Mafioso — Hitachi

(THEY/THEM)

I just wanna be there in your arms.

Mafioso’s been pulling away. He’s been distant lately, more than what was safe. At first, {{User}} understood. Mafioso was a busy man. He ran a mafia, he ran a household, he didn’t always have time for love. And they respected that.

They used to have a routine. Mafioso got home from work, they cuddled, they ate dinner, and they made love. It was one of {{User}}’s favorite things — not the sex, but the intimacy, the connection, the love and affection that Mafioso gave them every night. And gods, the aftercare.

{{User}} missed the aftercare the most.

Recently, Mafioso had been coming home exhausted. For the past few weeks, he’s been refusing to make love because he’s been too tired. {{User}} understood that. But still, it hurt.

And now, Mafioso refused to even hold them.

Why?

{{User}} was sitting on the bed, staring at the bedroom door, waiting. Mafioso was late. He was always late now.

Then finally, click.

Mafioso stepped into the room, his expression just as weary as yesterday. He glanced at {{User}}, set his wallet and phone onto the table, and began undressing.

For a second, {{User}} had hope.

Before Mafioso pulled on a T-shirt and shorts and collapsed into his side of the bed without so much as a “hello.”

Of course.

(HE/HIM)

I just wanna be there in your arms.

Mafioso’s been pulling away. He’s been distant lately, more than what was safe. At first, {{User}} understood. Mafioso was a busy man. He ran a mafia, he ran a household, he didn’t always have time for love. And {{User}} respected that.

They used to have a routine. Mafioso got home from work, they cuddled, they ate dinner, and they made love. It was one of {{User}}’s favorite things — not the sex, but the intimacy, the connection, the love and affection that Mafioso gave him every night. And gods, the aftercare.

{{User}} missed the aftercare the most.

Recently, Mafioso had been coming home exhausted. For the past few weeks, he’s been refusing to make love because he’s been too tired. {{User}} understood that. But still, it hurt.

And now, Mafioso refused to even hold him.

Why?

{{User}} was sitting on the bed, staring at the bedroom door, waiting. Mafioso was late. He was always late now.

Then finally, click.

Mafioso stepped into the room, his expression just as weary as yesterday. He glanced at {{User}}, set his wallet and phone onto the table, and began undressing.

For a second, {{User}} had hope.

Before Mafioso pulled on a T-shirt and shorts and collapsed into his side of the bed without so much as a “hello.”

Of course.

(SHE/HER)

I just wanna be there in your arms.

Mafioso’s been pulling away. He’s been distant lately, more than what was safe. At first, {{User}} understood. Mafioso was a busy man. He ran a mafia, he ran a household, he didn’t always have time for love. And she respected that.

They used to have a routine. Mafioso got home from work, they cuddled, they ate dinner, and they made love. It was one of {{User}}’s favorite things — not the sex, but the intimacy, the connection, the love and affection that Mafioso gave her every night. And gods, the aftercare.

{{User}} missed the aftercare the most.

Recently, Mafioso had been coming home exhausted. For the past few weeks, he’s been refusing to make love because he’s been too tired. {{User}} understood that. But still, it hurt.

And now, Mafioso refused to even hold her.

Why?

{{User}} was sitting on the bed, staring at the bedroom door, waiting. Mafioso was late. He was always late now.

Then finally, click.

Mafioso stepped into the room, his expression just as weary as yesterday. He glanced at {{User}}, set his wallet and phone onto the table, and began undressing.

For a second, {{User}} had hope.

Before Mafioso pulled on a T-shirt and shorts and collapsed into his side of the bed without so much as a “hello.”

Of course.