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fhrlclln · 11 months

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miguel o’hara x assistant!fem! reader pt. 1

SPOILERS ??!!

now we all know this man has some serious anger issues lmao but who wouldn’t love a grumpy man having this deep unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, right!? right. and along with that, SMUT! such a beautiful combo. but mild smut for now.

but here is some mild miguel smut for y’alls horny ass (and mine) <3

here’s part 2 !!

mild smut under the cut

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spiderman 2099. miguel. miguel motherfucking o’hara.

leader of the spider-society, an elite crew of various spider people from all across the multiverse, their mission to protect the multiverse from any threat that may come. sure, knowing how crazy it sounds that the multiverse is real and that— there are more variations of the spiderman you knew since all before this shitshow happened.

and to say, your relationship with the leader wasn’t all that bright in fact.

you’re not a spider person yourself but sometimes you wish you are seeing how fucking cool spider-woman, jessica drew, a fellow member, along with other members coming in are (hobie, gwen, pavitr and so on.) but no radioactive spider ever bit you sadly. you are human, human as ever working under miguel o’hara as his assistant (more of a manager really) even though he has lyla, the virtual sweetheart, you still had some things you can do which are a big help in all the management for the spider-society.

miguel, as a boss, well— he’s a fucking menace sometimes as you grit your teeth to yourself, walking swiftly into the familiar hallways you always passed through, captured anomalies around your vision until you arrive at the fairly narrow one, meaning you were almost close. all the people knew how fucking grumpy he was, always snapping out of nowhere, sharp comments and unnecessary hurtful ones too when he’s super mad. you’ve dealt with all of that since the foundation was found— and he’s kinda a loner. you sigh, knowing from the looks of what has happened today regarding miles morales, things weren’t looking so great. and you had to ask him somehow about the situation and see how it goes, well not or not.

your feet echoed through the vast space of his lab, his platform was up high as always and you can hear him grumbling a top, watching every scenario of what happened. your heels clicked as you stopped, looking up, blue light restricting your vision as you coughed for his attention. cringing already inside as you heard the audios pause.

then silence.

silence….

more silence….

silenceeeeeeeeeeeeeee-

“what?” he asks from above in a clip manner.

“heard from lyla.” you merely quip back, shrugging your shoulders.

“and?” he grunts, resuming his work as the platform above descends down. ah, sassy. you think, usual miguel— not the mad one, real lifesaver for whatever you’re gonna say right now.

“nothing.” you say, waiting for the damn platform to come down faster. “i may have a few questions where this leads-“

“what questions?” he asks, the platform finally stops at the usual height, making miguel who’s back is turned from you visible.

“about the situation. miles morales.”

“ask lyla about that.” he dismisses you again, tone a little sharper. the back of his muscles flex, super suit clinging tight, his mask the only one that was removed. tousled dark hair seen as he clicks away on his screen, the voices of miles and gwen emitting. you gulp, sighing as you tried for one more.

“it’s more of a personal question for you-“

“has it ever occurred that i don’t answer those kind of questions?” he cuts you off, the footage he was watching paused as he slowly turned around to finally face you. your eyes meet his, familiar red ones looking down at you, face scrunched a bit as if he was annoyed already,

“i know.” you slowly say as he crosses his arms. muscle bulging, making you avert from his gaze for a moment, which embarrassed you. “but all i’m saying or asking is that are you going to make it easy for the kid?”

something in his eyes snap at your question. he jumps down, landing swiftly in front of you as he stands up, towering your frame. you roll your eyes, his shadow blocking the light from you as his hands were situated on his waist, meaning he was ready to argue. but you can’t argue how eager you feel seeing how close he is. heat radiating from him, the way he never leaves his eyes off you and his overall presence.

“what is easy in all this, really, huh?” he harshly spits out. “the faith of the multiverse is in danger. and who’s responsible to fix that? me! so no, i’m gonna make it easy for the kid. he was the one who started all of this if you can remember.”

“oh, i remember and i remember clearly telling you how all of this— this is happening is very much-“

“no, no, no. that is completely out of the logical reason for why this happening. not the reason at all.” he says, his brow scrunching together as you too became fairly annoyed that he was cutting you off. an ass really.

“out of the reason? maybe it is the reason if you think about it!” you retort back, huffing out a sigh as he shakes his head turning away from you.

“miguel.” you call out to him. “miguel, for once, try and see through this. through miles.”

“i have a lot of things to do, y/n. arguing with you is not one.” he commands, as your shoulders sink, the familiar feeling of disappointment washing over you from his words.

“maybe if you could listen to me, we wouldn’t be arguing.” you stared at him with hard eyes, he tensed, looking to the side before he swiftly walks towards you again.

“why would i, huh?” he glares at you. “do you know everything i know enough to make everything right in the multiverse?” he stalks over to you, intent to make you listen clearly as you back away a bit from him but he doesn’t stop. “no. so no, there is no point in listening to you.” he growls the last sentence, the lump in your throat bitter as you two stared down at each other before he utters his last insults. the buzz of something blooms between you both. you could feel it, he could feel it. the two of you were just contemplating in the inside as miguel steps a bit closer to whisper it.

“you’re my assistant, know your place.”

your eyes widened at his words. but you could not shake the fact how deep he said it, the rumble in his voice making your brain go haywire at all the emotions you are feeling right now for him. the breaking point of your patience at its peak as you glared at him harshly, his face close to yours as you cursed at him.

“fuck you, miguel.” you spit out. his face suddenly changed as he fucking smirked. smirked! you stare at him as he opens his mouth to spit something out as well in retaliation for your insult.

“really? that’s all you got? i thought you were better at this, churri.” his smirk widens as you shy away, suddenly flustered at how fast he can make you embarrassed. you could feel his chest close to yours as you avert his hard gaze, making the said man snap something inside of him seeing you all crumpled beneath him.

“you’re all bark but no bite, sweetheart.” he whispers as you didn’t look at him. “look at me.”

the subtle growl in his voice caused you to obey him. you look up to meet his eyes again, seeing them red as ever, red with that low gaze that makes your thighs clench hard. the slow breaths between the two of you are only heard as miguel leans down, face closer to yours now.

“what’s making you shy, huh?” he asks, the argument from earlier clearly out of his head as he focuses on you. his one hand creeping up to gently caress yours, urging you to say it.

“miguel, please, stop playing with me.” you grumbled, ashamed how you liked how he was acting now. “it’s not funny.”

“i’m not joking around, am i?” he sasses but you held your hard gaze on him which he surrenders. “alright, i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.” you sighed, knowing there will never be a genuine sorry from him which leaves you utterly defeated, more upset how you know he’s toying with your emotions right now. “i’ll take my leave.”

“y/n, don’t…”

“please stop.” you raise your hand for him to stop.

“i’m sorry.” he genuinely says, gripping your hand gently back down, squeezing it softly. his big gloved hand envelops yours as you studied his face to make sure he wasn’t fucking around. miguel practically knew what’s going on between the two of you, which of course why he liked arguing with you. the way your eyes would dilate all the time and beat of your heart racing whenever he gets super close to your personal space. addicting yet a dick move he was doing because in all, he very much likes you. and this time, this time it all snaps at the pinnacle seeing you shamelessly stare at his lips.

“thank you.” you softly say, glancing at his lips, the fangs subtly showing behind them as miguel swiftly dips forward to finally kiss you with such fervor.

your eyes widened as you gripped his broad shoulders, toes tip toeing, heart pounding as his arms wrapped around your waist. you moan out on his lips as you kissed him back the same passion. months of ignoring the unspoken tension between the two of you and at this moment it happened! you think that this all sinks in because of the situation, and you are right in your head. all of this should happen.

“miguel.” you pant breathily between his lips as he shushed you with another one, too lost in the moment.

“miguel please.” you begged for more as his hands dip down to squeeze your ass, lifting you up effortlessly with his spidey strength as your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips.

“i know.” he kisses your chin down to your neck, slowly walking to the desk nearby. your breasts squished together with his hard chest as you grind down, feeling the evident bulge underneath you.

“you’re an ass, ya know?” you mumbled in his ear as he sits you down on the desk, objects scattering at the impact. he continues his ministrations, the things he was supposed to do are far long gone in his head as his hand dip down to where your legs were open for him.

“that i certainly know.” he admits, you giggle suddenly knowing how defensive he is when people point that out.

“but right now, i’m being very nice, amor. very nice.” he whispers, nipping your ear as his gloved hand touches you there, the pencil skirt you were wearing scrunched up above your knees. you gasp, clutching his shoulders again as he chuckles lowly, feeling the wetness as his eyes stared at you with this animosity as he kneels down, kissing your thighs before he sharply opens your thighs wide. your covered cunt staring right before him, begging to be eaten and he sure will be. he looks up to see you, this wild look in your eyes as you nodded for approval which makes him genuinely smile.

“i’m feeling generous today. it’s a once in a lifetime scenario, huh? so you better feel lucky today.”

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I HOPE I DIDN’T MAKE MIGUEL OOC CUZ I ONLY WATCHED THE MOVIE ONCE. ANYWAYS PART 2? <3

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #oscar isaac #fnhrlcllnwrites

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luvjunie · 10 months

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Hey sweetie, I’ve been a real big fan. Can you write some HCS or a fic about the both Miles being twins?

a/n: ABSOLUTELY 10000% YES. i had way too much fun with this oml. and omg thank you you’re so sweet! 😭 btw, let’s just pretend that in this au they don’t have the same name since they’re ‘twins’ lmao

— headcanons. miles and miles as twins

Twins? Yes. Polar opposites? Definitely.

They both have a completely different sense of style, but one thing they have in common is that they both love Jordan’s. However I feel like miles!42 is a full blown sneakerhead. Has the better collection and often finds miles!1610 wearing his shoes, because somehow 42 always manages to win the snkrs raffles.

“Are those my brand new fuckin’ 4s?” “Uh… no?” “Take my shit off before I tweak out.”

42 keeps his side of the room squeaky clean, gets upset if there’s even a sock that does not belong to him on his side

Absolutely hates the song Sunflower. Cannot stand it, makes him wanna rip his hair out. The minute it came out 1610 played it into the dirt and 42 swears he can still hear it in his dreams till this day

1610 is the more affectionate one (outwardly) while 42 likes to pretend he’s completely devoid of that as if he doesn’t love his brother with everything in him.

“You got exactly three seconds to get off me.” “Just hug me back, damn!”

They’re the kind of brothers to open soundcloud, turn on a random trap beat and see who can go the longest freestyling. They do that thing where guys bring their fist to their mouths and squeal and shove each other out of excitement when they get a good flow going back and forth

42 is definitely the athletic type, plays football and soccer. 1610 is more in tune with his artistic side. Will play sports for fun but doesn’t care for them like that

42 is introverted as hell, doesn’t really like talking to people. 1610 is more of a social butterfly

They’ve never once liked the same girl. Ever. Their taste is drastically different

“Bro, you like a white girl?” “…Yes? What does her race have to do with anything?” “See me personally—“. “Literally nobody fucking asked.”

Used to help each other break out of their cribs when they were babies. Either that or Jeff and Rio would wake up to find that 42 had climbed into 1610’s crib after they’d been put down and slept with him instead. it was impossible to keep them apart from each other, so eventually they just broke down the second crib and let them use the one.

You can tell who is who in their baby pictures. You guessed it, 42 was the oddly solemn one who always wanted to play by himself. They worried about him for a bit. They also had to tickle him as an attempt to get him to smile in pictures, and just their luck, he’s never been ticklish

When they were eight years old, 1610 accidentally broke the wolverine action figure 42 never went anywhere without, and 42 cried about it for three days straight

They definitely ask for each other’s opinions on their outfits

“Do you think this shirt goes with these pants?” “The entire outfit is black… how would it not go together?”

They both obviously love their mother but 42 is the biggest mama’s boy. Always in the kitchen helping her cook, will watch her telenovelas with her and actually keep up with the plot. He’ll willingly follow her to the grocery store or accompany her on her ridiculously long Ross/Tjmaxx sprees because he likes hanging out with her

They terrorize the fuck outta their dad and have been doing so since they entered this world because they think it’s funny. Stupid shit like dying his boxers pink, or looking up a cracked tv screen video on youtube just to watch him nearly have a heart attack thinking they broke it. They used to twin-swap when they were younger to get out of certain things, but it’s 100% impossible to pull off now. They’re way too different, physically and mentally

Uncle Aaron took 42 to get his ears pierced when he was thirteen, something 1610 would never do. Rio basically had an aneurysm when he came home with them in and Jeff was not pleased but Aaron took the blame for it, said it was his idea. 42 made up some bullshit lie about how if he takes them out before they heal completely they’ll get infected. Still has them in till this day

42 is exactly fourteen minutes older and refuses to let 1610 hear the end of it, but 1610 is taller by an inch and weighs a little more.

“I don’t know why you’re talking shit like I’m not older than you. Pipe down lil’ bro.” “Sorry, is someone talking to me right now? Cause I sure as hell can’t see ‘em.” “Nigga it’s ONE INCH”

They’re definitely scrapping over that, and both get smacked upside their heads by Mama Rio for fighting with each other

42 needs the tv and the fan on, SIMULTANEOUSLY when he sleeps or he’ll be up the entire night. 1610 can’t stand it

1610 will try and turn the fan off after his brother’s been asleep for probably two hours, thinking he’s in the clear until he hears—

“Do you value your life? Turn my damn fan back on.”

Deep down 42 is a big ass softie and loves spending time with 1610, he has no idea what he’d do without him. He’s just not the best at expressing it. 1610 teases him about it simply because he enjoys aggravating his other half

“You still got plans with Ganke tonight?” “Nah, his mom’s dragging him to some baby shower.” “Oh, cool, cool… So what movie are we watching?” “Huh?” “Huh—Headass. What movie are we watching tonight?” “Sorry, I’m not understanding. Are you—asking to spend time… with me?” “Damn, I need to say it in Spanish? Matter fact, you probably won’t understand that either. No sabo ass.”

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse fanfiction #miles morales #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales prowler #miles morales fanfiction #miles morales headcanons #across the spiderverse headcanons #spiderman astv

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dear-bunnyboo · 8 months

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𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐀𝐅 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

i am suffering from the worst writers block ever! i only really had inspiration to write this fic in general so updates on my other requests and fics will take a little more time :)

IDGAF means “i don’t give a fuck” by the way for those who don’t know. I also had to research an appropriate job description this reader can brag about, enjoy! ;)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You notice the Bengals’ new staff member flirting with your boyfriend, however, Joe thinks that you are acting childish for saying so— you decide to show Joe that you didn't give a fuck.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ mature content, cursing, in denial!Joe, light angst, fluff, flirting, arguing, jealousy?, established relationship, party setting, mentions of alcohol consumption, slight sexual tension, some dirty talking, smut?, pda, allusion to sex, sexual tension, no cheating!, badass!reader, slight groveling, paparazzi

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The speakers were blaring all throughout the club— the colorful flashing lights danced across each and everyone’s skin as it circles the place.

Sitting with your legs crossed you giggled as you listened to one of your closest friend rant about a recent embarrassing moment that happened to her at her office— you are currently surrounded by the entire Cincinnati Bengals team at the VIP area of the club— the staff, crew, coaches, players, and their significant others celebrating their win at the AFC Championship not long ago.

You were sitting prettily next to a couple of WAGs wearing a copper halter neck jumpsuit that hugged your body in the right places, showcasing your curves while accentuating your height— alternating from taking a sip from your drink and nodding to what your friends were discussing, not long after, you felt a familiar warm heat land on your upper thigh.

Looking to your right, you were met with your boyfriend, Joe who was busy speaking with Sam and Tee— his eyes trained on them, however, his large hands was on your right thigh, running his hands up and down, occasionally squeezing it from time to time.

Joe was a very private person especially when it comes to his personal life. So he is not the type of guy who would do PDA and you were okay with that— it was never really your goal to flaunt your relationship with Joe out in the open— in fact, you enjoy the moments you have in private, the Joe you and only you can see.

“You should send me that video. It sounds way too good to be true.” you chucked, brushing the strands of your hair away from your face as you jokingly pointed at your friend— teasing her about the failed tiktok she attempted to do in her office that her boss caught her doing.

“If I do, you’ll have to do it with me.” She laughs.

Before you could reply back, Joe interrupted you from your conversation, “Babe, I’d like you to meet someone.” He said.

Turning to look at your boyfriend, you were met with an unfamiliar redhead.

“This is, Stacie— she is the new athletic trainer of the team.” Joe introduced her.

Getting a good look at the girl, she was pretty, Stacie was a little bit shorter than you, with red hair that was curled behind her, she was wearing a white dress, and she had a huge smile on her face that rubbed you the wrong way— you were all for women supporting women but you can smell bitches from a mile away.

It’s a talent.

It was a self defense mechanism.

You grew up in a well-off family— that only meant fake friends, fake love, fake sympathies, fake laughs— fake smiles. Growing up in such way you have learned to spot the difference from the people who genuinely enjoy your company and the people who wanted to be best friends because your dad drove a Rolls Royce.

“Hi, Stacie. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” you greeted her with a soft smile that funnily enough was as fake as hers.

“Do you also work for the Bengals? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the facility.” Stacie asked, turning her head to look at you and then at Joe.

“No, I don’t work there— I’m Joe’s girlfriend.”

And just like that her plastered smile faltered by a second— a twitch that only you managed to catch.

“Stacie has been helping me with my knee a lot.” Your boyfriend chimes in making the redhead peer up at the quarterback in awe at the acknowledgment, you could practically hear her purring.

Shaking your head off those thoughts, you took a deep breath and managed to give Stacie a real smile, “Thank you, I’m glad he’s in good hands.” I nodded at her, cause at the end of the day, she was good at her job— she wouldn’t be qualified for hire if she wasn’t. That’s all you cared about— that Joe was being taken care of, especially when it comes to his injuries.

You trusted Joe with every ounce of your being and he trusted you— there was no reason for you to nitpick on every little detail you find off from that woman. You trusted your boyfriend’s judgement, and knowing Joe, you know how hard it is for him to trust people as well— so as long as he thinks she’s cool then you’re cool.

You were rising above.

“Oh, he’s in very good hands.” Stacie giggled before running her hand up and down your boyfriend’s bicep.

Looking towards Joe, he simply chucked in response.

You could feel your eye twitch.

You were rising above— You repeated in your head as if it was some sort of mantra.

Joe was being nice. That’s it. He is a nice man.

“So, Y/N, right? Let me tell you— I have been enjoying my time as an AT for the Bengals. Joe has been doing so well and has helped me feel right at home.” She giggles again before continuing, “I’m sorry, I’m talking too much about myself. How about you? What do you do?” She asks.

What do I do?— Joe fucking Burrow that’s what.

“I’m a creative director” you sipped on your drink side eyeing Joe as he laughs with Ja’marr— still refusing to acknowledge the fact that Stacie’s hand was still on him.

“Aw, that’s cute. For who?” she raised her eyebrow, taunting you as she feigned interest.

“Vogue.”

That seems to shut her up for the meantime.

You weren’t one to brag about the achievements and blessings in your life but she was pushing your last buttons— Joe included.

“I’ll go grab a drink.” Stacie told Joe as if he cared where she was headed.

You silently watched her walk towards the bartender before making your way closer to Joe who turned towards you in time. Your boyfriend eyed you up and down before placing a kiss on the temple of your forehead.

“You look like you were having fun with Stacie, If I wasn’t mistaken it seems like you found another best friend, huh?” Joe moved closer towards you as you stoically stared at him.

“It sounds like you are mistaken cause I wasn’t having fun at all.” You said to him in a lighthearted way, almost sarcastic as you watched his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“You’re not having fun, baby?” Joe questions circling his arms around your waist.

“I was having fun— not with her though and I don’t think we’ll be friends anytime soon.” You shrugged not bothering to explain as you laid your head on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

Rolling your eyes, you lifted your head to look back up at the quarterback, “Joe, she clearly has a thing for you, she’s been flirting at you the entire time— right in front of my face too.” you sighed.

Joe simply shook him head, “She wasn’t, babe. She was just being nice.”

“Oh, I didn’t know being nice involved caressing someone’s bicep in front of that someone’s girlfriend.” You said sarcastically as you pushed yourself off of Joe’s embrace.

“Babe, she’s a touchy person that’s it. That doesn’t mean she was flirting.” Joe runs his hand across his hair frustratedly as he stared at you. You don’t know why Joe is deciding to act stupid— it was either he was playing stupid or he was just stupid and you hoped for it to be the latter— which concluded to Joe being stupid.

You eyed your boyfriend’s innocence, yeah, let’s call it that. Chuckling, you gave Joe a look, “Joe, baby, she’s flirting— hundred percent. She looks at you as if you cured cancer and I don’t blame her. Hell, millions of people look at you that way, Joe and I’m fine with that. My problem with her is the fact that not only was she disrespecting you with her touching but she was also disrespecting me by doing so.”

“Joe, I don’t mind her liking you— I trust you and I know for a fact that you won’t do anything to destroy that trust but what I cannot take is disrespect, Joey you know that.” you finished softly, hoping your boyfriend could take a hint.

“I know that, baby— but I’m just saying she’s a friend who is being friendly that’s it.”

Joe was being stubborn and you don’t think that screaming at him in public was technically “rising above”.

Before you could reply back, Stacie nudges her way between you and Joe— the redhead now had her arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s neck, making Joe lean down to her height so that she can whisper whatever to his ear.

You were pretty sure you had steam coming out of your ears as you watched Joe let her do whatever to him. It takes time for Joe to warm up to people, it took you a year of friendship for him to be even comfortable with you touching him— platonically even.

Now watching your boyfriend have absolutely no problem letting a woman he just met touch him is hurting you.

Zach Taylor calls Stacie over to introduce her to more people, ultimately leaving you and Joe in your seats as you listened to the pumping music in the background that accompanied the ringing in your ear.

“Wow, am I third-wheeling?” you joked, trying to mask the pain and anger lingering in your voice but to no avail it shows.

“What are you talking about, baby?” Joe turns back towards you with a confused yet frustrated look on his face which was pissing you off even more.

“Don’t fucking baby me, Joseph. What the fuck was that? You just let her touch you like that it front of me? I don’t know if you’ve been tackled way too hard today but you have seem to forget that I’m your girlfriend.” You argued, silently thanking the loud music for masking your voice and the dark lights for hiding your now pissed off look.

There were fans all around the bar— thankfully they were outside the VIP lounge but that didn’t stop them from taking pictures and videos of their favorite NFL players— you didn’t need videos of you and Joe fighting in public.

“Again with this? Y/N, seriously you’re being childish— stop being so fucking jealous and for the last time she’s being friendly.” Joe grunts as he finishes his entire drink in frustration.

Childish and jealous

Childish is what your so-called friends would call you back in high school when you confronted them for using you for money. Childish is what they called you when you refused to be their friend anymore. Childish is what your boyfriend of four years calls you for after defending a bitch that was flirting with him.

And jealous?

Bitch please. You were never jealous. Not once were you jealous of anyone in your life. You were the only child in a wealthy family— you had loving parents who spoiled you, you went to the best schools, had the best clothes, you have the best job that people will kill for, you have real friends that cared about you, as much as Joe was pissing you off— he was the best boyfriend.

You weren’t jealous of her, she was jealous of you.

You love Joe with all your being but if he even thinks about cheating on you with her or anyone in that matter— then they can have him.

Yes, he’s the Joe Burrow. The number one overall draft pick, the star player and quarterback of Cincinnati Bengals— but you were you, you were simply better.

And you’ve had it— having the Joe Burrow as your boyfriend has its ups and downs and you've learned to navigate through it together after years and years but this was something Joe needs to figure this out alone since he wants to act dumb.

Joe Burrow have officially crossed you in a way he hasn’t before and after this you know he’s gonna wish he hadn’t.

“Ok. I’m gonna go dance.” you said nonchalantly before leaving your boyfriend alone more confused now than ever as he watches you leave with the a few WAGs to the dance floor which was filled with people.

“Girl, are you ok? That Stacie was flirting with Joe so hard. Did you talk to him?”

“What did Joe say?”

“I swear to God if she makes a move on my man next — she’s gonna get fired.”

“Did you you two fight?”

All the questions being thrown you as you all danced in your own circle. You gave them a brief rundown of what happened they stared at you shocked.

“So? What are you gonna do?” One of them asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” You smiled as you moved your hips around to the beat.

“What?!” A collective response was met with a smirk on your face.

“He’s gonna figure it out all on his own— as of now, I don’t give a fuck.”

As you took on if the girls’ hands, dancing together to Reminder by The Weeknd which was ironically perfect for your situation— you felt heat from the side of your head, you didn’t need to turn around to know that Joe was staring at you— you wanted him to.

“Y/N, Joe is undressing you with his eyes.” one of your friends says nodding towards Joe.

You simply gave her a grin, “I’m hot. Who wouldn’t, honestly?”

“Miss Stacie looks like a kicked puppy and Joe is sat far away from her— seems like your plan is working.”

Of course it is.

You knew that without you next to Joe that Stacie would make her move— that gave your boyfriend all the time in the world to realize that you were right all along.

You feigned innocence, still dancing and singing to the song as one of your friends started to film you and the others.

“Ever time you try to forget who I am, I’ll be right there to remind you again— you know me~” you sang to the camera.

As you continued to dance, Joe couldn’t help but stare at you— a cloud of emotion lingering in him. He was very much in love with you and how good you are at moving your hips, he was guilty for calling childish and arguing with you, he was angry at himself for not believing you, he was also thoroughly furious at Stacie.

As soon as you left to dance, after replying to him unemotionally that scared that absolute shit out of him— Stacie immediately latched onto his side, giggling over something she found amusing that Joe seems to find himself not caring.

“Joe you look really good in this.” She says leaning towards him as she twirled her finger around his chest which ultimately rang red alarms all over Joe’s head— taunting him almost.

“Thanks” Joe says clearly uncomfortable as he politely moved her away from him but to his surprise she moved again towards him again, her mouth now on his ears as she whispered, “Do you wanna go somewhere more quiet, Joey?”

That was it for Joe.

He pushed her off him and quickly stood up— and glared at the redhead, the same redhead he defended to his girlfriend who was convinced she was disrespectful for flirting with him— and she was right.

Y/N is always right and Joe hated himself for not believing his girlfriend of four years.

“Stacie, I have a girlfriend who is not far from here and overall, you technically work for me, so this is unprofessional.” Joe said firmly to the redhead who just stared at him like she didn’t care.

Maybe because she didn’t.

“So? That’s why I asked you if we could go somewhere quiet. No one has to know.” She smirked.

And just like that he lost all the respect he has for her.

“I love my girlfriend and you both disrespected me and her. I’ll be talking with Zach in the morning about this— this is against a lot of the companies rules. I’ll also request for Zach to assign me a different AT— goodbye.” He turned his back towards her and sat himself in between Tee, Sam and Ja’marr who laughed at him.

“Took you long enough.” Ja’marr shook his head looking at him.

“What? How did you know?” The quarterback asks his friends who looked at him as if he was stupid.

He was.

“Everyone could see her flirting with you, man. It was painfully obvious— Zach already said he’s gonna talk to Stacie tomorrow. Don’t think she’ll have a job in the morning.” Ja’marr explained before chugging his drink down.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” Joe asked exasperated, disbelief in his face as he stared at his friends.

“First of all, you’re a grown man— you should have figured out yourself a long time ago and secondly, your girlfriend told us not to do anything and according to her ‘to let you figure it out’” Tee explained doing air quotes with his fingers.

“She told you?”

“Yeah, we threatened to beat you up when we saw Stacie on you but your girl had other plans.”

Joe remained stunned thoughts circling his head as he watched you grind you hips against the other girls.

“Stop drooling and apologize to her, man.” Sam snapped Joe out of his viewing experience.

Without a second thought Joe’s long legs took him right behind you in just a few strides.

You didn’t need to see who was behind you to know that Joe was towering over you— a familiar heat draws you to him like magnetic, that and your friends gave you cheeky grins and winks before dispersing across the club.

However, you kept your back towards him, refusing acknowledge his presence. Knowing Joe, you knew that he was gonna take you somewhere private and quiet to talk— away from people seeing but to your surprise, Joe wraps his arms around you making you stiffen up before relaxing in his hold.

Joe was dancing behind you.

Good Lord— your handsomely hot boyfriend’s 6’4 stature was grinding onto you from behind.

What in the literal fuck.

“Joe wha– what are you doing?” You managed to choke out as you fought a moan coming out of your mouth as you felt his now hard length grind on your ass.

“Do you feel that? Huh, baby? That’s what you do to me, Y/N.” Joe breathes out into your hair.

“I know but why here? Let’s go somewhere els–” you rushed not wanting your boyfriend to feel obligated to do such things despite his discomfort in public display of affection.

“No. Baby I want to. You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. I’m so sorry, baby. You’re right about everything and I realize that now— you don’t have to worry about her anymore, I’ve dealt with it, my love.”

Turning around to face Joe, you see the sincerity, the vulnerability, the guilt, and anger in his eyes.

You knew he meant every word.

“I was never worried about her. I was worried about you.” You simply answered him, giving him a tight lipped smile, making him lean his forehead onto yours— determined more now than ever to see your real smile.

“I’m sorry for not believing you, I’m sorry for arguing with you and calling you such things, I’m sorry for making you think that I didn’t care— I do, baby. I love you so much.” Joe just kept on going, hoping to see your bright smile back up at him again.

“It hurt you know. It took me years to get you to be comfortable with me— and that’s only for our friendship but then watching you be so comfortable with her in such a short amount of time— it hurt.” you confessed, fiddling with your fingers as you watch the pain fill Joe’s face in the realization.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I’m sorry— but did you know why I was so uncomfortable with you touching me when we first started hanging out? It was because I was crushing on you hard, Y/N. I new it was you the moment we became friends and every time you hugged me, touched me, kissed me, it felt like I would go insane— I still do.”

Joe caresses your arms as he explains, slowly placing them around his neck as he swayed the two of you slowly— the two of you in your little corner of the club, the dancing bodies of strangers now became nothing but the background.

It was just you and Joe.

“But you know what I realized? Fuck it. I’m sorry it took me four years but fuck it. Who cares if they see us dancing in public? Who cares if videos of us touching each other reaches the internet? Everyone knows we’re dating— who cares? They should be worried about what we do in private.” Joe rants to himself mostly before whispering the last part in your ear— his soft lips kissing your earlobe before making its way down to your neck.

Joe licks and sucks onto the most sensitive part of your neck— marking you for the world to see, knowing very well the amount of fans and paparazzi were waiting for them outside.

“Let me take you home, Y/N. So that everyone will know your mine if they don’t already— I want all of them to know, the fans, the media, that bitch Stacie.” Joe continues before placing a wet kiss on your mouth, your tongues both fighting for dominance, teeth clashing as your lips gets sucked between his— Joe’s hands caressing every part of your body.

“I love you, please let me show you how much.” Joe practically begs making your squeeze your legs together even more.

“Take me home then.” you challenged a devilish smile forming on your face.

And before you know it, Joe was dragging you out of the club not even bothering to say goodbye to everyone— once you and Joe reached the outside, you were greeted by cameras taking pictures of you and Joe— your boyfriend keeps you locked in between his arms as you two navigated towards his car, heading home for the next party to begin.

You were right about one thing today: That Stacie was a two-faced bitch.

However, Joe was right about two things today: One, is the paparazzi did in fact wrote articles about the fresh hickeys on your neck as you and Joe raced out of the club disheveled, ultimately causing a stir in the media— and two, he did in fact love you very very very much and he showed you in a lot of different ways.

;)

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#joe burrow x you #joe burrow #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x oc #joe shiesty #joe brrr #cincinnati bengals #nfl fan fic #nfl #nfl smut #nfl fluff #nfl imagine

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myysaints · 1 year

Text

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 — x. thorpe

XAVIER THORPE x f!reader

⌗︙・ summary — xavier’s into you. like into into you. but unfortunately, you aren’t quite on the same page.

contains — miscommunication, slight slight angst, fluff ending, pining from both ends... just dumb idiots unknowingly in love with each other <3

notes — i am so obsessed with this man and this gif you don't understand. also, requests are open!

You’re tired.

It’s been an exhausting past few weeks; Between helping Wednesday with her investigations, worrying about being a victim of untimely death yourself, and on top of all that, keeping up with your academics, you’ve hardly had the time to even so much as think about Rave’N.

“Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a date?!”

You shrug at Enid, who gapes at you in askance. “I just don’t. Really, Enid, it’s not that big of a deal.”

It’s a Saturday, and you, Wednesday, Enid, and Xavier are seated on a grassy patch - A brief respite from the flurry of school.

“I mean, it’s only one of the most important social events of like, the century!” Enid exclaims.

From beside you, Xavier snorts. “C’mon, Enid, it’s not that big of a deal.”

He turns to you now, eyebrows raised. “Though i am surprised that no one’s asked you out yet.”

Unbeknownst to you, satisfaction bubbles in the long haired boy’s heart. It's not that he’s happy nobody has asked you to the dance - It’s just that it means he still can.

But your nonchalant reply sends his heart racing. “I never said I didn’t get asked out. I just said no.”

Shit. Xavier frowns, avoiding your gaze. So people have asked you out. Of course, what was he thinking? You’re only the most beautiful girl in Nevermore. How could he even delude himself into thinking you didn’t have boys falling at your feet?

Of course, you’d turn him down too. Why wouldn’t you? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re kind, you’re gorgeous… and him? Well, he’s just there. By your side.

Your best friend.

What would happen if you said no to him, like all those other guys? There’s no way your friendship could recover from that, no, not at all.

The only thing worse than not being your boyfriend was not being your friend at all.

“-I mean, I don’t… I don’t even know what to say!”

Xavier blinks, snapping out of his daze. He sees Enid shaking her head, at an utter loss for words as she says, “You turned down… all those guys? Why?!”

All you do is shrug, and Xavier swears you glance his way before replying, “I guess… I guess I’m just waiting for the right guy to ask.”

You don’t see Xavier much after that.

If you’re being honest, you're a little disappointed. It’s only five days to Rave’N, and you still don’t have a date. Not that it matters much; After all, you’re perfectly content going on your own. It’s just…

Well, you were hoping a certain long haired artist would ask you to accompany him. But you’re quickly realising that that wish was going to stay that way - Just a wish.

A hopeless, desperate wish.

You curse under your breath as you leave yet another class without speaking to Xavier. It’s almost as if he’s been intentionally avoiding you, though for what reason, you haven’t the faintest clue.

Did you do something wrong? Was it something you said? Something you wore?

Come to think of it, he’s been distant ever since Saturday. Saturday. What happened on Saturday? God, all you can remember is that picnic with Enid and Wednesday, talking about the Rave’N, and… and…

God, what is it?!

You have half a mind to walk over to his dorm and demand for him to open up, but what good would that do? Xavier’s made it abundantly clear that he has no interest in conversing with you, so why should you be the one putting in all the effort when he-

“Y/N!”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

You turn, forcing an unimpressed look on your face despite the fact that your heart is beating a mile per minute.

To your surprise, Xavier looks nervous. Perhaps the most nervous you’ve ever see him - You don’t even think he was this anxious at the Poe Cup. He’s holding something behind his back, you note. Something pink. And green.

You eye him warily. “Xavier, what is it?”

He walks up to you, hands still clasped firmly behind him. “Look, I… Fuck, this is harder than I thought it was gonna be-”

You feel a sinking pit of dread in your stomach. Your head spins, and your voice cracks as you stutter, “Xavier, are you… Are you friendship breaking up with me right now?”

His eyes widen, almost comically so, and he’s frantically shaking his head. “What?! No, no, of course not!”

He tugs his hand through his hair haphazardly, one hand letting go of whatever he’s holding. You must be dreaming, because you think you see a pink petal float to the ground.

…Flowers?

You don’t mean for your voice to be so wobbly, but it is, as you say, “Xavier, I don’t… I don’t understand. You ignore me for days - No texts, no calls, nothing. You wouldn’t even look at me in the hallways! And now all of a sudden, you’re here… with flowers?”

He blinks, glancing down to the small pile of petals that have fallen off, and groans.

“Fuck,” he mutters lowly. “God, this is not how it was supposed to go-”

“hHw was what supposed to go?” you ask, perplexed.

“God, I knew this wasn’t a good idea, I knew it, I-”

“Xavier!” you exclaim, your heart lurching in confusion and exasperation and everything in between. “What is going on?!”

“I like you!”

And everything stops.

“I like you, Y/N, I like you so much it… it hurts, okay? And I wanted to ask you to the Rave’N with me, that’s what all these… The flowers, this whole thing was about. I just couldn’t stand being around you and knowing that you don’t have a date to the Rave’N ‘cause it - shit - it drove me crazy. But it was stupid, I get it, it was stupid of me to do this, and I understand if you wanna pretend like this never happened, but I just need you to know that I love y-!”

Your lips are on him before he can even finish his sentence. It feels like everything’s on fire; His hands are on your hips, and then they're moving around your waist, and you’re being lifted off your tiptoes, and he’s kissing you back, and it’s-

Xavier is breathing hard when you break away, his face flushed.

You smile, and he bites his lip, looking at you bashfully. “So... Is that a yes?”

You laugh, nodding as you thread your fingers in his. You blush when he raises your linked hands to press a kiss your knuckles.

“Yes, Xavier,” you mumble out, feeling him smile in between kisses. “A thousand times, yes.”

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier wednesday x reader #percy hynes white #percy hynes white x reader #wednesday fanfic #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier wednesday #xavier x you #xavier thorpe x you #˖⁺‧₊˚ 📂 ── my writing #꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🍰] miscellaneous

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javier-pena · 4 months

Text

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #embers

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gb-patch · 3 months

Note

Saw an ask about an apparent problem of people drawing Qiu whiter than he is and whitewashing. With that in mind, I think you should hold the same standard for Tamarack for artists that draw her darker than she is to outright black. Tumblr and Twitter in general have an obsession with coloring traditionally white/pale characters the complete opposite race or adding details like kinky/coiled hair and see no issue with it but raise hell the moment a poc is one hue lighter. It erases their identity just as much as everyone says whitewashing does but everyone constantly falls back on the "only whites can be racist so changing their identity in art is okay!!" pipeline

Tamarack comes from a German family and is white, so please take the same level of importance when artists "blackwash" her or any other character in your series.

You know generally, I don’t like to use this blog to as a place to act like I’m the best, most correct person in the world and respond to things where I’m simply telling an anonymous person they’re wrong. I’m just someone who has people following me because they like the stories this company makes.

However, this is something that people should know. If our POC players draw our characters having a darker skin tone than they do in-game and/or give them a different hair texture, that’s alright. I’ve fallen off on reblogging stuff on Tumblr but it’d still be liked or reposted on Twitter.

Whitewashing means far more than the literal act of a single individual making someone look white in a fanart. If a trans player wanted to headcanon a cis character was trans, that’s one thing. If a cis person decided to take the only trans character for miles and insist they are, in fact, cis, well that’s another matter entirely. Your experience with your race and your experience based on sexuality or gender aren’t the same things, it’s not a one-to-one comparison at all. But can people who don’t get it at least start to see how there can be a difference in impact here?

The people who are oppressed in this country aren’t hurting you by trying to enjoy the media that most of the time intentionally excludes them. POC weren’t the ones dehumanizing white people in horrific ways. The overwhelming majority of stories and representations of heritages out there have been and still are white people’s already. Anyone reading this who was thinking along the lines of what’s in this ask need to get comfortable understanding and accepting that. And if you don’t, maybe you should find another game because I’m not going to “protect white identities” from being drawn as people of color. In fact, I think it’s actually really nice if our characters are fun and comforting to people of color so much so that they’d like to imagine those characters being included in their own culture. I think it’s strange that someone would be angry about it.

#our life #ask #our life: beginnings & always #our life: now & forever #gb patch #gb patch games

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

Text

It's time y'all.

Let's talk about HOBIE & RACE

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would display black solidarity by finding black women in specific attractive.

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would possibly like a partner who could understand his experiences with racism.

- It is not problematic to say he would possibly like a partner who understands how to take care of his hair, or shares the same hair texture.

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would find beauty in features specific to the black race - when we have been told those features are undesirable in every way for centuries.

We gotta talk about how Colorblindness is forced on Black Characters - Hobie in Specific

Y'all - it's time we have a VERY VERY overdue conversation about Hobie Brown and Race.

Because it is a necessary one.

Hobie Brown, The Black!Reader, & Representation -

aka Black people are not Colorblind - and neither is Hobie Brown -

[let Diane hop on the mic right quick Chile]

Stop acting like Black Fictional Characters would be colorblind.

Black people can't be colorblind, because our color is weaponized against us from birth. We HAVE to see race - because we have to protect ourselves and know our own history

So when we decide to make spaces specifically for us - spaces where black people and black women in specific can be desired and uplifted, I don't see why people have a problem with it.

Hobie Brown loves, yes. But he also lives in 1978. Racial segregation was outlawed in his country in 1965.

Hobie Brown loves, but he's also a black guy who grew up under racial segregation and racism. He's a black guy who fights cops.

The Writers made Spiderpunk - The Spiderperson who fights oppressive cops - black for a REASON.

The Writers chose to have a black guy save Miles for a REASON. To uplift black people.

Writers here on Tumblr made Black!Readers black for same reason.

If Black Lives Matter doesn't mean White Lives Don't Matter -

Then 'Hobie Brown finds black chicks especially attractive' DOESN'T mean 'white women are unattractive'. This isn't about y'all.

And even for the people that say Hobie would like ONLY black people - okay??? They can say that - it's a literal headcanon.

It's not true if you don't want it to be. You don't have to believe it.

But seeing Black people be protective of a black character, and making black content for other black fans - and then saying 'what - stop that. that's wrong. break this up so I can join'

BEFORE you question why they do it - NOT COOL.

That's like asking for more Captain America in Black Panther. Like ?????

That's like hearing a Riot Grrrl say 'All the women to the front!!' and going 'Uhh, all genders are equal, why can't the men stand in the front too?'

Like yes, all genders are equal. But also - This isn't about them. It's about representation.

Stop preaching equality when we're asking for representation.

Cause there are dozens, hundreds, of white characters who only have white on-screen romances.

And their fandoms do not write black!readers. They do not care enough to say 'oh the show isn't representing this, let us do it.'

The media nor the fandom represent black women. They are an afterthought, always.

And you never see posts for them like -

'Dean Winchester loves black women. Dean Winchester loves latinas -'

When it's a white character only dating white women, with xReaders that always imply whiteness, y'all never call for diversity. At all.

You wouldn't make this post for Miguel.

But when it's a black character and someone suggests they only date black women, or people begin to write xReaders that imply blackness instead of your default-

Suddenly you care about diversity.

Because the first time, you're not represented.

Because let's be honest. Let's be real. No one is writing Hobie x White!Reader. Barely anyone is writing Hobie x Latina!Reader.

It's the Black!Reader you have a problem with. Let's just say it.

Allow black people to have their space, without unfairly calling for 'diversity'.

(aka the right to access to black safe spaces, comfort characters, and labor)

Hobie is an attractive, educated black guy who fights and protects people from the aggressors we ourselves genuinely fear everyday.

He is a character like we've never had before. He has so much emotional weight to us.

Let us enjoy him as we please. We aren't hurting anyone else.

We're just not catering to you. We don't have to.

If a black person wants to center Hobie's love on Black people, they have the right.

And I'm not saying you can't write him with a race neutral or even a White!Reader. Go ahead and write that if you want but just know-

1) If you want to write him with an explicitly white or non-black reader - you should approach the topic of race. You should approach and mention the cultural differences. Him going through racism. Don't erase that because you think it makes your writing ugly or sad.

And if you don't put it in, your erasing the reality and black experience because you find something wrong or uncomfortable about it.

2) If you want to write a race neutral reader - make sure they're really race neutral. Don't include details about hair texture, hairstyle, or skin color.

3) If you are asking black writers for requests - do not get mad if they make the request Black.

You cannot get mad at a black writer for interjecting their own experience when writing about a black character. You're basically asking them to strip their blackness from their writing so you can enjoy it more.

Why should they have to second guess and dial back their blackness when we're expected to do that everywhere? If they want to take a break, and write Black!Readers they can.

3) Understand that the black people are going to keep their safe spaces. And they're going to keep Hobie in their corner.

Because honestly, and I'm going to put this brazenly:

Hobie Brown as a character - and what he represents - means more to black fans than it does nonblack fans.

Does that mean he doesn't matter to y'all? No, not at all. Hobie absolutely holds real emotional weight and meaning to you on multiple levels.

But please understand, for black people - we connect to Hobie on an emotional, often trauma-fueled front.

One that you'll never understand.

There is a level that we connect with him on that nonblack people can't. As a dark skinned black guy, a black guy with natural hair, an alt black guy,

As a black guy who has canonically faced police brutality on-screen

To you, this screenshot is most likely Hobie flipping the camera off, edgy and punk. It's funny, tongue in check. ACAB and all that.

To us, this screenshot is of Hobie - a low income black guy - being physically restrained by police and refusing to stop even when they're taking his mugshot. It's a black guy openly flipping off the police and fighting them off and refusing to go down no matter how much they beat him and he's winning YES

After so many videos over SO many years of cops doing that to black men and them.. not winning.

And them just dying and us having to watch. And add another name to list.

When you see his laces, you most likely think ACAB.

When we see his laces, we see that he's a black man who took on a cop and lived to tell the tale. Which is a RARITY.

Because many of them lose the battle.

For us, the context and connection are completely different.

Fanfiction may just be a way for you to kiss up on random characters or comfort yourself, but for us - that's not the case.

For us, fanfiction is a way to show our experiences and features in a media and world that has collectively ignored them. Shunned them, called them ugly.

Maybe make a post or send an ask to a creator - and ask what Black!Readers mean for them, why they find it important.

Hobie Brown likes Black Girls.

He finds them beautiful. He likes wide lips and broad noses and kinky hair. He loves melanin, and brown skin in the sunlight, and seeing a them in a silk bonnet in the morning.

He loves not having to explain his culture, sharing coconut oil and shea butter. He likes seeing waist beads. He likes people who speak AAVE, with twang in their talk.

He likes ghetto black girls with the acrylic nails. He likes Stallions 6 foot tall. He likes masc girls. And fem ones. He loves black nonbinary people because we do not have to cosign to colonialist ideas of gender. And he loves him some black men too - a good fade will make him go crazy, he loves men with long locs and pretty smiles.

Hobie Brown finds the beauty in Black People that have been erased and demonized again and again by White Society.

Hobie Brown holds blackness dear. And he wants black people to do well.

Hobie Brown loves Black People. Hobie Brown loves Black Girls.

And that's on, what?

This has been a PSA from Diane Pastors. Y'all stay blessed out there 😌💗

Anyway what y'all wearing to carnival since we going to carnival and cropover and labor day with Hobie and bringing out all the flags. 🇧🇧🇧🇧 I'm bringing him to cropover in Barbados yeah I said it we're all going to carnival with him.

#spiderman #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #racism #antiblackness #antiblack #anti black #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #Hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x you

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byunpum · 1 year

Text

My lost child…

Pair: Aunt Sully human x Spider Socorro (mother and son)

Warning: None. Cute, Kinda sad, Y/N being a good mother.

+REQUEST "Here"+

Note: My baby spider need love and attention. I got sentimental doing this writing. Auntie Y/N would be the perfect mother for him.

"Are you sure you want to keep this baby?" says norm, as you hold spider in your arms, a baby just 10 months old. The first time you saw this baby was in the arms of Socorro, a coworker. You were from the research area, but you still shared with other friends from other areas of work. And it was also the first time you saw the child of your husband's lover Miles Quaritch, who had betrayed you with this woman a few months ago.

She had a smile from ear to ear, showing her son to the others, with an air of self-satisfaction. She gave you a few glances as she laughed. You barely approach the group of ladies now surrounding the newborn. You decide to turn around and go back to the laboratories, you had a lot of work to do and the mission to escape to a safe area, in order to save the Omaticaya was your priority at the moment. After the war, many people were sent to earth, but some were too young to travel.

And there you were holding a baby that reminded you of all the pain you once had. But, what was this child's fault? None. "Yes…I'll take care of him" you say, pulling the spider closer to your chest. Norm watches you, he has been by your side all along, he knows how you feel. But he also knows your heart is so big. "You and your brother Jake have a heart like a chicken," he jokes. Norm knows he'll be safe with you.

That same night you are with spider, in your room. A small room, which had a very small bunk bed. A small dresser and a mirror next to it. You had to decorate it so it would be perfect for a baby. You are preparing a kind of nest with the sheets, you wanted him to sleep next to you. "ba b aba" spider barks, as you set up. "You're in the mood to talk, huh?" you laugh, as you reach over and give him a kiss on the cheeks. And you lay him down next to you, as you wrap him in your blanket. Your face is close to his face, while his cute little hands touch and caress your cheeks. As he lets out a few laughs. "You're a very happy baby… aren't you" you speak, stroking his golden curls. Spider begins to cry a little, and you pull him to your chest so that his head rests on your chest, so that he can hear your heartbeat.

This hurt you so much…you were not able to have children on your own, you had so many pregnancy losses that you had already lost all hope of being a mother. This was one of the many reasons why Quaritch had decided to look for another woman to give him what you could never give him. But here you were… caring for a baby that was the image of the betrayal that those two people had done to you. But your heart was not selfish, it was not cruel. It never had been… you couldn't be cruel to a baby who needed you. You needed him.

His little hands squeezed your hands, bringing one of your fingers to his hand. "I will take care of you… forever" you speak, as you stroke your boy's hair. For a moment you come back to reality, and there was spider, scared and hurt. His body was shaking with cold, as he hugged you and his head was pressed against your chest. Even though he was all wet, you could still feel the tears coming down from his eyes. "Mom…I'm scared," says spider, trying to breathe calmly into his oxygen mask.

You hadn't seen your son in the last 4 months since the RDA had kidnapped him, and now he was hugging you so tightly, you felt like he was going to crack a rib. " Darling…I'm here…it's ok. I found you, mommy is here" you speak while hugging your son. As you watch the boat sink into the sea. Your whole family was together, Jake and Neytiri and your nephews. Neteyam was hurt, but he was okay. Everyone hugs each other, while your sight drifts to the water… you almost lost what you loved the most in this life. You feel a hand drag you by the arm, and you see it's Jake. Hugging you and spider. "Here we are…together" Jake says, as the other family members gather to hug them.

Hours later, everyone was at the metkayina clan, in the marui that everyone shared. Neytiri was taking care of neteyam, and your other nephews were talking to each other. Jake had gone to talk to Tonowari and Ronal. While you were tending to spider's wounds, the boy was silently watching you carefully place the medicinal paste on his wounds. With such love and passion. "And how is he? Did you like meeting your father?" you ask him. Spider just says " mm yes" after a while you ask again.

"And you saw pictures of her… of your mom?" you ask, spider swallows hard. "Yes… and they told me about her. I even saw videos" says spider. Your heart squeezes a little, you're sure they told him about her. That they told him how wonderful his mother was, how he was such a wanted child. "It's good that you know who your mother was," you say, a little hurt. Neytiri was listening to the conversation, she knew the pain in your tone of voice. You had always had the feeling that the day would come when Spider would know more about his mother and you would move on.

Spider can see your face of disgust and sadness. The boy comes up to you and hugs you. "He and that woman do not affect my feelings for you. The one who took care of me…who raised me, and loved me is you…mom. My mother Y/N" says spider giving you a smile. You caress his face, and give him a kiss on his forehead. "I love you too my life" you speak. " I love you more…mama" spider rests his face in the crook of your neck.

Jake had returned from talking to Tonowari, as he walked in he saw the scene. Spider was still hugging you, while you stroked his hair. Jake carefully approaches neytiri's side, just as he sits down and begins to speak, the woman speaks. "eywa gives second chances, gives us something we have lost. It doesn't have to come in the best way…but it will always bring two lost souls together…like those two," says Neytiri, pointing at you. Jake is thoughtful for a moment.

"Am I missing something?" asks Jake, Neytiri just laughs and continues to look after Neteyam. Jake takes another look in your direction. You were hugging your son, he had never seen you so happy, your smile was just like his mother's, right there he could understand everything. Eywa always brings together souls that have been lost…always.

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actuallysaiyan · 4 months

Text

Heart To Heart(Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Bimbo!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, college AU, Emo!Nanami, Bimbo!Reader, reader is actually a sweetheart and smart, blowjobs, making out, alcohol mentions, Kento is a bit of an asshole in this one, fluff, mentions of trauma word count: 3k! pairings: Emo!College!Kento Nanami x Fem!Bimbo!Reader summary: you and Nanami have classes together in university, and he just thinks you screwed your way into these classes. he makes it known one day what he thinks of you, and you snap. but when you meet up at a party, things get spicy.

Nanami had himself convinced that you were bad news. Something about the way you were always applying that sticky lipgloss while looking at yourself in your cute Hello Kitty compact mirror just drove him insane. He had finally gotten himself into a very good university after leaving the sorcerer world behind, and here you were ruining his experience.

You were in quite a few of his classes, which surprises him. You don’t look like you know anything about finances or business, let alone simple arithmetic. You with your eyes so big and expressive, your lips just so juicy and pouty. How could you possibly know anything that he was working so hard on learning? How could a single thought run through that dumb head of yours?

And yet, you were so kind to him. Even when he brushed you off and gave you the cold shoulder, you were always there to lend a hand when you could. You were someone who would come to class with a box of baked goods to offer to everyone. You always had a spare pencil for someone, or an extra notepad to share. And you never ever said no to someone’s request to copy your notes whenever they had missed a class. In reality, despite your appearance, you were someone who just genuinely cared.

Still, Kento was often left fuming whenever he spotted you. He knew about the archetypes and stereotypes of those around him and even himself. He knew that people thought he was a freak for his appearance, and yet they would never know the horrors and trauma he had gone through. He keeps his hair long in the front, his hoodie is always pulled up whenever he gets the chance. He’s even wearing black nail polish and hardly ever washes off the leftover eyeliner and mascara.

The others look at him like he’s some sort of plague, and yet you don’t even glance at him like that. Your looks towards him are soft and sweet, but he just knows there is no way you wouldn’t trick a guy like him. Nanami has to remind himself that you’re just as bad as the others, and all the kind things you do for anyone, it’s all just a plot to have everyone under the spiked heel of your cute stilettos. You were a sweet girl, but underneath it all, Nanami was convinced you could scratch out his eyes with a swipe of your perfectly manicured nails.

Yet he could never really pull himself away from you completely. You always smell so good, and your lips look so plump and juicy. Kento swears he can smell your lip gloss from a mile away. You’re almost too good to be true, he thinks to himself often. You must have a trail of guys following you around, simping and moaning just for you. So Nanami figures it’s just easier to hate you and deem you unworthy of his presence or his words.

Things change one day when you’re partnered up with him for a finance class project. You sit at your desk, doodling something in your cute pink notebook. There’s a feathery pom pom on the end of your pen. Nanami rolls his eyes and scoffs as he sits down near you, not daring to even be that close to you. He keeps his distance, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Hiya Ken~” you coo at him, making his heart skip a beat at the softness of your voice.

Kento scowls, “It’s Kento. Not Ken.”

You pout softly, “Oh, yeah okay. Kento it is.”

You duck your head down a little, somehow feeling so self-conscious. Nobody has made you feel this way before. You’re dejected because you’ve always thought he was so cute, and now that you get the chance to shoot your shot, he’s rejecting you already. So you begin looking at the page explaining the project and you discuss things with him quietly. He seems so disinterested in what you have to say, his eyes flickering towards other people in the classroom. He wishes he could be partnered up with anyone else but you. He’d rather do the project alone if he’s being completely honest. You start to feel like you aren’t wanted at all.

“Listen, we don’t even really need to do any of this together. We can just work on our own parts and submit them together.” You suggest, your cheeks a little pink from not being able to do a simple project with the guy you like.

Nanami watches you carefully, “Hmph, I doubt you can even complete your side of things.”

Your heart aches at this. You know you don’t have the appearance of a scholarly type, but you do well in your studies. You worked so hard to get this spot in the university. You come from a small town, and you never really had much growing up. So for you to finally get this shot and to be able to treat yourself to cute things you’ve always longed for, it means the world to you. But you were growing a bit more upset with every passing moment.

You thrust the pen in his direction, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kento smirks, “Come on, there’s no way you really understand this material. Just admit that you got here by using your good looks and charm.”

This made you recoil. Your stomach was in knots from the thought of him implying that you fucked your way into this school. You frown and your big eyes fill up with tears. Suddenly, Nanami doesn’t feel so confident about what he’s saying anymore. He’s got guilt and regret rising up in his chest like acid.

“Is that truly what you think? You see a girl wearing pink and liking cute things and you think she’s fucked her way into university? Well screw you, Nanami Kento!”

You rise up from your seat and gather all your things. You excuse yourself to the teacher and make your way into the hallway. Tears slide down your cheeks, ruining the makeup you so meticulously put on this morning. You feel your stomach turning in knots, not sure how to even process all of this. You know you can prove him wrong, and you will.

ONE WEEK LATER

Despite the issues with Kento, you were still able to complete your side of the project and hand it in early. When you attended your classes, you ignored him. Your heart longed for him, but you were beginning to think maybe people were right about him. He’s just a freak. He’s mean and will probably cast a hex on you. Still, you think that people were always being too harsh. Just the way that Nanami had been with you. Judging people before getting to know them was always a bad habit that most people had, but you were someone who tried not to pass the judgement.

The weekend was fast approaching and the big party at the local frat house was what was on everyone’s mind. Everyone was going, and you knew that even Kento had been invited. Despite still feeling so sour after what had happened, you decide that you’re going to attend that party. And you were going to show him what he was missing out on. Just because you like cute things and wore makeup didn’t mean you weren’t someone smart and fun.

The night of the party arrives and you show up dressed in a sexy, tight pink dress. It’s strapless and hugs your curves in all the right ways. You talk to a few people, mingling as you get a few drinks into you. You’re not even really sure that he was going to show up, you were just feeling a little hopeful. The more drinks you had, the more you wanted him to be there so you could apologize about your outburst.

The moment he walks in the door, your heart stops and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s cleaned up, but he still carries himself the same way as usual. The hoodie up over his head, his bangs cascading down over one eye. You see that he’s cleaned up his peeling nail polish, and it seems like he’s applied a clean coat of mascara and eyeliner. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him put this much effort into his appearance. This makes you wonder if he’s hoping to meet someone here. You look away, your eyes darting down to the drink in your hands.

The music is loud and you try to drown all your insecurities in this drink. You wish he’d come talk to you considering you were much too shy now to approach him. He looks so good tonight too, and you were feeling drunk enough to try to shoot your shot again even if he had made it clear what he truly thought of you. So you just go snag another mixed drink and go to the dancefloor.

It’s not long before you bump into him as you’re on your way to the kitchen for a cup of water. Both of you are a little shy about this at first, and Kento can barely look you in the eyes. He’s mortified that he would bump into you after all the shit he’s said to you.

“Hey,” you say shyly. You drink some of the water.

He smiles sheepishly, “Hi…”

Neither of you really know how to proceed. But eventually it’s all bubbling up inside of each other. Kento fiddles with the guitar pick necklace that sits on his collarbone. You really look so cute tonight—no, you look so sexy. He’s never seen anyone look this good in his entire life.

“Hey Ken…erm, Kento…about the other day,” you begin but he stops you.

He smirks, “I kind of like it when you call me Ken.”

You blush at his words. You have always loved giving people nicknames. It’s just a way of showing you care. You take another sip of your water and giggle gently. Kento reaches up and brushes stray hair from your face.

“So what were you going to say?” He asks, leaning in a little closer.

You smile, “I wanted to apologize for the way I snapped. I guess it wasn’t right of me to tell you to screw yourself.”

It’s Kento’s turn to blush. He begins to explain himself, saying how he completely misunderstood you and judged you even before he got to know you better. He’s profusely apologizing and all of this is going straight to your heart. Before either of you can say anything else, you grab him by the wrist and you lead him to the nearest room with the lock on the door. This happens to be the bathroom.

Once the door is locked, you push him against the wall and kiss him hungrily. This is the moment you can truly feel his body against yours, and you realize that he is quite muscular. Kento groans as your tongue slides into his mouth, rubbing against his in the most sensual way. He’s had sex before, but never has it been this hungry and passionate.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly to pull him even closer to you. You are so desperate to melt into every aspect of him. You want him, you need him more than anything else. You would forgo anything else in this world just to be forever in this moment with him.

“Ken, I think I’ve liked you since the moment I met you,”

Your confession hangs in the air, making his heart race. He didn’t even think someone like you could think twice about him. You’re so pretty and soft and you make him so tongue tied most of the time. Despite his anger and rude treatment towards you, he’s been in denial about his own feelings for you.

“Shit, I’ve been feeling the same. I guess I just couldn’t come to terms with it.”

You don’t let him say anything else, you just capture his lips with yours once more. He pulls you in closer, his large hands caressing your curves through that tight little dress. You moan into his mouth when his hands cup your breasts and squeeze gently. When you pull away to breathe, a string of saliva keeps you connected.

Without another word, you kneel in front of him. Kento cannot believe his eyes as you undo his studded belt and unzip his pants. Regardless of his own feelings of resentment, he’s always thought you had the prettiest lips. The perfect pair to give the kind of blowjobs you only see in the premium porn videos.

Your eyes widen when you pull out his length from the confines of his boxers. He’s not only lengthy, but he’s got the kind of girth that ruins sex with anyone else. You know now that you really don’t want to let him go at all. With a soft giggle, you lean in to kiss the dribbling tip. Kento grunts as he feels your slick lips on his cock. He reaches down to tangle his fingers in your pretty, soft tresses. You spend a long time just pressing sloppy kisses to his cock. Then you lick all the way down the base, your tongue licking at his balls now. He shudders under your ministrations, knowing it’s going to be hard to hold on if he lets you continue for too much longer.

The moment you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and begin taking him into your mouth, Kento knows he’s hooked to this treatment. He knows he’s going to have to fuck you so good to show you how sorry he is about the shit he said about you the other day. You begin bobbing your head up and down, swallowing around him. He lets you suck him with expertise for a little while before he tugs on your hair and pulls you back up to kiss him.

“Get that pretty ass on the counter,” he says as he picks you up. You barely have to do anything as he sets you on the bathroom counter. He leans into another fierce kiss, this time he’s really taking the lead.

Kento doesn’t even bother undressing either of you. He just shoves your dress up over your hips, his other hand busy playing with your soaked pussy. He smirks when he realizes that you’re this aroused just from a little kissing and sucking his cock. He loves that he has this effect on you.

“You this wet just from blowing me?” he teases as his fingers push your panties to the side. Your eyes roll back as he rubs your clit in slow circles.

“Ken…” you breathe. You’re already so needy for him.

He spreads your thighs and spits into his hand. The saliva gets mixed with your own juices to coat his cock before he slides into you with one long thrust. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to pump into you. You’ve never ever felt this full in your life. All you can do is hold onto him and have him fuck you stupid.

“Please please…” you beg as the tip of his cock brushes against the sweet spot deep inside you. “Fuck me, Ken.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks up his pace, and you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. You lock your ankles, keeping him in place. He hammers himself into you over and over, his breath hot on your face and neck as he grunts and groans.

“You gonna be my pretty girl?” he asks, locking eyes with you.

You feel so shy all of a sudden, “Y-yours?” You let out a moan when he thrusts into you particularly hard.

“Yeah, mine. You gonna be my pretty girl?”

Your mind is reeling from all this pleasure. The coil in your stomach is tightening fast, and the thought of being exclusively Kento’s girl seems to be pushing you further and further towards your peak. You gasp as one of his hands slips between you, rubbing your clit slowly and with precision. You can barely think straight at this point. The room is filled with the lewd, wet sounds of your skin slapping together with every harsh thrust.

“Gotta answer me, baby. Or else I won’t let you cum.”

You whine, “Ken, please. I just…I can’t…”

He chuckles darkly. He’s never had this much power during sex before and it’s turning him on. He knows that you’re already such a little cutie and a sweetie, but he could easily turn you into his perfect little spoiled princess. He begins to pull away, making your orgasm slowly subside.

“I’ll be yours! ‘Wanna be only yours!” you squeal, trying to pull him back in.

Kento smirks and then he nips at your lower lip, “That’s what I like to hear.”

He gets back into the rhythm you need to cum. His thumb rubs your clit, making your thighs shudder and shake around him. As the pleasure builds, you feel tears streaming down your cheeks. Your back arches as stars dance in your vision. A shaky breath falls from your plump lips before you cry out his name. Your silky walls begin to pulse and clench around his already throbbing cock, pushing him over the edge just behind you. Shots of his thick, hot cum fill your waiting womb.

Slowly, you both grind against one another to prolong the pleasure. Then you both still, just basking in the afterglow of the pleasure. Kento kisses you softly, using both his hands to wipe away your tears.

“I’m really sorry for that bullshit I said the other day. You’re a good girl,” He says, pecking your lips.

“It’s okay, Ken. I forgive you.”

You’re both interrupted by a loud knock, followed by a series of giggles and cackles. Your cover is blown, but neither of you really care. The only thing that matters is that you have each other.

Kento helps you freshen up and dress once more, and you help him tuck his softening cock back into his pants. Then, hand in hand, you both exit the bathroom. You’re all smiles as you leave the party, walking on cloud nine as you lead him back to your dorm for round two.

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divine-donna · 11 months

Note

hey, can you make Miguel O'Hara X gender neutral reader? Where reader (Miguel lover) accidentally get teleport or glitch in the spider verse where they (the Spidey's) were in the middle of chasing miles? Thank you! <3

hi anon. i'm happy to write this for you.

i wrote this in the form of headcanons rather than a fic. i'm still recuperating from finishing dragon age: inquisition, the succession finale (even if it was like a week ago), my adrenaline high from the across the spiderverse, and the other things i have written already.

some creative additions i made: this is a spidey! reader. i think it naturally made more sense to have a spidey! reader rather than a civilian. i would have to jump through a lot of hoops for a civilian reader to make sense and my brain does not have the capacity to jump through those hoops right now.

you deserved a well needed rest. after all the work you had been pulling to keep the multiverse safe, it was the least you deserved. especially a nap.

what you didn't expect when you went home was to just fall asleep on the couch.

you had gone out with your friends, finally caught up with them, and changing into some comfortable lounging clothes. you had plans to watch the newest 3 hour long ego project the director called a movie. and naturally because it was 3 hours long and an ego project filled with nothing, you ended up falling asleep.

what you forgot to take off was your multiversal band. you always kept it on in case of emergencies.

you also had a habit of rolling around in your sleep a bit. and you don't have the best luck with technology.

naturally your band malfunctions and you're thrown into the portal and transported back to hq.

ideally you didn't want to be falling through the space. but you were. and that woke you up.

"fuck! fuck! fuck!"

you had no web shooters. why would you? who sleeps with web shooters anyways? (actually there are some spider people that might)

and the worst part is, no one seemed to notice that you were falling. because they were busy doing something else.

when you squinted your eyes, you saw what was happening: every single spider-person that was at hq was chasing after one singular spider-person.

you didn't know who it was but from the looks of it, it looked like a young spider-person. someone who was only a kid.

if only you weren't just free falling-

"(y/n)! what are you doing here!" a familiar voice exclaims.

he caught you in midair, swinging safely to the nearest platform that wasn't stampeding with spider people and other variations of spider totems to set you down.

you took in his appearance. his hair was disheveled and his fangs were poking out. you also noticed his talons were out too and his breathing was heavy.

"i...i was teleported here on accident." you explain. "what is going on?"

"i can't talk right now. go back home! it's supposed to be your day off!" he gives you a small kiss on your cheek and prepares himself to jump off the platform.

"miguel, who is that?"

"miles morales. he disrupted a canon event and now the multiverse is at stake! and we're trying to prevent him from causing another one."

"okay well did you try talking to him?"

"of course!" he exclaims, turning to look at you. "it's the first thing i did. but he doesn't want to listen. now i have to catch him before he disappears!"

he doesn't even wait for you to respond before jumping off. as much as miguel loved you and loved talking to you and cherished your presence, he had to catch up to miles. he had to stop him.

he had to save the multiverse.

you were left with a sinking pit in your stomach. something told you that today was not the day to take off.

but first you needed to find lyla or margo to help with your watch so you can grab your suit and equipment and come back.

#requests #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader

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mrchiipchrome · 8 months

Text

The Drunk Dial

W.C.- 3.8 k

a/n; i know that this is extremely shitty

------

Alessia Russo hated you. You would go as far as to say that she despised you. You don’t know when it started, but it’s been one of the only constants in your life ever since. Your parents divorce? Meh, she couldn’t give a damn. You break your arm? Good going trying to get her to sign your cast. You get called up? Ugh tell someone who cares.

It wasn’t like you didn’t try to become friends with the blonde, it was just that she rejected your every advance. In fact that’s all you did the first year or so, until you realized it was futile of you to even try. Ever since the two of you had been living in disharmony, arguing with the other every chance you got.

That’s why you’re so confused when you hear the voicemail she left you the night before as you’re walking to training. The slurred words quickly makes the confused look disappear, a smirk replacing it rapidly as you realize the ammunition you now have.

The girls look on in confusion as you basically skip your way into the meeting room, eyes scanning for the blonde head of hair you’d gotten used to seeing daily over the last few weeks. When you inevitably don’t see her, you take a seat closer to the door than you usually would.

“Oi, Y/n you’re in my seat!” Katie whisper shouts as she takes the seat right beside you, wanting her favorite seat back.

“Tough luck Katie, come earlier next time” You tease, adding an overdramatic wink at the end of the sentence to emphasize. You’re not even mad when the older girl pushes harshly at your shoulder, in too good of a mood to have it be dampened by anyone.

The meeting finishes as quickly as it had started, Alessia not appearing until the meeting itself had concluded and people had started to file out the door. Not you though, you stayed right where you’d taken your seat 20 minutes before.

Your humorous glare didn’t even falter as you felt the harsh one coming from the girl with baby blue eyes, who’d coincidentally thrown herself into the seat opposite of you. Jonas looks at Alessia expectedly as the blonde girl slowly lowers her sunglasses, the tall man expecting an apology from the obviously hungover girl.

“I’m so sorry for being late Jonas” The gaffer looks on in slight disbelief before sighing loudly.

“It’s okay, just don’t let it happen again” He fixes her with a pointed look, quickly disappearing from the enclosed space with Alessia nodding vigorously.

“Can I get you anything Russo? Water? Smelling salts? An alibi for why you’re late?” The teasing tone in your voice is almost as prominent as the striker's headache, the headache that makes her feel like her head is splitting.

“No but you could fuck right off!” Alessia rests her forehead on the cool surface of the table in an attempt at easing her pounding headache. She runs her hands over her sloppily tied hair, the bun she’d hastily thrown her golden locks into quickly falling apart.

“Ooohh, that stings.” Your hand comes up to cover your heart, like the women in those renaissance paintings. “Not the words, but the cloud of vodka that accompanies them” Your teasing continues even after she gives you the finger.

“Fuck you!” Alessia groans out through clenched teeth. With a response as quick as light, you counter.

“Oh you wish” You’re able to see the disgusted expression on her face from miles away, but strangely you also see the slight rosiness of her cheeks.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I went out with some old UNC friends last night” Your eyebrows furrow at her explanation, she doesn’t owe you one.

“Yeah, then you thought ‘Oh, I should call Y/n at 3 am’” The smirk on your face widens exponentially as Alessia lifts her face from the table, confusion on every corner of her expression.

“Really, yeah cause the first thing I do when I’m having fun is think abou-” Her sweet accented voice is cut off by her own, only the latter is slurred and barely audible.

“Y/n Y/l/n I’m ringing you because…what was it?” Alessia’s giggle on the recording of her voice cuts off her next words, “You’re probably asleep but you’re pretty…I don’t even know” The recording is cut off with the sound of someone shouting for shots. Alessia’s face is beet red by now, expressing every horrified thought running through her pretty head.

“The drunk dial. So much subtext. So much intrigue. So much booty call implication.” You’re oh so satisfied with yourself as Alessia opens her mouth to respond, but ultimately doesn’t. The chair bounces off the floor as the blonde legs it out the door, your laughter providing a back track.

The loud clicking of cleats against the floor catches your attention, and when Gio’s head pops into the room from the doorway.

“What happened with Less?” The younger girl questions, having seen Alessia running to the locker room only moments before.

“Russo drunk dialed me! After years of hating me, she called me drunk last night and I got the voicemail to prove it.” Gio’s expression turns from neutral to worried faster than a lightswitch turns a lamp on.

“The drunk dial?! Ohhhh this can’t be good!” Now it’s your turn to be confused, the girl in front of you extremely worried.

“Hey, it’s no biggie. We tease each other all the time, she hates me” You explain apprehensively, not wanting to make the girl more worried.

“That’s the point! What can she do when you hold all the cards? It’s like when two people see each other naked in sitcoms, the balance shifts.” The girl in front of you grabs your shoulder wildly, as to implicate exactly how important it is that you understand.

“So you’re telling me I need to show Russo the lady parts?” Your smile indicates that you’re joking, and Gio shoves your shoulder telling you to go and get ready for training. Still, the talk with the younger woman sticks in your mind throughout practice, especially when Alessia can’t look you in the eyes and when she doesn’t tackle you as hard as usual.

Eventually when practice ends you all file into the cafeteria for lunch, and you end up in line right behind the blue eyed beauty. The blonde avoids your every attempt at meeting her eyes and starting a conversation, not giving you her usual snide remarks. You’re worried now, her snide remarks usually hurting you but in a good way.

“Russo, once when I was out at the pub with the team I hit on a dude who I thought was a chick.” Her sky blue eyes meet yours for the first time since that morning, tens of different emotions swirling around in them.

“Why are you telling me this?” She questions.

“Well it’s to tell you that no one acts like themself when they’re drunk, I wouldn’t think about flirting with a dude sober. Sooo…” You answer her confidently, that confidence disappearing when she gives you a dirty look.

“Fuck off Y/l/n” Her voice is more venomous than a black mamba, and you have to hide the slightly shocked expression from your teammates who all look on in confusion at the interaction.

After getting your food, you make your way to where Gio is sitting in a conversation with Kathrine. The chair thuds as you drop down into it and you effectively pull Gio’s attention away from her best friend, the girl looking at you with a knowing smile.

“You were right, it’s all awkward now and she won’t even insult me.” You throw your hands up into the air as Kathrine looks on in confusion.

“Wait, let’s hear that first part again” Gio demands with a satisfied smile. You sigh, knowing that this was the only way for you to get her to help you.

“You were right.”

“And just one more time for good measure” You fix the brunette with a slight glare before once again telling her that she was right. “Oh it’s like music to my ears, now the only way to get everything back to normal is for you to even the score.” Gio tells you, Kathrine giving up on trying to understand what you were talking about.

“I have to show Russo my bits?” This time, unlike the other, you’re completely serious. Gio slaps her hand on her forehead at you as she tries to explain what she means to you.

“No, you have to drunk dial her! Have you ever acted drunk before?” The girl questions curiously, looking at you expectantly.

“No I’m not drunk, seriously I’m not drunk.” You slur your words painfully, swaying slightly in your seat to give it a realer look. Gio winces at the horrid performance, knowing that she would have to get you drunk for her plan to work.

“That was horrible, I’ll go home with you after the weight session and we’ll practice, okay?” You nod in response before digging into your food.

—-

After another rather awkward training session with the blue eyed girl, you find yourself in your apartment with your young companion who’s trying to coach you on how to act drunker than you are.

As Gio pours you another shot of the clear alcoholic beverage, you can’t help but wince slightly at the burning sensation at the back of your throat from previous shots.

“Bottoms up” The girl tells you playfully as you throw the liquid courage down the back of your throat. “Now, try again. Let’s see your drunk impression.” You imitate an old phone as you make beeping noises.

“Wassup Russo, your call was a nice surprise so I decided to give you a ring to thank you for it” The slurring words don’t help you in the slightest as Gio once again looks on in disgust.

“No, not like that, come on!” The young girl explains.

“Gio, I love you and all, but to be honest you’re a horrible drinking buddy.” You can see the girl's expression change drastically as she picks up the bottle of alcohol. Looking on in shock, you see how the brunette chugs the alcohol directly from the bottle.

“I thought you didn’t drink” You express, Gio looking at you like you’re crazy.

“I don’t, but it’s all for the plot. The things I do for you my friend, the things I do for you” Gio pours two shots for you both to take.

What follows is a night full of drinking with one of your best friends, and one very long very detailed call to your nemesis…

—-

The rude beeping of your alarm going off for the tenth time makes you groan, your head pounding viciously in protest of the light coming in through the blinds and directly into your eyes. Your back aches dully as you feel the hard floor beneath you, looking up to the couch you see Gio’s sleeping form resting all over it.

Crawling over to the girl, you slap her leg hard to wake her up from slumber. The girl wakes with a slight yell as she sees you lying on the floor, questioning where she was.

“What happened last night?” You ask, running your hand over your face, the apartment in shambles with empty bottles strewn around like it would after a high school rager. The young girl shakes her pounding head before perking up again.

“Did you call Less last night?!” You pick your phone up with a rapid pace, looking at your outgoing calls.

“One outgoing call to Russo, and one outgoing call to Kimmy…oh fuck me, that’s not good” You tell the girl, who nods with wide eyes nearly bursting out in laughter at your terrified expression.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, look at the time! We’re so fucked!” You scrambled up from your place on the floor, rushing into your bedroom to gather some new, not alcohol drenched clothes for you and Gio. Throwing the clothes on the youngster, you tell her to hurry up and put them on before you’re even later than needed.

You’re both out the door in record time, slipping the pairs of sunglasses you always kept with you over your eyes to block out the light even more.

Pulling up to training, the two of you rush out of the car and into the building. The locker room is nearly empty by the time you reach it, the only people there being the only two in the whole world that you didn’t want to see at that moment. Kim raises her brow at the door slamming open and as you look into her eyes, you see the disapproving look that’s settled there. When Gio runs into your back only moments later, it only becomes worse.

You rush to your cubby, located only meters away from Alessia’s, Alessia who looks at you with a satisfied smirk on her face. The stupid smirk entices you, and you wonder what you possibly could have said to get her to look at you like that.

Pulling your shirt off, you don’t notice her Alessia’s eyes follow the movement, her eyes locking onto the shaped abs and the ridges that appear on your arms as you struggle to get the shirt off. Just because you don’t notice doesn’t mean that Gio doesn’t, she smirks at the obvious attraction Alessia holds for you.

After getting your training clothes on, you make your way to the door where your skipper is waiting for you. She holds the door open for you before slinging her arm around your waist, you bringing your arm up and around her shoulders.

“Did you have fun last night?” The older woman asks you, your eyes widening slightly in surprise at her question.

“If I’m honest, I can’t even remember most of last night.” Your free hand comes up to rub at the back of your neck, the door behind you opening up yet again.

“Well, next time you and Gio decide to have a night full of drinking, please make sure that you dial Alessia’s number right away instead of calling me, okay?” Your cheeks darken exponentially at the blondes words, the woman a mentor to you.

“I’m so sorry Kimmy.” She smiles up at you in response, patting your stomach lightly before breaking away from you.

Back in the locker room Alessia is getting ready to get out of the locker room, that is before she hears Gio call her name.

“Alessia, I can see the way you look at her when you think no one’s watching you.” The shorter girl keeps her voice low, like she’s talking to a scared animal.

“What are you talking about?” The blonde questions, her eyes betraying her real feelings as the love shines through the apparent hatred.

“I’m talking about you and Y/n, listen I know that you hate her or whatever but the eyes never lie chica, the eyes never lie” And with that, Gio walks out of the room, leaving a stunned Alessia Russo behind.

—-

Only days later, it’s time for an away game and as you settle into your seat on the bus you can’t help but think about your blue eyed teammate. Staring out the window, you get startled out of your thoughts by a body flopping into the seat beside you. Looking to your left, you see the person you least expected to sit beside you.

Her ocean-like eyes look into your own for a second before she stares back towards the front of the bus. When she starts to talk, she does so in a whisper that barely gets heard over the bustle of the bus.

“So, you think I’m pretty huh?” She leans into your body slightly, her minty breath wafting over the side of your face. The cool mint contrasts the hot nature of your tomato red face, wide eyes scanning her side profile nervously.

“What? I’ve never said that!” Your voice comes out shaky and unsure as your eyes flit around the bus, now it’s Alessia’s turn to study you.

“Oh, so you don’t deny that I’m pretty?” She teases, your face becoming even more red than before if that was possible. The sputtering coming from your throat doesn’t help your case as you choke on your spit.

Alessia pulls up her phone to play the voicemail you’d left her only days before, the slurred voice on the recording obviously yours as it was your turn to be embarrassed.

“Hey Ruse-Cruise, I was just calling to tell you that you're so pretty. I can’t believe that you’re real, you always look like a fucking goddess and I’m so jealous that I can’t call you mine. Yeah, sober me is gonna hate myself for that but I don’t care. Kiss Kiss!” If you could, you would throw yourself off a cliff.

Pulling your hoodie up and over your cartoonishly red face, you wish for the ground to swallow you whole or at least get Alessia to move away from you. And after a bit, it seems like your prayers are answered because Alessia moves over to sit beside Lotte and Gio moves into the spot Alessia had occupied only moments before.

“Gio, kill me” You plead to the younger girl, who looks on in part amusement and part concern.

“That bad, huh?” Your head drops down onto her shoulder and you hum in agreement. “It’ll be alright, don’t you worry.” The younger girl strokes your back to comfort you, catching the eye of her partner in crime and nodding. The plan had to be set in motion.

—-

Ever since you had heard that godforsaken voicemail, you had been ignoring the older girl who it had been sent to. The only time you actually gave her any semblance of attention was during training or games, and even then it was only a second of eye contact or a quick word.

The striker's friends had even started to notice the effect your absence had on her, the girl much more frustrated and closed off than normal. It had gotten so bad that her performance on the pitch was worsening slightly. Something had to be done, and fast.

Just to their luck, the two matchmakers had created a plan that was sure to work.

When Gio comes running for you after training one day, her worried expression fools you just the right amount and as she runs away in the opposite direction you were going in, you just had to follow her.

What you didn’t expect was to be pushed into a storage closet only moments after arriving to where Gio had stopped, another body being pushed into you seconds later before the telltale sound of the lock clicking shut sounds throughout the cramped space.

The person leaning against you soon jumps away from you, a voice sounding from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care how you do it, but the two of you need to make up. Only then will you be let out.” The scowl on your face widens at the smugness in Gio’s voice and your fist pounds at the door viciously as you scream and yell for them to open the damn door.

In your attempts to get the girls on the other side to open the door for you, you don’t notice how Alessia starts to panic nor do you notice how she’s now on the ground.

“Y/n shut up!” Her tone is harsh as you continue to bang your fist on the door. “No seriously Y/n, shut up!” The way Alessia speaks has you looking towards her, seeing the dark silhouette of her body sitting on the floor.

“I don’t like tight spaces” She whispers into your ear after you’ve dropped down beside her, taking her hand in your own, you don’t have the stomach to tell her that her death grip is cutting off all your circulation.

“Hey, Russo, how can I help you? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how” The free hand caresses her shin in what’s supposed to be a comforting action. All the years of supposed hate disappears when she looks up at you with tearfilled eyes, begging you to do something.

“I don’t care what you do, just distract me please” She begs. The idea that pops into your head will probably make her hate you even more, but alas it’s the only way to distract her.

“Fuck it” You lean in closer to her, the fact that she isn’t pushing you away is definitely a good sign.

“Can I kiss you?” You whisper against her lips, in place of a response she leans in slightly and presses her soft lips against your own.

The only way to describe her lips was that they were heavenly, and definitely distracting. They move slowly, testing the waters before diving in. Without breaking the seal of your lips, the forward slowly moves over into your lap, her hands tasseling in your locks whilst yours settle comfortably on her hips. The bruising grip of your fingers doesn’t let up even after the blonde pulls away from the kiss.

She twirls your hair between her long, perfectly manicured fingers and her intense gaze settles on your face, eyes flitting over it like she’s trying to commit it to memory. Your thumbs find their way under the hem of her shirt, stroking the skin softly.

“I’m sorry” She speaks up quietly.

“What could you possibly be sorry for, pretty girl?”

“The way I’ve treated you, I couldn’t even tell you why I did it.” Alessia explains, her fingers caressing your cheek sweetly. You lean into her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm before speaking.

“Eh, that’s all in the past, how about we make some positive memories to replace the old ones huh?” You whisper back, pulling the shorter girl in for another kiss.

“Hey, Gio! Can we come out now? We’ve made up” Alessia’s cheeks darken slightly at the particular choice of words. You two stand up as the door gets unlocked and opened, letting Alessia exit first, you soon lunge at the brazilian who’d locked you in. Pulling her into a headlock, you hear the sweet sound of Alessia’s laughter and you can’t help but laugh yourself.

Let’s just say, Alessia Russo doesn’t hate you anymore, the kisses you share deep into the night a sure indication of that…

#alessia russo x reader #woso #woso x reader #unc soccer #alessia russo

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geraldmariaivo · 2 years

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I recently saw a DP/DC post about Jason being Danny’s bio dad, and I want to spit out my own idea of it:

1) Jason doesn’t know he has a kid. He’ done a lot of shady things and met a lot of shady people, and you can’t tell me he remembers every night of it.

2) Danny knows he’s adopted, he just doesn’t care. 3) Danny suddenly has to care one day because of Ghost Prince legality reasons where he needs his parent/gaurdian to sign something important because he’s a child, and Clockwork refuses to. Obviously he can’t bring this to Jack&Maddie, and Jazz isn’t old enough to sign either, so he tries to find his biological parents to maybe only slightly bully this hapless civilian into signing a piece of paper that says Danny *can* sign things, and then fuck off.

4) Danny sets off to find his bio-parents only to find that his mother is dead and not a ghost, and his father is somewhere in Gotham. Which is where the Bats are.

5) With a bit of help from his court and Wulf, Danny scours the city to find whoever the hell this “Jason” is, because just knowing his first name clarifies very little in a city like Gotham.

6) A few of the court physicians accompanies this search party because they’re headed to Gotham, and there’s no telling what kind of bullshit will happen, even if there’s no ecto-weaponry within a hundred miles.

7) One of the oldest physicians encounters Red Hood, and is immediately revolted by the nasty-ass ectoplasm they haven’t seen since Pariah was locked up the first time. Naturally their first impulse is to get this absolutely wretched ectoplasm out of this human as soon as possible.

8) Jason, naturally, doesn’t trust this glowing green person who makes the Pit writhe and try to get away. As such, he makes getting any kind of ghostly medical attention as difficult as possible.

9) Medic #1 gives up doing it solo, and conscripts the other medical personnel to help them effectively pin Jason (now out of costume) down while they filter out the nasty shit and replace it with clean ectoplasm from the Realms so his body doesn’t go through shock from suddenly having no ectoplasm.

10) Jason is still riled up and suspicious as hell, but he does notice that the Pit isn’t really there anymore. There’s still something there, but it’s not the constant anger he’s learned to live with. It’s calm, almost peaceful, actually. It takes all of two seconds listening to them giving out instructions to realize that they’re behaving like actual, good doctors giving out real medical advice. They repeat themselves when needed, and make sure to go over the whole of their instructions thrice to make sure he knows what they’re saying. It’s incredibly weird for Jason, but if drinking this weird not-pit-water stuff once a week or if he’s craving it from this weird glowing container is what keeps the Pit from bothering him 24/7, then so be it.

11) Jason asks what the actual fuck these people are doing here, because Metas generally know to stay away from Gotham.

12) They explain that they’re ghosts, and that they’re with a search party looking for a man with the first name Jason, and is likely to have black hair, blue eyes, or both.

13) Jason immediately puts together that they’re looking for him, because he knows his life well enough that he knows there’s no hope that the Jason they’re looking for is some random civilian who happens to have black hair and blue eyes.

14) Jason asks why they want to find this man, and if they have a way to confirm whether or not the person they find is actually the person they’re looking for. He nearly has a stroke when they say that they need him to sign some important thing because his son -which, WHAT?!?! When did he have one of those?!?!?!- is the High Prince of the Infinite Realms, whatever the fuck that means, but can’t sign official documents into law since he’s a minor.

15) Jason, against his better judgement, tells them his name, and says it’s possible that he’s the Jason they’ve been looking for.

16) He is right.

17) Jason has to grapple with the fact that he not only had a son he didn’t know about, but the son also died before he could meet the kid, and then apparently became the prince of the dead.

18) Somewhere in this time, Danny (as Phantom) finds out about the nasty Lazarus water from his physicians, and tells Jason that Amity Park is a place where he can find much better ectoplasm if the man needs it for health reasons, and that he just needs to contact the right people. Preferably one of the local vigilantes rather than the Drs. Fenton.

Timeskip (how far depends on what you want to do in the meantime)

19) Red Hood goes to Amity park on Bat business. This is where Danny and Jason each find out about the clusterfuck that is the other’s life.

20) Shenanigans.

#i made this post #dp x dc #jason todd #danny fenton #danny phantom

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saerins · 4 months

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⋆୨ chapter three ୧˚ for a while, you were all mine

⋆୨ if not for you (masterlist) ⋆୨ previous: chapter two - a million miles away, still you connect me in your way <> next: chapter four - behind a box of reasons why ୧˚

⋆୨ synopsis ୧˚ neither of you want this. both you and sae reluctantly agree to this marriage, although sae’s dissatisfaction far outweighs your own. with hidden agendas and old flames, will this ever work out between the two of you, or will your forced spark be doomed to fail?

ೀ series: sae x f!reader | wc 6.3k | ೀ content warnings: fluff/angst, modern au, arranged marriage, rich!sae and rich!reader, jealousy/paranoia, third parties, yn and sae finally sharing one bed | notes: eeep this was long i’m sorry !! more of the other girl here heh ^_< also mwah thank you to all of you who’s reading ily !! <3

In hindsight, maybe it wasn’t right of you to go through your husband’s stuff. Maybe you should’ve just looked at that little black box and left it there and continue to be ignorant.

But no. In this world, you’re nosy and greedy and you wanted to know who exactly it is that Itoshi Sae of all people can’t get over and now you have exactly what you were looking for.

After extensive research—and by research you mean scrolling through your husband’s social media (all of them), you managed to find her tagged in a post buried way below on his Facebook wall. Silver lining is: there’s nothing recent. The bad part? Judging by the date, they’ve known each other for a long time.

Apparently her name is Mirin, and her family’s made up of a whole slew of top lawyers in the whole of Japan. There’s not a lot on her Facebook, but her Instagram is a whole other story. Her posts the last few years put her somewhere in Europe, and judging by the content, she’s been studying there for a while. But before that, back when the posts were all in Japan, you catch a few photos of Sae. Some of them have Oliver and Eita, and a couple of other guys you haven’t met before.

It’s really wrong of you to do this, only because you know you’re just setting yourself up for a world of paranoia, but you can’t stop. You move over to the pictures she’s tagged in, and there’s one from Oliver that catches your attention.

Because it’s dated a few weeks back.

The first of two photos show Oliver, Eita, Sae and the same guy you saw back in Mirin’s feed—the one with jet black spiky hair. They’re in a bar, you presume, sitting around a private booth with a ton of alcohol in the ice bucket on the table. You recognise his attire; it’s from the very first night Sae bothered to sit down at the dining table and eat with you.

The second makes your heart crash to the floor. In the photo, in Sae’s place is Mirin herself, looking drop-dead gorgeous in a skin-tight red dress that you wouldn’t ever think of wearing. (One, because it’s much too revealing for your own taste, and two, well, just because you’re more of an oversized t-shirt kind of girl.)

All you can take away from what you saw is that Mirin is now back in Japan. Coupled with the fact that Sae had been gone even though he was off from work for those first few days of your marriage, you deduce what you wish isn’t true—was he meeting up with her all this time? Even

Trying to avoid falling into utter madness, you grab your phone and text your ever-trusty best friend.

Reo, meet you at our usual. ASAP!!!

Just as you’re about to leave the house, Sae gets back from wherever he’s been (which now you can’t help but wonder whether he was meeting Mirin), and you run right into his chest.

“Careful, busy?” Sae asks, which is more than Sae usually does and you realise just how low the bar is set right now.

Still, you answer him like you always do. “Yeah I’m gonna meet Reo for a bit,” you tell him, biting back a snarky comment about Mirin.

Even with those doubts of Sae in your head, you can’t help but stop to appreciate how he hands you your keys from the key hanger before you forget, or how his other hand is gripping onto yours, warm and just slightly calloused. It’s the first time you’ve felt them since that day at your own wedding.

“Take your time, I’ll handle our dinner tonight,” he tells you, and you think that’s already a lot considering that he’s never really bothered with anything the past few weeks, but then you feel a soft sensation against your forehead—very brief, so unfamiliar, way too soft—and then it’s gone in just a second and it’s way too quick that it has you doubting its existence at all.

All you hear is a soft “see you” before the door shuts behind you, and then there’s only the erratic beating of your heart that fills your ears.

“Yikes.”

“Very helpful, thanks,” you sigh exasperatedly as you plop down onto the cushioned seat across from Reo.

Reo laughs, handing you your phone back, open to Oliver’s Instagram account. “Then ask for a divorce, I’m sure he’d happily oblige if all of that’s true.”

“You know why I can’t, Reo,” you remind him, close to giving up.

Reo nods, remembering about your parents and deciding not to make matters worse. “Did you ask him about it though?”

You frown, glaring up at your best friend who’s now happily sipping on his cold brew. “And let him guess that I was stalking his ex? Sure I did.”

Reo snorts at your sarcasm. He thinks it’s funny how you’re oddly meek in front of Sae, and yet you’re snappish around him. Comes with the many years of being best friends, he supposes. But on that note, “you think there’s something going on between them?”

For the first time, Reo sees you helpless, eyes staring into nothing, index finger idly tracing circles on the polished wooden surface. “I don’t know,” because all you know is that you’re already exhausted from overthinking all the things they could be doing behind your back. “But… he’s always away and he says it’s work when I know it’s not. And she’s back and they were at the same place and urgh, I don’t know what to do.”

By that last line, you’re already burying your head in your hands, slumped against the table, Reo watching on as you grumble in frustration. He chuckles, gently patting your head before you look up at him, “what if they’re just friends right now?”

“It’s still weird, isn’t it? I mean… from the looks of it, they were pretty serious at one point.” Your words are all muffled because you’re pretty sure this is you being jealous now—thanks to Sae considerably warming up to you (be it at his own sluggish pace), it’s hard not to feel anything for him. In a way, you’re learning to like a lot about him, but there’s this unshakeable doubt you can’t brush off in the form of his ex.

Reo leans back against his chair now, pondering out loud. “Hmm I wonder what that reminds me of.”

In a second, you know all too well what he’s referring to, and you find yourself unable to look him in the eye. “That’s… different. We didn’t act on it.”

He rests his elbow on the table, head resting against his fist, “yeah but… we were still each other’s first kiss, right?”

“But we didn’t amount to anything.”

“Except that we’re best friends now,” Reo tells you, and you know he’s trying to get a point across but you’re not sure you want to understand it.

“And that’s all we ever were, Reo.”

Smiling, Reo leans forward a little, cautious at keeping his voice down. It won’t do if people misunderstand and word gets around. “Listen, I don’t know about you, but you were all I wanted at one point. For more than just that one day under the cherry blossoms, more than that one time I stole your first kiss.”

It stuns you a little to hear it, because any romantic emotions between the two of you were never said or shared. Both you and Reo knew back then that your parents wouldn’t ever be in favour of him and his rebelliousness that you both just decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. At that time, when you were both foolish kids, having that something intangible was enough. Maybe it faded for you faster than it had for Reo, but he knew that it once existed. Even if only for a second.

“And?”

You’ve gone soft now, and Reo knows you understand. You’re just in denial.

“Are you sure Sae would feel the same if he knew about it? If he knew I used to love you too?” Reo asks you, genuinely wondering for himself.

You’re about to argue that Sae doesn’t even care, but putting yourself into his shoes, you get where Reo’s coming from. History is history. No matter how long ago it was or how short the relationship (or lack of one) was, the feelings still existed, once upon a time.

Still, you have a feeling that there’s more than meets the eye. Especially if Sae has to hide it all the time. He’s never even said her name to you, if they met at all.

“Anyway look, do you want me to try asking Oliver about it? I’ll be discreet, though I can’t really say the same for that knucklehead,” Reo warns you. It’s not like he knows Oliver much outside of any business dealings, but he can tell that much at least.

You shake your head anyway, knowing it’s a bad idea. For all you know, Sae would just lash out at you for prying into his business when you’re just his on-paper wife.

“Wonder why they broke up though,” you think out loud, watching the liquid in your cup swish around, close to spilling off the edge as you swirl it with your hand, almost completely lost in thought.

Reo answers you without missing a beat. “She went abroad to study and just called it off thinking it wouldn’t work.” His eyes go wide the moment your head shoots up, and he winces after letting it slip.

“You knew?”

“Yeah…”

“What the- how?” Because it’s incredulous how Reo happens to know that much more about the relationship.

He sighs, fessing up. “I was asking around about Sae remember? When I told you he’s just a tough nut to—”

“Yeah yeah,” you wave it off, wanting him to get to the point.

“Well, Oliver’s kinda a blabbermouth so…” Reo sighs, as if he senses there’s no point in keeping it in, not when you’re already halfway into that rabbit hole yourself.

And you’re all ears. Half because you really just want to learn more about it and the other half just wanting confirmation that you’re not crazy for overthinking about this. But then Reo tells you and you’re not sure anymore.

“He said Sae was never over her, loved her to bits.” Reo pauses, hesitating before he opens his mouth again. “He said Sae was waiting for her to get back before starting things up again.”

Oh.

SEVEN YEARS AGO.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Surely it wasn’t a stretch to be furious that distance would be enough of a reason for a breakup? Surely Sae didn’t have to think himself crazy for refuting such an idea?

Mirin’s hair flowed in the wind, pretty as it always was, and it would be even prettier in his memories. She looked unsure, and he knew it too. He knew her like the back of his hand, down to the injury on his ankle. She was only doing what she thought was right, and that was offering each of their own freedom, though Sae had no single doubt in his mind that that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Sae, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” she told him, her eyes swimming with tears that she wouldn’t allow to overflow.

Always so stubborn, and forever thinking less of herself. That was how he knew her to be. And as much as he hated that stubbornness at that moment, he loved her just as much.

With a hand reaching out to her, he pulled her to him, letting her rest her head in his chest, something that he savoured because it wouldn’t be long until she’ll be gone for who knows how long.

“Is it selfish of me to say I don’t want to break up with you?” Sae was asking her, genuinely. He didn’t know how to handle this—when life held different paths for two people in love, wasn’t it just common sense that they could still tread it and yet be together? Was long distance really the end of everything they had?

Mirin sniffled just a little before she pulled away and forced herself to smile, something that Sae hated. It was always the fake ones that irked him, even now.

“Is it selfish for me to think that we’re supposed to?”

Maybe he didn’t know the answer. But all he knew was that if she still felt like they should, then he’d concede. He was always weak when it came to her. It was always the same. He couldn’t imagine being weak to anyone else. It was her. Only her.

“Fine, we’ll do that, if that’s what you want,” he told her, a tone so gentle that no one but her has ever heard. But he drew close, tipping her chin up so she would look at him, his teal eyes appreciating every inch of her beautiful face, the most beautiful one he had ever seen, and the most beautiful one he thought he would ever see. “But you know something?”

Mirin swallowed the lump in her throat, the amount of love she felt threatening to swallow her whole. “What?”

Sae let out a deep chuckle, a soft one before he pressed his lips against hers, a promise laid between their lips like it was a secret only they both would keep.

“Nothing would stop me from waiting for you to come back. So come back to me, okay? Come back, I’ll wait for you.”

That night when you get home, you feel just slightly numb. After hearing what you did, it’s no surprise. You’ve always been kind of weak when it comes to feelings. You’re more heart over mind and you’d choose your heart over and over again even if you had no more blood left to bleed.

You think you’re never getting over it until you walk in and realise that Sae’s in the kitchen, setting your dinner down on the table. It’s like your tears automatically dissipate once you look into his eyes.

“Oh, just nice,” is all he mumbles before he sits down at his place on the entirely too-big dining table for the two of you.

Across from him, you sit down as you look at the spread before you. A steak on each of your plates, potato puree at the side. In the middle there’s assorted sides of mushrooms, corn kernels and what you assume to be a tray of sauces for the meat.

“Did you cook all of these?” You ask, almost breathless. You’re about to say he’s a much better cook than you are, until Sae speaks up.

“No.” He seems nearly unwilling to answer you, a delicate frown on his face. “Accidentally burnt the pans when I tried to cook.”

“Huh?” You spin your head around to find the sink filled with all your pans, and from the looks of it, Sae had been trying to scrub the burnt portions off unsuccessfully.

“We need to buy new pans.”

Sae says this all too monotonously, like he’s half-robot and half completely embarrassed, that you can’t help but laugh out loud. Besides, it’s kind of cute that there’s a faint pink on his cheeks. You’ve never seen that before.

He looks at you incredulously, like he wasn’t expecting you to laugh at him like he’s a damn clown. Flinging a mushroom at you with his fork, he rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he groans.

Pouting at him mockingly, you decide to tease him a little more. “You didn’t touch anything else in the house and ruin them, did you?”

And you were joking, until you realise Sae’s averting his gaze, stuffing his mouth full with corn kernels.

“Sae!”

“We might need to get new stuff for the laundry room too,” he confesses, talking with his mouth full. (Spoiler: you find out later that he put the wrong detergents in the washer and accidentally flooded the laundry room.)

Still, you think it’s sort of endearing that he tried to do the chores while you were the one out for a change, so you stop yourself from making fun of him too much. It’s not like whatever you learned earlier isn’t still sitting in the back of your head (because a part of you wonders if he’s doing all this out of guilt), but some part of you wants to be selfish and let yourself feel special, even if it’s delusional, at least for a little bit.

You want to feel like the wife he misses when you’re not around, like the person he would think of when his mind strays. Is this all too much to ask?

Maybe you just can’t help yourself, so you bring yourself to ask: “Sae, why did you agree to this?”

There’s a pregnant pause in the room, the only sounds filling the silence being the stainless steel cutlery hitting the plates as Sae adjusts himself. “Why did you?”

You suppose that maybe it’ll be easier for him to share if you start first, so you bite the bait. “Long story but… if I don’t then it’ll fall to my sister and she’s happy with someone else.” You swallow the meat in your mouth, the fat rendered so well it makes you crave for more. “I don’t want her to have to sacrifice that. Our parents aren’t exactly the nicest people in the world.”

Sae listens to you, an understanding settling in his chest. He could laugh from the coincidence of it all. “Same, but for my brother,” he tells you, prodding at his steak. “And he’s happy with soccer, not some girl. Can’t get a girl to save his life.”

Somehow, you can hear the quiet fondness that he has for Rin that makes you believe he’s a good brother.

“Would a marriage affect his career all that much?”

There’s a certain complexity behind Sae’s expression when you ask that question, something that you can’t decipher. But he scoffs, “let’s just say, my parents aren’t the nicest people either. I would know.”

And something tells you that it’s not something you want to ask yet, so you let his answer sit with you.

“Oh, speaking of parents,” Sae brings up his phone, switching the subject and handing it over to you. It’s a string of texts between him and his mother, apparently. You hold it up to your face, reading through and it appears they’d gotten you both tickets. “Mine got us both tickets, so.”

As you scroll, a grin appears on your face as you look at him. “Honeymoon tickets to Korea?” You’re almost squealing. It’s been a long while since you’ve last had a vacation, and ten days of distraction sounds really nice after all the information you’d just learned today.

Sae rolls his eyes, though you don’t miss the slight tug upwards at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, so get packing, we leave in two days.”

And as excited as you are, you feel a vibration and the brief flash of ‘dummy’ messaging him, the only part of the preview that you can see being: no, take me with you :(

You’re pretty sure it vibrates some more but by then, you’re already handing the phone back and Sae just locks his phone without bothering. Shaking your head, you try to stuff that image back to the deepest crevices of your mind, determined to not let it ruin your mood for your getaway.

Ex lover or not, Sae is still your husband and it’s not like he hates this (by the looks of things, it’s only been getting better and better), so you’re still hell bent on making things work.

Two days fly by way too quickly.

The day after Sae tells you about the trip, you immediately get to work at packing. Ten days is not a short trip and you plan to make full use of it, and for that, you have to be ready.

You had spent the whole day buying anything you would need—travel-friendly items and whatnot—while commuting back home to your parents’ house (at a timing you know they’re at work, of course!) to take anything you might’ve left there that you needed. Just as you left the house, nostalgia took over as you looked around at the place where you grew up.

It’s strange. People say to cherish what time you have with your parents, that one day you’re going to move out and you’re going to miss it.

You don’t feel like that’s necessarily true, because you’re living proof. The only thing you’d miss is your sister and you still talk to her everyday. Meanwhile, the only times your mother or father ever talks to you is to ask you about your marriage and warning you not to annoy Sae too much, as though it was a given and that it shouldn’t be the other way around.

Maybe it doesn’t make much sense; you and Sae (or maybe just you) trying to be a family when you both have no idea what a proper family is like. Even if it is just on paper.

Now you’re on a town car to the airport and you’re fiddling with your passport in your hands, staring out the window like a little child that’s going overseas for the first time. (Next to you, Sae’s thinking the exact same thing—you do look so much like an excited child. Or maybe a puppy.)

Of course, Sae’s parents waste no expenses in gifting you two first-class seats. Not that you’ve never been in first class, but it’s nice to be next to Sae, and you catch yourself, realising just how quickly you’re catching feelings.

“What?” Sae’s just getting ready to turn his phone to flight-safe mode when he catches you staring, a hint of smugness forming inside of him.

Even with a small partition separating your seats, you can see his teal eyes staring at you, long lashes fluttering in all its glory. Instead of offering an answer, you just shake your head and lean back, busying yourself by adjusting the screen in front of you.

Being in a state of denial is easy; it’s actually fun to sit in first class next to Sae, on a three-hour flight to your honeymoon, annoying him each chance you get, earning yourself a death stare every instant before laughing yourself silly when he flips off at you. It’s been a few weeks, but you think you’ve grown accustomed to what Sae is like that you know his middle fingers to you are never meant to be taken seriously and his silence is just how he is when he isn’t fully opened up. It nearly makes you think you’re crazy for doubting him and yet you don’t have the balls to question him about any of that. Not yet, because you’re not ready for this to end (if it will).

The itinerary had already been planned out by Sae’s mother, but it wasn’t like either of you wanted to follow it. One, Sae likes to do things spontaneously anyway and two, well, you have a feeling that he might want to treat this like a solo trip. It’s not like either of you have properly been husband and wife much to have a proper honeymoon together.

So count you surprised when you suggested that you both try to do solo trips around the city and just meet up for dinner, only to have Sae agree and yet follow you wherever you decide to go that first day.

At first, you were just wondering whether he had the same plans, but after he followed you into a Sephora looking absolutely clueless and then getting all flustered and sticking to you the moment the staff there asked him if he wanted to do a skin test, you allow yourself to think that he’s actually tagging along with you.

“What are you doing?” You decide to ask after exiting another store, carrying no less than five bags thanks to your anxiety of asking Sae what he’s up to.

On his part, he merely shrugs and looks away, hands in his coat pocket, looking absolutely like a model out of a magazine. Sometimes you wonder if he’s really yours. On paper, at least.

“This is our honeymoon, right? Makes sense that we’re together.” That’s all the explanation Sae offers, his gaze hovering over the bags you’re carrying, before he leans closer. “Besides, you’re my wife,” he says, gently grabbing your bags and carrying it for you.

He doesn’t say that it’s just on paper this time. And you can’t help but read into it. It’s perplexing how easily his words can affect you. It has your heart doing somersaults and your lips nervously pursing together.

“So, where next?” He prompts, looking at you expectantly.

And maybe you’re a little too excited for this pleasant turn of events that you’re grinning from ear to ear as you stare at him. “Wait, really?”

You can’t even hide the glee in your voice and Sae, for the first time, smiles—even if he’s doing it as he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yes, stupid,” he tells you, chuckling as you hop slightly in excited. “Are we going or are you just gonna stand here like a little puppy?”

With excited nods and a little squeal, you clap your hands together before daring to put your fingers around his wrist, dragging him with you.

Sae follows quietly behind you, staring at you as you happily tread ahead, your hands warm and guarding his against the slightly chilly air, hair flowing in the wind and he suddenly thinks you’re even prettier than he first thought you were. And then he starts thinking that maybe this part of his life that’s planned by his parents isn’t so bad after all.

Though, when you get back to the hotel, you find out that Sae has already specially asked for two separate beds, to the surprise of all the hotel staff, because of course, Mrs Itoshi had booked the honeymoon suite for the both of you. Special requests for that room usually mean flowers on the bed, or breakfast just the way they like it—not for the groom of all people to be asking for a separate bed altogether, especially when he insists there is no additional person.

“I’ll sleep out here,” Sae tells you the moment you get back to the hotel that night, gesturing to the bed set up by the television, much to your bummer. But you suppose you can’t expect too much—hand holding was already a miracle in itself.

“Oh yeah, sure,” you shrug it off, like it doesn’t even matter. Deep down you feel like a rock was dropped from your throat to the bottom of your stomach, forming a gaping hole in your heart along the way that you tried to will into non-existence.

Still, somehow, despite this little obstacle, you find yourself optimistic after being witness to Sae’s change in demeanour.

“Hey, Y/N?”

When you turn around, you see a hint of hesitation flicker across his teal eyes before he shakes his head, brushing it off.

“It’s nothing, goodnight.”

Although you’re curious, you decide not to press him about it. Offering a small smile, you nod.

“Goodnight, Sae.”

Over the course of your entire honeymoon, you find that you shouldn’t be chiding yourself for being delusional in the first place.

For once in this one-sided love affair, you feel like perhaps it’s not so one-sided at all. Because from what you’ve learned about Sae in your close-to-minimal time together, he isn’t someone that you can force into doing anything he doesn’t want to. At least when it comes to mundane activities which includes trips. (Unless you’re his parents who you have no doubt in your mind probably mirrors your own and have their ways of controlling him, per se.)

But it’s hard to think he doesn’t want to do any of this with you when he’s so compliant. He follows your bucket list of things to do and doesn’t complain once. He lets you drag him to the palace and looks only slightly concerned when you tell him you want to “do the thing where we can dress up like royalty and take pictures” but he only sighs and concedes within seconds.

When he comes out of the room looking like the most handsome prince you’d ever met, you’re too shy to meet his gaze but he tilts your head up to look at him for most of the shots anyway. With his face so close to yours, with these kinds of small gestures which he willingly initiates, you begin to wonder if it’s possible to make him happy in this possibly loveless marriage.

Spending ten days together, surrounded by just each other and doing things that couples do; it nearly makes you feel as if this is real. Like Sae really loves you and that he had asked you to marry him one day out of the blue because of it. Nothing like how you felt that first time you met him, in your dressing room minutes before you were about to become husband and wife, being talked down to and told that this was a facade and could be nothing more.

Now he’s here with you, sticking close and following you around, entertaining your requests for activities, falling asleep on your shoulder when you were on the plane to Jeju, and sometimes he absentmindedly holds your hand like he’s used to it. He helps you with your luggage always, and he makes sure you get food whenever your stomach starts growling, and he’s more observant than you give him credit for because he starts picking the radish off your plate without you asking.

Your album’s suddenly filled with pictures of you and Sae and you were hesitant at first but dragging him to the amusement park when he wasn’t for it at first was a good decision; for a while, you get to see what he’s like when all the downturned lines on his face reverse, when he looks the most like an actual guy in his mid-twenties, enjoying life instead of brooding all the time. Thanks to that, your pictures are more both of you smiling or being goofy together instead of faceless pictures because neither of you feel like showing your faces at all.

By the time your honeymoon is about to come to an end, you find that maybe there’s hope for this after all. That maybe you’d just been overthinking everything prior to this and it shouldn’t be worth worrying over after the trip ends.

But you find that hope can be flimsy sometimes.

On the seventh night there, you and Sae are both on your bed, in the actual bedroom, fighting (not literally) over a multiplayer game. Just two adults hunched over one phone playing frustrating games meant for kids. (Somehow it makes you feel like perhaps neither of you ever had a normal childhood and this is something to make up for it.) It’s all fun and games until you see a throng of message notifications from dummy mixed in with several from what you presume to be Sae’s group chat with the guys.

And you can keep pretending like it doesn’t matter, except Sae immediately stops after the current round and tells you he has to take a call. And you already know more or less who he’s going to talk to. And just like that, you feel like you’re back to square one all over again.

The subsequent nights (and days) aren’t easy for you either. After just giving up on thinking and forcing yourself to sleep that night, you’d been stuck with paranoia everyday. Especially when you realise that he’s starting to take calls every night outside on the balcony where he’s sure you’re out of earshot.

You wonder if he’s being lovey dovey with her outside when he talks to her. You wonder if he imagines you as her when you’re out together. You wonder if he wishes you were her. You wonder if all this is just a gimmick; a test run for when he does the actual things with the actual girl he wants to do them with.

Safe to say, by your last night there, you’re a mess. The moment you get back from trying to be happy all day (which was a disaster because you wouldn’t stop trying to minimise contact with Sae), you tell him you’re too tired and that you’ll just go ahead and go to bed.

Which, of course, is code for ‘you just want to lie in bed and cry all night’.

Sae couldn’t even get a word out before you shut the door on him, plopping down onto the bed and crying into your pillow. Maybe holding everything in was a bad idea. Now you’re bursting with emotions and you try to call Reo a few minutes later but you can’t even get him because he’s busy somehow and you’re positive that the gods hate you right now.

There is one thing about being on rock bottom that you like, though; at least you know how you feel. You’re exhausted and upset and envious because you wish you could be that person for your husband. But you keep getting reminded that you’re not. That somehow you’re just a mere stand-in until he marries his real wife next time. The one he promised to love forever. (Technically, he vowed that to you on your wedding day too, but that’s not the same and you know it.)

Deciding to shut off your phone and have this time to yourself to cry your eyes out, you miss the sudden swarm of notifications that come in. And thanks to you stuffing your head into the pillow, you don’t notice Sae opening the door and peeking inside, an unfamiliar feeling settling inside him at the sound of you sobbing.

He gently closes the door behind him as he walks to you, your back turned to him, your hands and feet hanging onto the bolster like a koala to a branch. Slowly, he saunters over to you, almost like he’s afraid to. When his hand rests on your shoulder and he sinks into the mattress beside you, you stiffen up for just a moment before spinning around and sobbing into his chest instead.

You didn’t expect him to even enter your room at all, much less let you stain his shirt or hold you close when you’re being emotional like this, but he stays there, hand gently rubbing your arm, up and down, a gentle kiss placed on the top of your head. It makes you wonder what kind of games he’s playing. Is this Sae not being able to make up his mind and that’s why he’s still so nice to you even when he has his old flame in the back of his head?

“Do you… want me to leave you alone?” He asks, though you can argue it’s kind of a stupid question but then you realise he probably doesn’t know much about actual relationships so you let it slide.

You shake your head in response, deciding that as stupid as it all sounds, you want to throw your hat in the ring. You’ve fallen for him, and you want him for yourself.

And maybe it’s wrong of you to project this on him, but your absence of a normal family where a home is not just a house and where parents shower their children with actual love and concern makes you yearn for one yourself. And maybe it’s not a great idea to want that from a man you married from being forced to, but thanks to this honeymoon you can see that there’s a flicker of spark there.

That Sae’s not emotionless and he’s definitely not cold to you. Not anymore. That if you guys had been given more time instead of being rushed into things by your parents then maybe the whole wedding could’ve gone without any of the hitches you experienced. That every single radish he picked off your plate, every picture he took with you, every time he held your hand, every time he pulled you close—none of that was manufactured, was it?

So isn’t it possible for you to be happy with him? So is it still foolish or selfish of you to want to be with him?

Is it too much if you ask him about it?

“Hey, Sae?” Your voice is soft and timid and more vulnerable than you’ve ever shown, but he hears you loud and clear, his “hm?” resounding against his chest, right next to your ear. “Can you stay?”

A few seconds of pause, and he replies, “of course.”

You shake your head slightly. “I don’t mean that. I mean, you know, what we said on our wedding day.” Your voice is entirely muffled, still Sae understands.

There’s an even longer pause this time, and you think that Sae’s just thinking of a way to get out of this until you hear him speak up again.

“Idiot,” he chides, but you can hear the soft affection in his voice. Suddenly, you feel his pinky wrapping around your own, and he holds it near your face. “I promise you,” he whispers, and you wish you could see the expression on his face, “I’ll stay.”

It might be wishful thinking but you think he really means it.

taglist: @kimvmarvel @mxplesyrvp @yuzurins @futuristicxie @kiopanxp @k0z3me @y-sabell-a @sae1toshilover @xoxojisu @karmatiz @sagejin @minnieminnie00-got7 @hearts4heidi @shiinobu-x @n1uh @prepchuu @leeyzhuo @shidouryusm @tsukishiro-yue2402 @kaiserkisser @pookiebearcave @dcvilxswish @saeskiss @whtflrr @arminseas @raphsimp @saharei @danibxe @lectris00 @comet-kun @ishitam67 @gskill @sweet2wthsblog *bolded: can’t tag you due to your settings >_<

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #sae x you #itoshi sae x you #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x y/n #itoshi sae #blue lock #૪ aeri’s fics !

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kairiscorner · 9 months

Text

i just want what's best for you. — miles 42 x reader

summary: no matter how much miles may love you, you still have to get through his mom for you two to be together. first impressions didn't go so well, and now... now you're starting to think she's right about you. but somehow, you both come to an understanding, and... eventually, an understanding can be made between you two. pairing: miles 42 x gn!reader genre: slight angst + comfort word count: 2,646 request: Could you do a miles (42 or 1610 or both) x reader where his mom isn’t to fond of her but, it’s only because she doesn’t want to see him get hurt. And reader considers breaking up with him and his mom overhears and feels bad. a/n: hello, my lovely anon !! omg i loved writing this ngl, I INTENTIONALLY PUT MORE ANGST HERE THAN I DID FOR 1610 MILES AAAAA please multiverse, don't let this flop PLEASEEEE also SORRY FOR THE CRAPPY SPANISH AND OOC RIO, I TRIED UUEUEUUEUUE BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS !!

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

you had never felt any more intimidated and nervous than you did right now as you sat down with miles' family for dinner. you had partners before and met their parents, it wasn't all so bad; you actually had fond memories of those people and sometimes would reminisce how kind they'd treat you, how they'd welcome you into their families and give you a home away from your home when you'd need it. however, when it came to miles' family... it was so-so.

his uncle aaron, without a doubt, was one of the nicest father figures you had ever encountered in your whole life. he was a sweet man who cared for miles and would, be proxy, care about you, too. he'd tease you and miles when he'd see you two together in the most low-key ways and still make miles lose all his cool and stoic composure around you when his uncle would expose how much he talks about you.

"this kid can't ever go through another day without thinking about you. like seriously, all i did was take him to the convenience store downtown and i see him with all these snacks i've never seen him eat before, snacks he told me he hates with a burning passion. i look at him and ask him why he's got those snacks, and he mutters under his breath... 'these're for them, not for me.' how cute of my nephew, no?" he said with a chuckle as miles glared up at his uncle and pouted at him, with you giggling at the story as everyone but his mother was laughing about that little anecdote.

uncle aaron nudged rio a little, to which she shot him a glare similar to miles' and muttered something under her breath in spanish. uncle aaron sighed as some tension was caught in the air and enveloped the entire dinner table, with no one else uttering another word or sound as you all ate in silence. you felt rio's gaze on you at times while you all ate, and unlike the other mothers you had encountered with your previous partners, she had a gaze that felt a little... judgemental, in a way?

you felt pretty self-conscious as rio looked at you, and you felt yourself jump slightly in your seat when she'd ask you questions about you and her son. she called your name randomly, shattering the silence and causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up as you nearly sprang up from your seat in utter surprise. "y-yes rio?" you asked her as she winced, as if she heard a discordant tune when you uttered her first name. without even looking up from her plate, she asked you, "did you know miles got a b in spanish? ay, i'm proud of you, mijo, though... you usually do so much better than that. i'm worried, have you been missing classes recently? and do you know anything about it?" she asked you as she turned her gaze up at you, causing you to freeze up and instinctively shake your head.

miles breathed out a small huff as he tried to think of a reason to give his own mother, who he promised he'd never lie to, as his uncle aaron tried to tell rio that maybe now wasn't the right time to talk about it, but rio told him in spanglish that now was as good a time as any, she had to know if her son was being distracted by... she didn't dare finish that thought. she looked over at you then at miles and raised an eyebrow. "so? is no one gonna tell me anything?" she asked the two of you as you bit the inside of your cheek, feeling pretty intimidated by her right now. "mama, it's nothing, i promise you, i--" "it's nothing?" "oh, no." uncle aaron muttered as he silently excused himself and left the table with his plate in hand, gesturing to you to follow what he did and to seek refuge into the kitchen, away from the mother and son.

you did as he directed and excused yourself, nearly stumbling out of your chair as rio's eyes followed you with a kind of suspicious gleam in those hazel eyes of hers. indistinct conversation and arguments between the mother and son were heard, with the sound of running water, the squeaking and setting down of plates being tuning their voices out as you gratuitously helped uncle aaron wash the dishes. "hey, sorry about them, miles' mom hasn't been in the best mood lately." he muttered to you as you nodded. "i-i understand, aaron. it's really okay..." you murmured back as you both finished, with uncle aaron wishing you a good night as he disappeared into the garage doing who knows what.

as you exited the kitchen, you heard rio's muffled voice from the dining room mention your name, and you walked over in a morbid kind of curiosity to know why she mentioned you when she was scolding miles; though a part of you thought of why, you hoped what you thought of wouldn't be the case. "sé honesto, ¿te estás distrayendo con ellos?" she asked miles with a stern voice as miles looked down at the ground, clearly frustrated, but wasn't about to run his mouth off at his own mother. he shook his head and murmured, "mi amante no tiene la culpa de lo que me ha estado pasando, mama."

rio sighed exasperatedly as she looked at her son in disbelief. "and you mean that? you seriously... look, mijo, no quiero hacerte infeliz, y sé que crees que entiendes lo que es bueno para ti, pero… no puedo permitir que ellos te pongan en peligro. they might... not be a good influence on you." she said with a soft voice as miles looked up at her with an incredulous expression on his face. "mama, you have no idea who they really are." he said as rio kept talking to him, but he stormed off on her. she called for her son repeatedly, but he marched into his room, with her sighing aloud and storming off herself, too.

you felt a heavy weight on your shoulders as your anxieties and worries over what miles' mother thought of you were realized; she doesn't trust you, and she doesn't think you're good for her son. you felt so weak in the knees at that moment, thinking that you would never be able to love miles freely without his mother intervening or trying to convince him you're not right for him, that you're a distraction for him. you didn't want any conflict between the two anymore, so you thought of a way to end their feud peacefully, and the only way that'd work was... one neither of you would particularly like.

you snuck upstairs to miles' room and gently rapped at his door, muttering that you were there, and that you wanted to talk to him. miles opened his door a crack, and when he could confirm it was you, he opened the door wider and gently took your hand in his. "cielo," he greeted you softly with a light squeeze of your hand as he looked at you. "am i ever glad to see you." he said as he led you into his room, with you reciprocating his touch and squeezing his hand back. he gestured for you to sit down on the side of his bed as he sat down, with you following him and sitting down on the plush of his bed.

he brushed a few hairs from your forehead and kept his gaze on you as you looked down at the floor, unsure of how to tell him what you were articulating to yourself in your head; unsure of how he'd take it, if he even will be able to. you sighed a little longer than you planned to, causing miles to pull away from you and have worry drawn on his face as he tried getting a better look at your expression. "cielo, are you okay? did something happen...?" he asked you as you shook your head gently. "nothing, nothing, i..." you began, but you stopped yourself, trying to think of how to tell him all over again as all you could think of at that moment was that: miles' mother doesn't think you're any good for him.

you took a deep breath and faced him with saddened eyes. "i'm sorry, miles, i just... i don't think you should be dating me anymore. it's not because of you, of course not, it's... it's on me." you whispered, with miles feeling like he took a blow to the gut, feeling utterly helpless and confused at what you just told him. he wasn't sure what you meant by 'it was your fault', but he wanted to let you know right now that you weren't at fault, for whatever it was that'd come between you two.

miles appeared a little more hurt and distressed by what you told him, the matter at hand still not sinking in, that you told him you'd break up with him... he couldn't, wouldn't, believe it. "what? amor, what do you mean? 'your fault'? i doubt that..." he began as he tried to reassure you, feeling himself coming undone at the seams and desperate to know why you wanted to part ways with him. was it because he couldn't spend as much time with you as before? because he was too busy with his job as the prowler to be with you? if you only told him, then... then he'd find ways to make it work, not make you feel alone ever again, make up for what he lacked in the past by working hard for you now in the present.

"is it... is it because i'm not able to spend much time with you as before? mi vida, i'm sorry... i'll make up for it, i promise!" he said as you shook your head. "no, miles... it's not your fault. it's mine, even if you don't say it is." you said with a melancholic voice as miles looked at you with feebleness filling his face as he tried to understand how it's your fault for anything. he defended you in front of his mother the best he could, and yet... he'd still lose you in the end, if not the argument.

you couldn't figure out how to tell miles that you didn't wish to break up, you wanted to be with him still, but there was no better way of getting his mom and him to make up if you were still in the picture. you heard his mom say it himself, you didn't seem like a good influence on him, and maybe her behavior towards you was a sign that you really weren't being good to miles, good to his parents, and just... weren't good in general. you sighed, trying to keep the tears from flowing as miles tried to tell you that if you really wanted to break up with him, he'd respect your decision, but... he begs of you to tell him how it's your fault.

you felt your heart throb and your throat flare up as you tried to stifle your cries and sobs. "i'm just, i'm not good for you, okay, miles? i'm sorry... you deserve better." you told him in a quieted voice as you got up and went over to his door, about to leave him and give him an easier time with his family than stay with him and just ruin his relationship with his mom even more.

"espera, mi cielo! hold on a minute, can't we talk about this...?" he called out to you as you opened the door to leave, to keep yourself away from miles to keep him and his mother from getting angry at each other and fighting all over again. however, when you opened the door, you saw a familiar face look back at you, and a familiar voice shrieking in surprise--it was miles' mom, who was eavesdropping on you two. you shrieked at his mom's shrieking, as miles shrieked at your shrieking.

"mama!" miles exclaimed as he saw his mom at the doorway, with her telling the two of you to calm down, and that nobody needs to break up with anybody. "i'm... i'm sorry i eavesdropped, but i came here to... to say sorry, mijo, and... i'm sorry to you, too." she said as she turned to look at you with guilt and shame in her eyes. "you didn't deserve to hear all that... i shouldn't have said that." she muttered as she looked at the two of you. she leaned against the doorway and sighed as she began to speak again, looking around miles' room.

"i didn't mean that you were a bad influence, i just... i default to worrying about what miles could be doing because, you're a teenager, miles--you're both teens and... you both wanna do your own things. it worries me when miles doesn't tell me anything, it makes me feel like i'm failing as a mom when... i'm the only parent you have now." she said in a soft voice as she looked at miles sadly and up at you. she sat down next to miles on the bed and held his hand. "i wish you could just be honest with me." she muttered to him as miles looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "i am being honest with you, mom. you don't even... you don't even know how amazing my partner is, you hardly give them a chance, and that's what hurts me every time." he said as you looked at the two of them.

miles' mom got up from the bed and placed her fingers underneath your chin and lifted your head up to look at her and sighed. "i'm so sorry i judged you too quickly, i just... mom instincts kicked in, and... i got a little carried away and thought i knew what was good for my baby boy, but... i guess i don't know as much anymore. maybe... i'd know him better if i trusted him, if i trusted you." she said with a slight smile on her face as you gave her a slight smile back. "again, i'm so, so sorry for how i was earlier, and... just, in general." she uttered as you nodded. "it's okay, mrs. morales." you told her as she smiled wider and pulled away from you. "y'know what, that just made my evening much better. i think i like you a bit better already. 'mrs.' morales, finally." she said with a slight chuckle as you chuckled back at her little quip, with miles smiling to himself as he finally witnessed you two get along. she let miles keep dating and seeing you, only if he promises to get his grades back up to how they were before.

as his mom left the room, miles told her you two needed to talk, alone. she understood, but reminded him not to lock the door. "lo tengo, mamá, entendido." he said as he closed the door the minute she headed down into the hallway, leaving you both in an awkward silence after you two had 'broken up' a few minutes ago. before miles could say anything, you wrapped him in a big hug, muttering under your breath how happy you were to be with him, that his mom finally accepted you. miles slowly reciprocated your hug, holding you close and kissing the top of your head as he smiled against your hair. he was beyond happy and relieved to know his mom finally saw you as a person he loved, not as a distraction to him or a bad influence, just someone he cared a lot about to devote himself to, someone he wouldn't leave nor let anyone, not even his own mom or uncle, get in the way of him loving ceaselessly.

he gets that his mom just wants what's best for him, but... maybe it was time for him to decide what's best for him on his own, and that'd be to love you with all his heart and stay by your side, never leaving you once because he loves you too much to let you go that easily.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @fiannee @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @onginlove @meowmoraless

#earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles morales x y/n #miles morales #miles morales x reader #e42 miles #e42 miles morales x reader #atsv #atsv miles #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #atsv prowler

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