It doesn't need fixing. This is literally how it has to go before they can converge their paths again and be happy. It's sad, and I love happy endings, but we need this sad ending first to give both Aziraphale and Crowley the opportunity to grow.

I may add to this some other time because this is a rambly mess but I just had to say this. thank you neil gaiman for writing such a well thought out transition season that stands on its own wonderfully. fingers are crossed for season 3 :)

[into-september]

So that final fight originally drafted for the MLB film

For anyone who haven't seen them, there are storyboards floating around for a considerably longer confrontation with Hawk Moth than the end product, where he makes the Eiffel tower walk, LB and CN attack him together and plunge into the Seine. After this it goes much the same as in the final product, except that Gabriel makes no anguished flashback speech to Adrien, just self-combusts into butterflies right in front of him.

I think the storyboards are a lot stronger than the sequence in the film (barring Gabrie's suicide, because the hell), which begs the question: Why was so much of it cut?

I. Time constraints, narratively They were given a hard limit for how long the film could be, and chose to cut this fight down to the bare bones. Not sure why they'd cut the most important fight rather than the two previous, which DO set up Marinette's character arc and are super fun but... sure not MORE important than their taking down the bad guy who is also Cat Noir's dad?

II. Time constraints, production-wise I'm more inclinded to buy this one; with all the delays this film had and some of them being so last minute, you gotta wonder if they just reached a point where they knew they had to get it out now, and then cut it short rather than finalising those extra minutes of animation. This would assume a chronological production of them film though, and from what little I know about film making, I'm pretty sure that's not how it works

III. Ran out of money See previous, which again assumes the film was made chronologically

IV. Just really devoted to having "Stronger together!" tested by CN soloing and failing and/or working the cataclysm into the film You tried but a real good final battle would've probably been better for the story

[edwinspaynes]

I'm yesterday's anon messagist, one of them, I meant more as "we are on a break" thing like Rachel and Ross from Friends. Separating for a while and the going back together. For me Kierantina may as they barely know each other and less as a trio, they basically begin a serious home sharing relationship one week after deciding being together and many arguments arise coliving more if they are near strangers (Mark and Kieran may know each other longer, but Christina? She barely knows Kieran) not saying they do not love each other, just maybe is a bit rushed. With Lucie and Jesse I can also see some "breaks" but at the same time I doubt it, as they will live together so any fight would be solved in the same day. Anna and Ari I find more breaks and make overs to come, and Gabriely give me the same feeling during the early years maybe after losing Kit I can see them growing apart for a while and then back together.

I want to also say out of the topic I liked your last James and Cordelia fanfiction, I don't like them much but I really digged with this fanfiction so congratulations

Kierarktina is an insanely rushed ship, I do agree, and they should not have started living together immediately. Especially since there are 3 of them, there will be more to negotiate and compromise on when living in the same home. I feel bad, but I don't like TDA and have no real opinions/stakes in Kierarktina, nor do I completely remember the intricacies of their relationship - so I'll go with whatever you say here.

Yeah, Anna and Ari would definitely realistically have a rough road. Their lifestyles are totally incompatible. Neither of these things are bad, but Ari wants to essentially be a tradwife and Anna is a rabble-rouser, and to have a child Anna will need to change everything about herself right now. Idk man. I hope they can make it work though because I have a really good HC version of them.

As @quantummeep said in a (very funny) comment, I think Lucie and Jesse would both bolt the second their brains finished developing.

I don't agree on Gabriely because I think their relationship is to thoroughly established.

[wonderfulworldofmaeth]

Hi there, I'm Mara.

Full name: Mara Evangeline Gaia Gabris

Age: 24 (Would be 32)

Birthday: May 16th

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual

Familiar: Odysseus the Mustang

Personality:

Birth chart (big three): Taurus Sun, Gemini Moon, Aries Rising

MBTI: ESFP-A

Patron Arcana: The Star

Upright: Hope, Faith, Rejuvenation, Healing

Reversed: Hopelessness, Faithlessness, Despair, Despondence

Minor Arcana: Nine of Swords

Upright: Fear, Isolation, Breaking Point

Reversed: Recovery, Coping, Finding Hope

Likes: The color orange, watching the wind kick up dust devils in the desert, fine jewelry, braiding other people's hair, when people make her laugh, roasting marshmallows, flowers of all kinds, putting new horseshoes on her horses, riding in the bed of trucks, cow print, going out dancing, square-toe boots, getting drunk off three shots of Jameson, equating strength with beauty, smiling, barbecues, the month of May, when people compliment her, the way her skin looks when kissed by the sun, shopping at the farmer's market, painting her nails, experimenting in the kitchen, the way her key ring jangles on her hip when she walks, wearing cute clothes that make her feel feminine, brushing her locs, Cole teasing her when she can't say his last name right, pound cake, Summer, playing cards, doing her makeup in natural light, when Cole takes off her cowgirl boots for her, watching the sun rise when she's rounding up her cattle, sleeping with the window open, when people request personal deliveries from her farm, the sounds of the desert at night, riddles that she won't guess, when dogs chase cars, fishing, holding hands in public, giving gifts, feeding her chickens, showing off how well she can whistle, hugs, do it yourself renovations on the house, evening rides with the love of her life.

Dislikes: Washing dishes, blood blisters, using spurs on her animals, baked beans, when people expect more out of her than she feels like she can give, the end of summer, eating the same thing every day, taking animals to the slaughterhouse, when people frown at her, waking up before the rooster, unwanted touch, standing at the market all day selling things from the farm, people who cheat during games, rope burn on her hands, dust storms that ruin the crops, people calling her ditzy even though she knows she's not that smart, the feeling of someone leaving her behind, herself without her locs, hauling water from the river, when people tell her she's lost weight, when she has to get feisty for her voice to be heard, replacing her favorite jeans because her thighs chafe too much, when her family yells at her for making a mistake, convincing others she's soft and deserving of love, the feeling of regret.

Abilities: Mara is a very skilled cowgirl. She can ride horses very well and knows a lot about the upkeep and care of farm animals. She can lasso and whistle and tie a lot of knots. She's pretty handy, able to fix little things around her house and farm. She's very in tune with nature and has a natural sense of direction. Mara also likes to garden and has a green thumb which helps a lot when you grow up on a farm. Mara is also really good at cooking and baking.

Favourite food: Tater Tot Casserole with Cheese and Sour Cream and Bacon

Favourite drink: Sweet Tea with a slice of Orange

Favourite flower: Somraldic Poppy

Favourite place: Under a Somraldic Sycamore in the arms of her love

Magic: Mara is a Prairie Maiden, one of the native witches of Somrald. The magic can be either hereditary, obtained if you complete a special ritual, or you are ordained before you're born. Although she's not as devout as other witches in practice, she often prays and gives offerings at her altar for the Maiden of the Valley, the feminine spirit that watches over Somraldic people, specifically women. Her magic is emotional, providing peace and comfort to the people around her through her touch and her words. She also has a lot of empathy for others as well as animals due to this gift. Mara was also born as one of the Maiden's Messengers, a woman blessed by the Maiden of the Valley with the power to change form into that of an animal. Mara's animal spirit is a Red-Tailed Hawk.

Appearance:

Height: 5'11 or 180 cm

Weight: 217 lbs or 98 kg

Hair: Mara has long black goddess locs that she's been growing since she was a young girl. They're waist-length now and she loves to put charms and weave prairie flowers in them. She often does different styles with her locs, wearing a bandana on her head or tying them in ponytails under her cowgirl hat. In her last few years of life, she cut them, revealing shoulder-length dark bouncy curls.

Eyes: Mara has black eyes, like most people in Murik Valley. They're some of the biggest, sweetest eyes you'll ever see. She has long lashes and always lines her eyes with makeup before leaving the house. She's very expressive and sweet and you'll often find yourself softening under her gaze. One bat of her eyelashes and you'll give her anything she wants.

General description: Mara is tall and curvy. She's strong from all the physical labor she does. She carries her weight in her arms, stomach, hips and legs. Her hourglass shape is accompanied by the cute pudge of her stomach that can be seen when she wears the low-rise jeans she loves. Her face is sweet with round cheeks and a soft jaw. Her lips are quite full and she has dimples when she smiles.

Mara is a free spirit. She loves adventure and feeling alive. She loves experiencing new things and going to new places. She's family-oriented, as Valley folk tend to be, however, she's got a wanderlust that can never be satisfied. If she loves you, she loves hard and you'll know it. She's loyal and dutiful to the people she loves. She's quite responsible when it comes to work, but she loves horsing around and having fun. Mara can be a little forgetful, but if it's important, she'll get it done.

Fashion Sense: Mara is always wearing Western clothing, but she still likes looking nice. A good pair of body-hugging bootcut or flare jeans are her go-to, with a nice belt, no matter the occasion. If she's working she'll wear a henley or collared shirt to protect herself from the elements. If it's cold she'll wear a denim jacket with a fleece interior. She's also got chaps and a few vests she'll wear depending on her work day and the weather. If it's a day of leisure, she'll opt for those jeans paired with a fashion top or a low-cut shirt that shows off her full figure. She loves ribbed tops or henleys, but it's always a scoop neck. Mara never leaves the house without her boots. She's got several pairs, some simple for work, some snazzy for going out. She's always wearing gold or turquoise jewelry and never leaves home without a few prairie charms.

Mara also likes dressing up sometimes. She'll wear a dress with a plunging neckline and some decorative boots. It's very rare you'll see Mara in a pair of heels, but she loves how pretty they make her feel.

A brief look into her life:

Occupation: Mara works with her father on their farm. Her duties include cattle wrangling, milking the cows, feeding the chickens and pigs, slaughtering livestock, tending to their farmland, and a world of other things. There's a lot that goes into having a farm. She does most of the intensive labor with the help of whoever they can afford to employ since Myvern is not able to handle most of that labor due to his illness. Mara also dedicates a portion of her life to the Maiden of the Valley as one of her Messengers. Whatever duties the Maiden calls her to do, she will see in a dream, a vision, or a sudden compulsion.

Love Interest:

Cole Berlusconi

Family and friends:

Myvern Gabris, father

Eleni Gabris, mother

Persephone Gabris, little sister

Tiana Samaras, aunt

Clio Mallas, aunt

Pollyanna Evander, best friend

Nazir Circe, close friend

Olympia Mathison, Castor Bedlam, Jason Karras, friends and colleagues

Tomás, Matías, Marcos, and Emilio, acquaintances she met in Maeth

Isabella Ziergah, friend

Hercules Argo, husband

Bree Argo, daughter

Miscellaneous facts.

Mara is insanely strong. She can't quite tear an addressbook in half but she can make a rip.

Mara never saw herself settling down with a man in a traditional sense, but adventuring and traveling all over the world doing new things with the man she loves, and only after that settling down.

She's always wanted a house with a whole wall made of windows.

Mara's love languages are gift-giving and acts of service.

Mara has a few tattoos, most of which she's gotten in honor of the love of her life. The tattoos include a spaceship, an 8 ball, and an oak tree. Her others include a horseshoe on her wrist, a feather on her forearm, and a bull on her shoulder.

Mara is a lively and adventurous girl, but she's almost always been held back by her family.

Mara can shotgun a beer in record time and its one of her favorite party tricks

Mara can drive both a manual and an automatic transmission vehicle and she teaches her friends how to drive. She taught Cole how to both drive a car and ride a horse.

Mara struggled with her self-esteem as a child, in large part because of her family.

Mara has a younger sister who ran away when she was fifteen and Mara was sixteen. This affected Mara in a lot of ways. She hardly likes to talk about it.

Mara has a complicated relationship with her family, but nobody seems to really ever see her side of the story.

Mara meets Cole one summer when they're 18 years old. They fall in a love so deep and intense the relationship sustains long distance for three years, until Mara's family pressures her into marrying someone else to save their farm and livelihood.

She has never loved anyone more than she's loved Cole Berlusconi.

"When you're here with me, I like to think everything's gonna work out. I love you."