#I really need to learn her Butterfly name
Text
sweet stranger
A/N: request made here by @annekelovesreading
Summary: the war veteran Alfie seeks comfort in a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self
Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader
Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker.
SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG
"Thanks for the ride, James. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
You climb out of the Bentley and adjust your coat, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress before strutting towards the hotel, your heels clacking against the pavement and then marble floors of the lobby.
You sense the judgemental eyes already on you, but you've learned how to ignore them. If their judgement paid your rent and bills, then you'd finally be able to retire. But until then, you did what needed to be done.
The service you provide is simple and clear. You meet the client, humor them a bit and fuck them before leaving at first light.
You are lucky enough to work for a powerful and strict madame that actually recognizes the importance of her employees' well-being and ran a high-end business.
Her rules were clear. No marking, no hitting and contraceptive must be used.
Just because her empire dominates the professional area of sexual pleasure does not mean she runs a funhouse. Many would mistake Madame's care for benevolence when it is really just a matter of logistics.
Black eyes don't allow her employees to escort her wealthy clients to prestigious social events. And the only reason her business dominates is because she assures clean employees to her clients. An employee with the clap gets the boot and replacing them is expensive.
After giving your name at the front desk, you take the keys you're headed with a smile and head to room 403.
The name is not unfamiliar. You've heard plenty of Alfie Solomons and part of you is afraid of what he'll be like, judging by what you've heard.
The ring of the lift snaps you our of your thoughts. You flash a smile at the liftman and thank him before stepping into the hallway.
Alfie Solomons is not your first client - nor will he be your last - but knowing he is the first gangster you're about to meet and sleep with has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
You mentally repeat Madame's rules to yourself to try and ease your nerves. But then again, do rules hold any standing to criminals?
Taking a couple of deep breaths, you manage to relax as best as you possibly can in the situation and simply remind yourself that he is no different than any other client.
You lift your hand to knock on the door. There's movement behind it and the metal of the lock on the side rattles as it slides to open.
Your lips pull into a welcoming smile at the broad, tall man that opens the door. Taking in his features, you quickly notice his wet hair.
The smell of soap emanates from his large frame along with a faint scent of rum and an irresistible natural musk that almost lured you to touch him.
It's obvious that he took the time to wash himself and, to be honest, you're quite thankful for that.
"You must be Mr. Solomons."
"Punctual little thing, ain't you? Come on in, love. Don't mind me."
His tone is rather calm even with his heavy Cockney drawl. His fingers, however, seem to confess his nerves with the way they flick back and forth.
"Punctuality is a necessary characteristic in my line of work, Mr. Solomons."
"Right, right" he nods as you walk past him. He still can't seem to look you in the eye, but you've yet to discover why.
Most of the nervous clients that you've had were first-timers, young men eager to lose their virginity especially before being sent to war.
Alfie is very attractive and pleasing to the eye with his large strong build, but he is no young boy. You find it hard to believe that this would be his first time being as wealthy, cunning and wealthy as you heard he is.
"May I take your coat, love?"
"Yes, please."
You turn to back to him to allow his assistance, taking in the sight of the hotel room. You've been in this hotel before, but despite that, the lavious decoration of the suite never fails to impress.
Alfie can't help but feel intimidated by the simple scent of your perfume as he stands behind you, taking your coat to hang it for you. He doesn't want you to pick up on the fact that he feels so out of his element.
Before the war, Alfie had his fair share of women. He used to be so different. So young and naive and confident - which is the only characteristic he can successfully feign more than well in the wicked world he treads in.
But now, he's in foreign territory. So much has changed for him.
Getting his affairs back in strict order took so much work, sweat and blood from him that he hadn't prioritized his romantic desires.
If age hadn't been enough, the night tremors made it impossible to sleep beside anyone. Red blotches were beginning to spread throughout his body due to the psoriasis. His sciatica only worsened with age and the harsh conditioning the war had forced onto it. And now the fucking cancer, which only added to his list of secret insecurities.
The confident young man he used to be was gone. Alfie was still human, however. And like many other humans, he yearned for companionship. The problem is that a man like Alfie can't confide in just anyone. He can't expose it without the risk of his enemies seeing it as an opportunity to use it against him.
Good thing about Madame's business is that her turf is neutral and independent ground. For now, at least.
Alfie knows he has to overcome this hurdle if he plans to get married one day and start a family and he just thought this would be the best way.
He's got a beautiful woman in his hotel room; he knows what you came here to do. He's just not sure what to do at this point other than to confess it to you. He doesn't want to say it, but deep down inside, he feels a bit humilited.
It shows in the way he avoids your eyes, the way his head hangs low.
"There's no shame in that, Mr. Solomons. I'm happy to help however I can. We don't have to rush into anything just yet... Do you drink?"
"Not often. Clouds the mind."
"Precisely. What do you drink?" You smile warmly at him.
"Wine is my favorite."
"Let's get you a glass then, Mr. Solomons."
Just as you expect, the wine is successful in loosening him up a bit.
You're careful enough to avoid asking any questions that concerns his business, so you focus on asking him to share things he enjoys like music and books.
After a couple hours and a couple glasses, he's warming up to you as you listen attentively to his childhood stories. Despite the wine, he is cautious enough to leave out certain details that are too personal for you to know that could bring him or his family harm if they ended up in the wrong hands.
You can't take it personal, and can only imagine that trust does not come easy in his line of work which only confirms that pressing him on such information wouldn't be very smart.
No matter how easy the conversation is flowing or how comfortable he may seem to be, you can't forget who he is beyond these four walls.
As he finishes his glass of wine, he sets it down on the table in front of you while raising a hand to his shoulder to rub at the aching knot in his muscle.
"Would you like me to take care of that for you, Mr. Solomons?"
"With what, love? Oh, this?" He asks glancing at his shoulder. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."
It almost like he's forgotten the reason you're both there.
"Really, I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do for you, sir."
With a sweet smile, you stand as you finish off your glass and set it beside his on the table before walking over to his chair to offer him your hand.
"I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."
His blue eyes narrow their gaze at you for a moment as if he's trying to read you. You can see him physically tense before accepting your hand.
The talkative Alfie is suddenly replaced by a quiet and insecure version as he watches you, from where he's sat in the bed, take your heels off - your almost bare feet still covered in your black stockings - before climbing onto the bed.
You stand on your knees , which are spread to accommodate him between them, and sit back on your feet after taking the small bottle of rose scented intimate oil from your purse.
"It's like riding a bike. Your body knows that to do, but it needs time, patience and practice, so you have to go slow."
Your breathe on his neck has chills racing up his arms as you reach to his front to unbutton his vest and slide it off his wide shoulders. You do the same with his shirt, but pause before sliding it off as his hand instinctively hold your wrist.
"May I? I'd love to see you, but if you don't want to, I can just slide it down a bit."
He ponders for a moment but replies with a silent nod as he releases your wrist.
You slide it off and much to your impression, he seems even wider and stronger than you'd imagined.
A couple scars and red blotches already here and there on his skin, but they don't stop you from marveling at the rippling muscles.
"My goodness... Mr. Solomons, with all the utmost respect, but you are quite the work of art."
He can't help but smile at your compliment, although he thinks that you're just saying what you think he wants to hear, so it's hard for him to believe.
You let your palms gently wander over his large back and arms, with a gentle squeeze to his biceps.
"Carved from stone, are you?" You joke, bringing a chuckle out of him.
"No, love. Just flesh."
"Fortunately."
Using the pipette, you pinch a couple drops of the oil onto his shoulders before closing the vial to set it aside and letting your fingers get to work.
Alfie groans softly and his eyes instantly close as you start massaging to undo the knot that's been bothering him for weeks now.
"How is that, sir? More pressure?"
"No, love. That's just fine...just perfect," he sighs relieved. "Fucking 'ell, love. That feels fucking great. You've no idea how long that's been bothering me."
"I can imagine. You've got knots like this all round. It can't be easy to live with them.
Slowly but surely, Alfie starts to relax. It's impossible not to. It's been a while since he's been touched by anyone, much less massaged by them.
The tension is his body begins to ease as your fingers work away not only the knots caused by the stress of his days, but the anxiety of being intimate again. It doesn't seem so foreign suddenly.
Building up the courage to place a gentle kiss onto the back of his shoulder, you lower your head and press your lips to his skin.
"Is this alright?" You whisper.
"More than alright."
"I can go lower if you'd like me to."
He nods, so you glides your fingers down the middle of his back, pressing against ether side of his spine.
"Fuck, love... That is heavenly."
You smile at the praises and take it a sign to continue the gentle teasing, moving your kisses up to the crook of his neck.
You take your time to ease him into his arousal. The lower you go down his back, the more convinced he becomes.
"Would you like me to touch you?"
You ask nuzzling your nose against his ear and he nods.
You reach a hand to his front and rub your palm against his clothed crotch. Although you can't see his cock, you can tell the man's been blessed with girth as it twitches against your touch.
Alfie gives in to the instant pleasure and moans, letting all his worries melt away. He can't remember the last time he's been able to feel so at ease.
As you whisper encouraging praises into his ear from behind, Alfie allows you to unbutton his trousers and slither your hand under the fabric to stroke his cock with a firm grip.
The room seems to spin around him. His head feels heavy from the pleasure as it leans back against your shoulder.
"That's it, sir. Just let me take care of you" you smirk kissing a sensitive spot on his neck that he didn't even know could make him tremble.
He isn't sure how much longer he can last. It's been a while after all.
"L-love, you feel so good."
You chuckle, letting his thick cock spring free from its confines.
"You're fucking beautiful, sir."
"Oh, you think so, yeah?"
You nod as your hand strokes his dick, coating it with his own pre-cum and the essential oil you'd brought.
"Lemme get more comfortable, love. Wanna see more of ya," alfie says holding your wrist to stop your movement for a moment.
He stands to kick off his trousers, standing in all his naked glory before sitting further up the bed with his back against the upholstered headboard.
"C'mere, love. Lemme see you hm?"
His invitation is made with calloused hands guiding you to straddle his lap. You make quick work of unbuttoning the dress and sliding the straps off your shoulders to reveal your chest with a sultry smile.
"May I?"
You can't help but smile at how he's a gentleman in such a moment. Most clients wouldn't even bother to remember asking, but Alfie makes you forget that he is just another client.
His large hands reach to knead your breasts, giving them such attentive appreciation as he licks his pink lips, eager to get them on you.
"It's alright, love" you whisper, seeming to read his mind.
The way his beard scratches your sensitive skin has your back arching into his warmth. His gentle and considerate admiration lures you into a trance; into a heated dream where you are able to finally feel like a woman loved.
You welcome him with fingers lacing into his messy brown locks still damp from his bath earlier. Your hips move mindless as you grind your clothed sex against his exposed cock, reminding him how good he feels and how you want him to feel the same.
Shifting onto your knees between his legs on the bed, you pepper tender kisses down his chest and stomach as your breasts dangle down and rub against his cock.
The anticipation has Alfie balling his fists into the white sheets.
"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, love. Fucking 'ell," he mumbles as your hands run up and down his thigh, giving gentle squeezes to tease him on.
"It's gonna be a long night."
#alfie solomons#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons x y/n#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fic#alfie solomons fic#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons fanfic#tom hardy
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
The thing about Lila as new Butterfly now is that I'm not even sure if Lila would WANT to be perceived as a villain at all. That isn't exactly her style. She wants to be seen as a good person, the GREATEST person of all time so she can use people to her whim and that doesn't exactly translate into Lila doing the same thing Gabriel did before her when he hardly ever tried to not be the obvious villain as Hawkmoth.
There is also this whole thing going on in season 5 that a sub-group of people has already formed who believe that Monarque is the good guy and I hardly believe that this is not going to lead to something. Especially with the way Gabriel's story has ended and Lila having all the information on him.
It just doesn't seem right to assume that Butterfly Lila will go about her presentation the way Hawkmoth did. Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised at all if Butterfly Lila shows up in 6x01 or 6x02 and proclaimes herself to be the hero who must take down Ladybug, Chat Noir and the team for the greater good.
Remember that Lila KNOWS everything. She was THERE at the final battle. She knows Ladybug lost and that Monarque made a wish. She knows EVERYTHING Marinette/Ladybug is letting the entire world believe right now is one massive lie. That's almost too easy.
I'm not saying that Butterfly Lila will right from the get go be seen as the new hero and Ladybug and Chat Noir as the villains by the public. But I AM saying that I find it much more likely that Lila will from the start proclaim herself as the new hero who wants to free Paris from Ladybug and Chat Noir because they aren't the good guys they claim to be, and that as the season continues Lila might manipulate the city/world with lies or by twisting truths she knows to her benefit to turn the tides. It not like that hasn't been more than well set-up by now.
As the ending of "Recreation" said, the entire world has been brought to awareness that no one really understands their emotions. And if that awareness is now there then that means we need a new type of villain. One who either isn't immediately noticeable at all as villain or one who can convince the people that they are NOT a villain and therefore people not only let their guard down, people won't even have a really to put their guard UP in the first place.
#ml spoilers#miraculous ladybug#miraculous#lila rossi#I really need to learn her Butterfly name#Ml season 6#ml speculations
138 notes
·
View notes
Text
MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩
♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending
pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader
synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all
tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff
"Sir? Sir!”
Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”
You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).
It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him.
Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.
He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.
Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out.
One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.
You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.
“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again.
From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love.
| The letter:
‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go.
With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’
꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩
dividers by @cafekitsune
Please reblog!! Ask is open!
⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen
check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!
#simon ghost x you#simon riley fluff#simon riley cod#simon riley call of duty#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#ghost cod#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#ghost riley#simon riley#canary’s symphonies#canary’s melodies
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/738535284282638336/a-tentative-hc-of-bimboreaders-insta-acc bimboReader is a penguin lover?! I can picture her calling ‘Simmy’ in tears when she learns that penguins give pebbles as courting gifts 🥰
she is into penguins!! it’s her current fixation, on top of butterfly migration cycles (and selfcare routines – this one is sups important because it’s also meant to give simon a moment of reprieve; just the two of them enjoying a quiet relaxing skincare sesh <33)!! and ahshdhe this made me giggle sm oh this is so adorable and silly, i fear!!!
bimbo!reader mlist <3 // divider by @/plutism ^3^
simon’s focus is splintered at the first chimes of his phone, the sound ringing within the small war room and taking the attention of his squad. his captain trails off into silence, shooting a bewildered look towards simon – it’s not like simon can blame him, after all, this might be the first time he’s actually brought his phone with him during a briefing.
“what…” johnny murmurs but simon ignores him, still planting his focus to his CO as he tilts his head in silent question. john sighs before shooting simon a short nod, giving him his permission. simon turns to leave before john’s even done nodding, his quiet footsteps drowned out by the sound of john dismissing them for the day.
simon doesn’t even need to guess who’s calling him, after all, it’s only your number he’s saved in his work phone. it’s only you who can reach him when he’s out of the city. usually, though, you wouldn’t call him at this time, choosing, instead, to send series of texts about your day or sending over pictures of mittens or anything that could have caught your fancy. so receiving a call from you worries him, the ball of anxiety in his stomach ever-so expanding until he’s all choked up.
he’s barely made it to his room when simon accepts your call, your name falling from his lips with a breathless whisper.
the answering sniffle on your end does nothing to calm him down, the worry simmering underneath his veins spiking up higher. lashing out angrier.
“shh, sweetpea,” simon murmurs, hoping he could do more than just to comfort you over a call. “c’mon, lovie. talk to me, yeah? tell me how i can help.”
“oh, it’s just,” you mumble wetly. “pebbles.”
“…pebbles?”
“mhmm,” he hears you say. “simmy, penguins give out pebbles or rocks as courting gifts!” he hears you sniffle again. “history channel said so.”
“animal planet, sweets,” simon replies automatically before he pauses, blinking.
oh.
“oh, love,” simon wheezes out, the breath coming back to him, feeling his body finally uncoil from the tension that he was carrying. he sags down to his bed and presses the back of his palm on his temple as a chuckle rasps out from his lips. “but y’r doin’ alright?”
“hmm? oh, yes,” you say, sounding less heartbroken and simon wonders if it was because your attention’s been snagged, once again, by the animal planet channel – simon could hear the familiar british narrator droning on in the background.
simon lets out a fond chuckle. “‘lright then.” he licks the back of his teeth. “tell me more about their courting style?”
he hears you gasp before a rapid fire of information is chirped to his ears, the beautiful drawl of your voice chasing away the last remnants of the worry that had choked him up.
you tell him how the documentary was upfront in saying that scientific explanation for the phenomena has yet to be fully explored, so the documentary had honoured, instead, the longstanding theory of female penguins accepting rocks as courting gifts because it shows that the male penguin knows how he can take care of their eggs. “rocks keep the eggs and their nests afloat!”
simon hums and ohh’s and ahh’s at the appropriate times, posing questions that steered the conversation to the right track when you began to mumble distractedly. simon listens in earnest because he may not really care much about penguins but he cares a lot about you. he cares about learning your interests; cares about cultivating his own because whatever his girl wants, simon promises he will learn for her.
and with the way your voice lilts in joy, well, simon knows he’s done the right thing.
(simon returns from their mission with two rocks in his person – one is a polished pebble which he painstakingly looked for when he went down to the beach. the squad insisted on coming with him although the fuckers were not of any help – not like he would’ve accepted it anyway – as they chose to just sit by the local ice cream shop and watched as simon prowled towards the shore in the middle of winter; the one he found was a beautiful hazel colour, mixed greens and browns and even a touch of blues making up the surface of the rock.
the second one he brought with him was a diamond ring.)
this is so silly i love them bad :((
tagging: @honestlyhiswife @ghostsbimbo @kenz-ee @ivymarquis @yannauauau @yaebaal @liwooa @kariiiel @loonalockley @hawsx3 @durkakakayata @littlecellist
#anon#bimbo!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley#suns#ask#luv plutisms dividers sm <33
733 notes
·
View notes
Text
Benefits Denied
Fandom: My Hero Academia,
Warnings: Smut, Audio Voyeurism, Sero is a Whore with a jacob's ladder.
Word Count: 1.8k.
Summary: Sero has fucked everyone, everyone except you.
A/N: Another thing I started, but I'll never finish...
You’re not curious.
You’re not.
Not even a little bit.
‘I’ll call you.’
Hanta's voice drifts into the living room from the hallway. It's low, gravelling in the back of his throat in the way it does when he hasn't had enough sleep. He's barely had a handful of hours, from what you can guess – the soft mewls and harsh grunts that seeped in through your wall only dying down around three in the morning. Humming low, you hear the tell-tale wetness of a kiss; the squeakiness of a parting giggle and then, the door closes.
When Hanta reappears, he's shirtless and sleepy. He scratches at his stomach, flaking black nails itching at the thick trail of black hair that slinks teasingly below the waistband of his loose sweatpants. He cocks an eyebrow while stifling a yawn with the back of his hand as he notices your staring.
No. You're definitely not curious.
Not at all...
You chew your lip, eyes dropping into your lap as you squirm under his gaze. After almost a year living together, you'd have thought you'd be used to it now: Used to him. And, yet, with every passing day there's less hope denying the way your stomach begins to burn when you catch him fresh out of the shower, or straight from his work outs. How something nestled deep inside of you seems to flutter whenever you lie awake listening to him rail the living daylights out of his chosen fancy for the night. ‘Hanta…’
‘Hmm.’ He hums, twisting at the waist to look at you.
'I...' You thought you'd be used to it, be over the butterflies by now; but you know what they say about curiosity.
His eyebrows scrunch as he crosses to the sofa, perching on its edge beside your feet. ‘What’s up…’
'Are you… Are you going to see her again?’ The words feel odd as they fall off your tongue, a thinly vailed question that disguises what you really want to ask.
Sero's eyebrows scrunch on his forehead as he processes your words. ‘Who? Mina?'
You widen your eyes and you shrug, pretending not to have learned her name from Hanta's own curled tongue. He's loud, something you've learned over the past year as his list of conquests has grown, unafraid of his own pleasure as it rolls from his mouth in a series of groans and graveled, whispered commands.
'Nah - she just needed to scratch an itch, y’know.’
Your stomach clenches. An itch. You could laugh. Living with Hanta has you feeling like you've got hives. ‘Oh.’
‘Why?' Flicking up his eyebrows, he twists more fully, laying his back against the arm of the sofa. Kicking one leg up, he wriggles it down between you and the back of the sofa and sinks deeper into the cushion.
‘Just asking…’ You swallow, trying not to focus on the way his hips jut out just enough for you to catch sight of a soft bulge below the grey of his sweatpants – or the way that, should you want to, you'd be able to crawl between those legs and nestle into his lap. 'Jirou hasn’t been around in a while either.’
Sero shrugs. ‘Started seeing some girl.’
‘And Kaminari?’
‘Going steady with Shinso.’
Your eyebrows furrow. Kaminari had been one of your favourites to listen to. His voice was low and sweet, a beautiful contrast to the ragged sounds he managed to pull from Hanta. You've never cum harder than when you've listened to Kaminari make Hanta beg for his cock. ‘Shinso?’
‘Yeah' He laughs, reaching up behind his head to grip the back of his own neck. The gesture makes the muscle of his bicep stretch, highlighting the purpling veins that pulse along its underside. 'That’s the face I pulled, but - they’re happy, y’know.' He pauses, debating. 'It's nice.’
Sinking deeper into the couch, you tilt your head and bite the inside of your cheek. ‘Yeah. Bet Monoma’s thrown a fit -.’
‘Nah. He’s doing alright.’ His tongue flicks out over his lips, doing a poor job of disguising the smirk that follows after.
‘You’re fucking Monoma?’
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
Something flares in your stomach, your mouth dropping open as you huff. This is the ugly bit. The rise of jealousy and insecurity that burns like a match in your chest, stealing your oxygen to fuel itself. ‘Is there anyone you aren’t fucking?’
Sero smirks, his eyebrows arching up on his forehead. ‘You?’
'Fuck off.’ Your glad your mouth manages to summon the insult instead of the filth playing out in your head. It's hard not to, imagine it, you mean. Sometimes you indulge, allow yourself to think of what it would be like...
How would his hands feel? His fingers, long and lithe – would he press gently inside you, or curl his fingers against the sponginess inside of you until you clenched around him and cried? Would he get lost between your thighs? His nose bumping against your clit as he licked inside of you, tongue twisting and flicking until you shook. You wonder if his cock is as big as you've heard. If the stretch would steal your breath, or have you feeling him for days afterwards.
You shift, trying to quell the heat burning between your thighs.
'Oh?' There's smoke in Sero's voice. It curls in the air and lingers, growing thicker by the second as he hitches himself a little more upright on the sofa.
'What?'
He licks his lips, wriggles until he's almost tipped over, his knees pulling up towards his chest. 'Oh...' Tilting his head, he smiles. It's large, still too large for his face despite that growth spurt back in his late teens. He wears it well now, uses it, much like he's doing now.
You try and push yourself further back into the arm of the sofa, arms crossing your chest even though you know it'll do nothing to disguise the beating of your hummingbird heart.
‘Are you -.'
'Fuck off, Hanta.' You stand, almost knocking yourself over in the process. You can't take his teasing, not now, not about this. There's only one person Sero Hanta hasn't fucked, and that speaks more volumes than you care to think about.
Storming into the kitchenette, you tip-toe to reach the tallest cupboard and pull down a cup. Your hands are shaking, a bubble swelling in your chest as you bite back the emotion threatening to swallow you whole.
'Hey...' Padding on bare feet, Hanta gives you until the kettle boils to approach. He's stooping, head tilted as he digs his hands into his pockets, pushing down until he can ball his fists against his thighs. He swallows. 'I didn't mean -.'
'It's alright.'
'It's not, I've upset you.'
You snort. 'No you haven't.'
Stepping closer, he leans against the counter besides you. 'I have...' He smiles, soft and real, the light glistening in his eyes. 'C'mon, I've known you long enough to know when I've fucked up. I didn't mean to tease, it was just banter - y'know.'
You clench your jaw. 'I know.'
Sero chews at his lip. 'Why do I feel like I'm not quite getting something?'
You shrug, but the string of your patience is already pulled taut and fraying, liable to snap at a moments notice.
'Hey...' Reaching out, he lets the pads of his fingers brush against the bone of your wrist. 'Talk to me.'
His softness hurts, causing you to flinch away. You huff, turning to face him as you let the question you've kept locked in your chest surface. 'Why haven't you fucked me?'
'What?'
'You've fucked all of our friends, you bring a new person home every week, but -.'
Sero steps back. 'Hold on, hold on... You want to -'
'Is there something wrong with me? Is it because we live together, or am I just not your type?' Now that you're talking you won't stop, it spills out of you, pooling in the air between you. 'What is it, because you haven't even made a pass at me Hanta and I'm starting to take it personally.'
Biting his tongue, he rolls his lip until he can catch hold of the black ring wrapping the plush bump. There's a spark in his eyes, one that vanquishes the slither of deep chocolate brown that is often dismissed by those less observant.
He's about to laugh, you can see it.
His eyes crinkle, mouth twisting, tongue darts out from behind his lips. He cocks his head.
You think you might slap him.
When his voice finally slips from his mouth, it's like liquid sin. 'I fucking knew it..'
Narrowing your eyes, you cross your arms across your chest; hackles risen. 'I already feel stupid there's no need to...'
Sero stalks closer. His shoulders roll, the muscles there tensing as a flash of vein glows from beneath his tanned skin. He doesn't stop until he has you boxed in against the kitchen counter, his arms bracketing you at either side even as the edge begins to dig into the middle of your back.
'Han -.'
'I knew I could hear you last night...' He smiles wicked and wide. 'How many times, huh? How many times have you fucked yourself listening to me? That is what you're doing, right?'
A shiver races up your spine forcing your straighter. There's a flood of embarrassment in your stomach, one that burns hot like bile forcing your to swallow to keep it down.
'Dirty bitch...'
You choke...
'Oh, c'mon. No point in being so shy now...' He chuckles. Lifting one hand, he strokes his knuckles down your arm and across your hip, until he can rest his hand just above your pubic bone. 'Not when I can see how wet you are for it.'
You want to deny it, but you can't. Your arousal drips from you, soaking into the old cotton underwear you wish you'd exchanged for something sexier this morning. You inhale, swallowing the shaky breath. Yeah, you'd spent the last three months listening to him rail everyone in the city, but seeing him like this first hand is enough to make your head spin.
'You know the only reason I've not had you tucked up under me is because I didn't think you wanted it, right?'
'What?'
He nods, some of his softness returning to him.
It makes your nerves settle, seeing the fracture in his persona as he returns, slowly, back to the goofy, laid back man you share an apartment with.
'Everyone I've ever slept with has chased me...' There's a blush colouring his cheeks. 'Never really done the asking out before.'
Summoning what little nerve you have left in your body, you straighten your spine and raise your eyes to meet his. You stretch, looping your arms around his neck and pulling him close until you can feel the thrum of his heartbreak through your chest. 'Hanta...'
'Mmm.' He hums, canting his hips back a touch to prevent the hardness of his cock from pressing into your stomach.
'... I'm asking.'
-> Masterlist
573 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!
Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️
Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!
If You Bite My Hand Again
PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.
WORDCOUNT: 6.6k
WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.
A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long.
As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh.
The dreams weren’t uncommon.
Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten.
As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake.
The tremors in your hands persist.
You never should have met him.
—
Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom.
It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”
The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.
Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley.
Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy.
Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.
He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.
The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?
“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”
You smile and stand straighter.
“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”
You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?”
“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance.
“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.”
“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.”
Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.
“You’re being mean! Apologize!”
“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords.
He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him.
Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.
The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold.
“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”
“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin.
A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more.
You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him.
After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift.
The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you.
“Call me Ember.”
A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter.
He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.
“...Simon.”
You walk together the rest of the way.
The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you.
—
You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.”
Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now.
And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort.
You hate that it only comes from the memories of him.
“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf.
Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories.
Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock.
Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace.
“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted.
“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.
Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.
Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine.
Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight.
In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt.
“Ember…”
Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper.
There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right.
He left.
“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough.
There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears.
His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.
Simon.
You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways.
His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall.
“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.
Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing.
The same boy you still loved.
The same boy who’d broken your heart.
—
After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny.
When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment.
Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.
When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down.
When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.
So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.
You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you.
The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned.
He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life.
In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free.
You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see.
While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.
He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast.
It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle.
“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.”
“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist.
He was shaking slightly.
“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”
You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you.
In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths.
But something went wrong on one of his deployments.
Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet.
Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months.
You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance.
He didn’t let you touch him.
And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words.
‘Don’t look for me.’
And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together.
All of those years.
All those vows and shared nights.
And he disappeared on you.
—
You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided.
More like chucked at his gut.
No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs.
Simon’s avoiding your eyes.
“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages.
“I’ll be fine in a while—”
“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend.
And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.
The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness.
His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.”
Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?
Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.
So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock.
You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders.
“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.”
You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank.
He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it.
“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”
“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”
Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t.
“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”
“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.”
He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again.
“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”
You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes.
“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”
His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.
Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours.
“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”
“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes.
“But you did.”
“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!”
Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen.
“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”
“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!”
Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly.
“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”
“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.”
You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.”
He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe.
After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…
Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor.
A pact of loyalty.
Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.
He asks the first thing that comes to his head.
“What happened to your eyes?”
“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.
“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life.
You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet.
“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”
Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself.
He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?”
“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”
His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath.
“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.”
You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon.
Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?
Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he?
How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through?
Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even.
The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth.
“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—”
He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip.
Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.
Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.
“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.”
Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid.
“Ember…”
“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern.
It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.
You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters.
He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking.
“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.
“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath.
“Need you t’know it.”
“...I do.”
“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment.
You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy.
“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain.
In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up.
Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks.
“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”
“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head.
“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself.
Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.”
Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night.
“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax.
Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.
Nearly.
“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you.
“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”
“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it.
A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way.
Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.
Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence.
If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist.
It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name.
“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long. Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.
He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not.
Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?”
“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?”
You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.
You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you.
With you survival became secondary.
Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years.
“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”
You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin.
“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”
“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.”
Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill.
“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”
“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist.
“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.”
That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth.
And he’d give you it. All of it.
Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.
So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time.
And you’d both never slept better
TAGS:
@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast
#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#cod mw22#call of duty#mw2#mw2 2022#x female reader#call of duty mw2#call of duty x reader#call of duty x you#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty mwii#cod ghost#cod mw2#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#cod simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod simon riley#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#cod modern warfare#modern warfare x you#modern warfare x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve and Eddie go through the whole adoption process in 1996, despite how difficult it was to find somewhere willing to help them at all and despite their conflicted feelings on adoption.
The way they saw it though, providing a loving home for a child who needed one was better than the alternative. Eddie had enough experience with temporary foster homes to know stability was better than constant moving and questionable foster parents.
They get a foster placement almost immediately, a six year old girl named Amelia. She’s quiet, but not in a way that worries them. She’s very focused, and enjoys going to school more than any regular children’s hobbies. Neither of them know what to do with that other than keep encouraging it.
She stays for months, months turn into a year, and the agency finally gives them the go ahead to complete the adoption process.
But they don’t do anything without talking to Amelia.
She’s happy there, her therapist signs off on it immediately and explains that Amelia has shown more personality development and less signs of trauma with them than she had even living at home. Not to mention they actually brought her to appointments, unlike her previous guardians.
To celebrate, they throw a party with all their friends and family and tell Amelia she can invite anyone from school she wants. She invites everyone.
Turns out their daughter is a social butterfly and is friends with everyone.
At the party, Eddie pulls out his guitar, plays a bunch of popular kid-friendly songs after a very scathing look from Steve as a reminder to behave.
Amelia walks over to him after a few songs, on a sugar high like he’d never seen on her before, and asks to play the guitar.
He’s hesitant, but not because he’s still protective of his guitars, more because he doesn’t want her to embarrass herself in front of her friends. Kids are cruel, even and especially at seven, and the last thing he wants is this to be the thing that kids talk about for the next ten years.
She sits on the couch and holds it, arranging her fingers…correctly. Eddie watches.
Steve is watching from across the room.
She starts strumming, very quietly at first, not as confident as she’d been a moment ago. And then she starts really playing.
It’s one of the songs Eddie wrote. He played it for the last four months nonstop as he perfected it, and she’d apparently been watching.
Eddie’s jaw is on the floor and he quickly looks over to Steve, who has a similar look of surprise on his face.
He doesn’t interrupt her. She makes it through the entire song.
She looks up.
“When did you learn to play guitar?” Eddie asks.
“When I was watching you.”
“But have you played before tonight?”
Amelia shook her head, looking down. “Didn’t wanna touch it without asking.”
Eddie pulls the guitar from her hands and sets it aside, then pulls her into his lap and hugs her. Steve sits down on the couch next to them, hand on her back.
“You can always ask, sweetie. And if you’re this interested and this natural, we can buy you your own guitar if you want. I didn’t think you were interested in playing.”
“I wanna be like you,” Amelia admitted against his shoulder.
Eddie was done for. He looked at Steve, half-panicked, trying not to cry in front of these people, but Steve wasn’t faring any better.
“Then we can go get you a guitar tomorrow. You can get your own picks, too. They might even have purple ones.”
“Can I have red? Like yours?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
It only took them two days after that to realize she could play by ear, just like Eddie.
And then it only took another day after that to realize she had taught herself to read music too.
They spent hours and hours every week playing together while Steve cooked dinner or checked her homework or just watched them.
When Eddie’s band decided to record another album and go on tour when Amelia was 12, Eddie insisted that she get to be on it.
She ended up helping write one of their songs, played on the track on the album, and with a lot of work, convinced Steve to let them homeschool her for the entire 8 months they’d be on tour so she could perform on stage with her dad.
“Can’t believe she’s not even genetically yours. Are you sure you didn’t have an affair?” Steve asked the night before they were leaving for Europe.
“When would I have had an affair? I came back to the tour bus or hotel with you every single night,” Eddie kissed him softly. “She’s amazing, huh?”
“She is. What happens when she wants to be a full blown rockstar like her dad too?”
“Then we make sure she’s protected and has good people around her like I have. She could be a rockstar easily. She’s got the talent and the presence,” Eddie smiled. “And she’s got me to make sure no one takes advantage of her. But she’s only 12. We’ve got time to worry about that later.”
“You’re bringing her onstage every single night all over the world for the next eight months, baby. I think later is now.”
Eddie sighed. “She’s gonna blow them all away. I’m proud of her. Let’s focus on that for now.”
And she did blow everyone away. The fans and the media had nothing but good things to say, and Steve didn’t have to go into overprotective mom mode at all until she was 15 and signing a record deal of her own.
But between Eddie and him, the entire industry knew better than to fuck with her or them.
They made rules, of course. School still came first, she still had required family events to be at, she still had regular friends at home. She wasn’t allowed at any parties, not even the events for award ceremonies.
But she didn’t really need those rules. She had no interest in parties or abandoning her friends or family, and she was a straight A student who still had hopes of getting into Brown for Journalism like her Aunt Nancy. She had a passion for music and wanted to share it, but not at the cost of the rest of her life.
And Eddie and Steve did everything they could to make sure she got to have everything. That’s what they’d promised her from day one.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#headcanon#so adoption is complicated#and I won’t pretend that there are plenty of aspects of the system that are so fucked beyond repair#and this is not the time or place to talk about them#so don’t do that in the comments#you’ll get blocked tbh because we’re here in this specific space to have fun#that is all#steddie dads#also this isn’t how the industry works#this isn’t how the media works#the world is cruel to young performers#but we’re pretending#this is fiction
725 notes
·
View notes
Text
Out of the Blue
* ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ►*
Office Exec!Leon S. Kennedy x Personal Asst fem!reader
Shoutout to the AO3 user who requested this little ditty 😆 I hope you enjoy it!! 👉👈🥺
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, office sex, dirty talk, dacryphilia, nipple play, mean Leon, unprotected sex
Title from Out of the Blue by Purrple Cat
part ii
* ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ► ◄ ◊ ►*
A recent corporate merger meant big changes for you; you’ve been working as the personal assistant of the (then) Vice President of Communications, but with this new management coming in, that guy had been shifted and you were getting a totally new boss.
Nervously, you’ve been straightening up the office in the hopes of making a good impression— and thereby keeping your position. No one on your floor knew who the new guy was, only a name to go off of: Leon S. Kennedy.
Once you feel like there’s nothing more to be done, you step out of the VP’s office and make your way to the mini kitchen used as a break room down the hall. Hoping that a glass of water might cool your nerves, you don’t even notice the man standing on the other side of the room flipping through a folder.
His eyes track your movements, catching your jittery hands and teeth biting your bottom lip.
You nearly drop your glass when he clears his throat. Whirling around, you give him a shy smile.
“H-hi,” you smooth down your skirt, “you’re one of the new hires?”
A handful of people on your office floor were still coming and going, learning the layout and at times just hanging out in the break room until someone came in to help guide them. You helped a girl just yesterday find her desk, so you don’t think anything of this newcomer.
A slow smile spreads across his handsome face, intense blue eyes staring into your own.
“You can say that, sweetheart.”
You feel flustered at the name but step forward, hand outstretched, “Oh uh, welcome aboard. If you need any help, just let me know. Right now I’m stationed outside the vice president’s office.”
His eyebrows raise slightly, ignoring your offered handshake, “You’re the secretary?”
You ignore the flash of irritation from hearing ‘secretary’ and slowly lower your hand, “I prefer personal assistant.”
“Ahh,” he looks at you amusedly, and before your hand can drop any further he reaches out to clasp it.
He drops a kiss on the back of your hand, eyes still watching you, a smirk playing at his lips.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet my personal assistant.”
You feel hot and embarrassed, but keep the polite smile on your face, “I’m sure the pleasure is mine, Mr. Kennedy.”
:::::
After that mortifying encounter, your days pass pretty smoothly with your new boss. You feel lucky that he decided to keep you on as his assistant even with that awkward first impression.
After a few weeks, you start to catch him staring at you out of the corner of your eye—but when you turn, his attention is elsewhere. He also seems to touch you at every given opportunity. He touches your arm when he’s walking with you or presses a palm into your lower back when he’s moving around you to his seat in the conference room. He gets as close as possible when you’re typing up his reports or dropping something off at his desk for his signature. It always leaves you with butterflies.
Another work week rolls by and before you can blink, it’s been months since you’ve started to work for Leon. A few of your work colleagues like to corner you in the break room to try and get any gossip— who’s he seeing? Did he really come in twenty minutes late last Monday? What do you mean you didn’t hear that Chris saw him at the strip club?
It’s gotten to the point that you start taking your breaks at your desk. Leon notices it almost immediately and makes sure to stop by your desk from time to time. Today is no different.
“Tired of the office gossip?” He props his hip against your desk, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at you.
You notice that he folded the sleeves of his shirt so you can see the muscles in his forearms flex. Dragging your gaze upwards with a small shake of your head, you smile at him.
“You can say that,” you pinch the bridge of you nose, “it’s all just..”
“Bullshit.”
Your eyes widen as you stifle a laugh, “I was going to say tiresome, sir.”
He smirks, “Sure thing, honey. Listen, I’m going to need you to stay late tonight. I know it’s Friday, but those weekly statistics have to be in before midnight.”
Your brows furrow, “I thought we were good; didn’t I just compile that data yesterday?”
He clicks his tongue, “‘fraid not, sweetheart. That was projections for the latest quarter.”
“Oh,” you chew your lip, “yeah, that’s no problem, Mr. Kennedy. Want me to drop them off on your desk when I’m finished?”
“Yes, thank you,” he brushes a few strands of hair from your face, making your breath hitch.
Before you can say anything, Leon straightens up from your desk and heads back into his office, door shutting behind him.
You press your palms to your eyes, willing the flutter of nervousness to ease. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, you slump in your chair. You sigh and turn back to your monitor. Glancing at the time in the lower right hand, it reads fifteen after four; with everyone going home at five, you have a good feeling you’re going to end up staying even later than you thought.
You rotate your wrists and then go into your emails. Better to get started on it now than later.
::::
Your eyes feel dry and gritty, but you ignore it in favor of finishing out the last of this report.
“Finally,” you whisper gleefully, hitting the print button on the document.
Standing up, you stretch out your arms with a small yawn. Looking at the time you see it’s nearly half past ten. Still plenty of time for you to grab some takeout and crash in your comfy bed. You sigh happily at that thought and gather up the printed pages, heading over to Leon’s office.
Tapping on the door, you open it a crack, “Sir?”
“Come in, sweetheart. I won’t bite.”
You push open the door just enough to step inside. It clicks shut behind you as you walk further into the room. Leon is backlit by the city lights from his windows. You place the bundle of papers down on his desk.
“Take a look at this,” he gestures to his own dimly lit monitor.
Walking around the wide oak desk, you make your way to stand beside his chair.
After gazing at the screen for a second, you turn to him with a frown, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m looking at, sir.”
He smirks at you lazily, “Sure you do.”
“Wh—“
He grabs your hips and pulls you down into his lap, your thighs now straddling one leg. Your hands come up to brace against his shoulders while his slacks rub against your bare thighs where your skirt’s rucked up.
“Leon,” you gasp, eyes wide and nervous.
“Name sounds so good in your mouth, sweetheart,” his low voice breathes into your ear.
He drops a soft kiss on your neck, leaving a heated trail up to your jaw. Pulling back, you can see how dark his eyes have gotten.
“Been waiting forever to get you alone.”
“We can’t. I’m your—“
“Personal assistant,” he chuckles meanly, “I know, baby. And I’m going to use you for very personal reasons.”
He grips your hair in a fist and guides your mouth down in his. Your parted lips lets him slip his tongue into your mouth. Groaning, he grabs your ass with his free hand and urges you to roll your hips forward.
You whine, feeling so hot and dizzy, clit thrumming with arousal. You follow the guidance of his hand and start to grind your hips down into his leg. You eagerly suck on his tongue when he thrusts it back into your mouth. You feel him groan low in his chest and it makes you arch into him more.
He tugs your head back to take in your blitzed out expression.
“Baby, we haven’t even started yet,” he coos, “got you cockdrunk already huh.”
“Leon,” you whimper, hips rocking on his lap.
“Gonna get my pants soaking wet baby,” his eyes drop down to the apex of your thighs, “fuck, that’s it, good fucking girl.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders, wrinkling the fabric of his designer shirt.
“Knew you’d be so fucking sweet, always letting me touch you, get so fucking shy,” he growls, pulling your hair harder to tilt your neck back, “gonna ruin this little cunt, baby.”
You whine, humping down into his leg harder, slick pooling in your panties and dripping all over his slacks.
“Fuck, good girl, always so good for me,” he lets go of your hair to grip your neck, “always so eager to please.”
He presses his thumb into your panting mouth; he presses down onto your tongue before pulling his thumb free and smearing spit all over your lips.
You can’t stop whining, tears beading at your lash line.
“Leon, please.”
He lets go of his grip on you, and reaches out to tug open your button up blouse.
“Look at those fucking tits, baby,” he purrs, pulling the cups of your bra down until your breasts are completely bare—aching nipples on display.
He greedily mouths at each breast and sucks on your nipples, teeth catching on the sensitive buds until you’re clawing at his shoulders.
“Good girl,” he praises, feeling you shudder at the endearment, “you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”
“So good for you, Leon,” you promise.
As you speak, he undoes your bra and tosses it somewhere in the office. Then, he drags his fingers across the swell of your breasts. He circles your sensitive nipples, thumbs brushing the slowly hardening buds.
Your breath hitches, arousal pulsing in your cunt, “Leon...”
“Bet I can make you come from this,” he husks, “make a complete mess of you from just teasing your tits.”
Your spine arches, pressing up into his hands, “Ahh, they’re too sensitive.”
Leon completely ignores you and tugs your nipples gently, softly tweaking them before soothing them with slow drags of his index fingers.
Panting, your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt. Your clit throbs with every brush against your nipples, but you can’t stop yourself from pressing up into every touch.
Everything that Leon’s doing is making more slick pool in your panties. You’re so wet, it’s seeping into where Leon’s slacks are pressed against your pussy. You can feel the hard press of his cock against you and it sends a thrill up your spine knowing you’re the cause.
“So eager for me, honey,” he teases, voice pitched low, “I want you to take your clothes off.”
“Yes, sir,” you nervously agree, shimmying out of your blouse and skirt quickly.
“Leave the panties on for now,” his dark eyes locked onto your white panties, nearly transparent from how wet they’ve become.
Settling down on Leon, you straddle his thighs, your legs dangling off the sides of the chair. You bring your arms up to tangle your fingers in his hair. You give a small tug and roll your hips down against the outline of Leon’s hard cock. In retaliation, Leon gives your nipples a sharp tug then tweaks them as you writhe in his grasp.
“Look how wet you are, honey,” he groans, gaze drawn to the slick dripping from your panties, “so fucking sexy.”
Your eyes droop in pleasure at those words a low sigh leaving your lips.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” Leon growls out, letting his gaze roam across your swollen nipples up to your dazed expression, “always so sweet, making me want to do the worst things to you.”
“Yeah?” You whimper.
“Want you under my desk at the next conference call, sucking my cock while I’m trying to work,” he drags one of his hands from your chest up to your lips; he slips first two fingers into your mouth.
“Actually just want you in here on your knees at my beck and call. Just keep the door locked and nobody’ll know my little secretary is sucking off her boss during work hours,” he presses his fingers deeper into your mouth.
You whine and suckle on them softly. He pulls them out with a soft pop.
“Touch me, please, sir,” you whisper as he drags those fingers down to your puffy nipples.
Leon sucks a hard nipple into his mouth as his right hand teases across the other with quick flicks of his damp fingers. He swaps sides, his gaze watching you bite your lip and toss your head back at the pleasure. Pulling away a little, Leon grabs each breast and presses them inward. He runs his tongue from one nipple to the other more easily, suckling them until you squirm in his lap.
“You’re gonna be working a lot of overtime, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, “my own personal hole to use when I want.”
You keen high in your throat, “Sir!”
Leon groans low in his chest and rolls his hips upward to grind his cock against your hot wet cunt, nearly jostling you from his lap. In the motion, Leon’s sharp teeth tugs on a nipple earning a breathy sigh from your lips. He swaps to the other nipple, using his teeth so you’ll reward him with more of those sounds. After repeatedly teasing each nipple with his teeth, you tug at his hair in a silent plea to slow down. He eases off from biting to soft, gentle sucks.
“Love your tits, baby,” he mouths at your nipples, “been wanting to taste these nipples since I started working here.”
You cry out at the hot, wet suction of Leon’s mouth on your sore nipples. Your back curves forward to press your chest closer to his hungry teeth and tongue. You tangle your fingers further in his hair to have something to hold onto. Grinding your hips down, you feel more than hear him moan. You repeat the motion only this time your clit grinds against Leon’s slacks, earning a low cry of want.
“Leon,” you whimper.
He only hums in reply as he keeps up the hot suction on each hardened nub. You try rolling your hips again only to be stopped by a strong grip on your waist.
“You only get to cum from this,” Leon rumbles, voice deep as his tongue lashes against your abused nipple, “be a good girl for me or you won’t get anything.”
You mewl, clit pulsing in arousal, “I’ll be good, sir, I promise.”
He moves your hands to drape across his broad shoulders, “Don’t let your hands drop below my shoulders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
A sharp tug of teeth on your nipple has you arching in pleasurable pain. Your hands slide up into his hair again to hold him in place, worshiping your chest.
“So perfect,” Leon murmurs, lazily mouthing his way up to your neck.
“So sweet for me,” he speaks against your skin, gently kissing across your collar bones before pulling away.
You feel dizzy and aroused, tugging Leon’s hair to pull him into a soft kiss. He groans low in his chest, pressing you harder against him as he licks into your mouth. He teasingly nips at your bottom lip, sucking on it gently before slipping his tongue further in. You moan in response, loving the feel of his slick tongue teasing your own. His hands came up and grip your hair, tilting your head at an angle where he can kiss you even deeper than before.
Before long the kiss became sloppy and wet, but neither of you really care. You can’t stop whining in pleasure as Leon fucks into your mouth, tongue hot as it teases your own. Chest rumbling in pleasure, Leon draws your tongue into his mouth to suck on it greedily. You slip your tongue away to pull his plump bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling gently before softly sucking. You drag your teeth aggressively against Leon’s lip, tongue following in silent apology for the rough treatment.
Leon growls and pulls back far enough for you to let his lip go with a small pout. His cock twitches at how debauched you look. Pupils blown wide with lust, lips kiss swollen. He moves his hands from your hair to grip your hips. You know his hold’s tight enough to bruise but you only moan in appreciation. You dip your head down to recapture his lips, but he pulls back so your mouths only brush across each other.
You whimper at Leon withholding his lips from you.
“I want to hear how you sound once you cum,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours tantalizingly.
Fingers begin to roughly pinch and rub your swollen, sore nipples. His dark blue eyes never leave yours as you edge closer and closer to orgasm, your cunt copiously dribbling slick.
“I’m so close, Leon,” you whimper, trying your best not to grind down.
Leon smirks, “Guess I should slow down, huh?”
His fingers lightly tease over the hard peaks. His gaze drops from yours to take in the swollen nipples his fingers are touching. He groans aloud as he can’t deny himself another taste. You grip his head as Leon eagerly laps at your nipples, running his tongue across each one before gently biting.
“Please,” you beg, “Leon!”
Leon bites down harder on your left nipple as he gives the right a sharp twist. Your eyes roll back in your head as Leon gets even more aggressive. Harsh bites followed by a hot soothing tongue has your cunt dripping and needy.
“Like it rough, baby?”
You only moan wantonly in reply as Leon never lets up the assault on your abused chest. You continue to gasp and moan in the empty office.
Leon’s being so rough on you and you love it. Want him to pin you down right here and now. Make you cum all over yourself. Make you take his thick cock over and over.
Leon pulls away with a growl, pupils blown, “Honey, you can’t say things like that.”
You suddenly realize you had spoken out loud— babbling, just spouting out whatever crossed your mind. You’re so far gone now, high on arousal.
“I-I can’t help it,” you pant, “it’s so good, sir.”
“I know, my slutty little secretary just can’t help herself,” he pulls away from your chest, “she’s just gagging for her boss’ dick, right?”
You whimper, back arching, “N-no, I’m—“
“Shhh,” he thumbs open the button on his slacks, “was gonna wait but you need it more than I thought.”
He presses the fabric down until he frees his cock. He tugs your panties to the side and presses the fat head of his dick inside your wet hole.
“Was gonna make you cum from your tits but I think this might be a bit better, huh,” he grins, eyes dark and mean.
He doesn’t give you anytime to adjust and fucks up into you, grabbing your hips to pull you down at the same time. You scream from the too much feeling in your spasming cunt.
“Oh,” he groans, “tight as a fucking virgin.”
He smacks your ass with a condescending laugh, “Did I pop your cherry, sweetheart?”
Crying now, you shake your head no.
“Aww,” he mockingly pouts at you, “that’s too bad then.”
Without waiting for your pussy to adjust, he pulls out halfway to bully his fat cock back into your aching hole.
“Sir, please, I can’t,” your breath hitches on a cry, “s’too big. It hurts.”
“Fuck,” he pulls you down until his cock is buried deep in your pussy, “my big cock too much for this needy hole?”
You hiccup a sob, “Please, sir.”
“Mmm you’ll get used to it,” he pulls out til just the tip is teasing your hole then shoves his cock back deep inside your pussy.
You’re crying and clinging onto his shoulders, but a low heat is slowly building in your abdomen.
“There we go,” he coos, “just needed to fuck you a little first, honey.”
He stopped thrusting and you realize you’re the one grinding down onto his dick—a panting mouth, hazy eyed mess.
You whine but can’t stop your hips from rolling down onto the thick cock stretching you out so painfully.
“Good girl,” he smacks your ass again and you moan.
“You can ride this dick whenever you want, honey, just gotta ask,” he smirks, guiding your hips to fuck down harder.
“Yes, sir,” you slur, brain fuzzy from how deep he’s inside your cunt.
“Little slut,” he laughs, thumb brushing against your clit in slow circles, “cream my cock, honey. Want you squeezing on me when I breed that little pussy.”
You moan loudly, hips humping down
on his cock, “Leon!”
“That’s right,” he groans low in his chest, “gonna creampie your sweet little cunt.”
His voice and hard cock, paired with the thumb on your clit, is edging you closer and closer to climax.
“Sir, ‘m close,” you pant, tears dripping from your eyes, “gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum.”
“That’s it, honey,” he tilts his head down and pulls his thumb away from your clit.
He spits on your pussy, globs of drool dripping down the hood of your clit. He brings his thumb back to rub the slippery mess over and over and over into your sensitive bud.
Your back arches, eyes rolling back, as you clamp down on his pistoning dick. Slick coats his cock as you cum, pussy walls squeezing him like a vice.
“Fuck yeah,” he chuckles, thumb still pressing into your clit, “cream my cock so I can fill up that cunt.”
Your thighs jump and twitch from overstimulation as he keeps teasing your clit and grinding his cock deep in your pussy.
“Take it, honey, fucking take it,” he grits out, snapping his hips up into your squelching hole and pumping you full of hot cum.
You moan brokenly, pussy fluttering around his throbbing cock, liking how it feels to get creampied by your boss.
He leans back into his chair with a sigh, “Damn, gotta say that’s been worth the months of us dancing around each other.”
Your head feels totally empty so you only hum in response.
“Did I fuck you dumb, sweetheart?” He smirks, tweaking your nipples making you squeal, “s’okay, we got all weekend to do this. Just need you back in business by Monday.”
#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy x reader smut#leon s kennedy x you#office exec!leon s kennedy#office exec leon#office exec!leon s kennedy x fem!reader#leon s kennedy x fem!reader#fem!reader#resident evil smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#secretary!reader#personal assistant!reader
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
@alexiaps94 has liked your profile — Alexia Putellas x Reader
Word count: around 648
Warnings: none
Summary: You and Alexia match on an exclusive dating app.
“@alexiaps94 has liked your profile”
That was first notification you saw when you first checked your phone in the morning, still half asleep.
Some days ago, you signed up on Like.ly, an app similar to Tinder but extremely exclusive. The app was directed to wealthy people and reputed celebrities. You had to e-mail the company and wait if they accepted you on the company. If you were, you had to go through an interview where they'll ask you all types of questions, as the company itself would look for some potential matches to get you started. They did not succeed to your liking. They matched you with all sort of celebrities, but nobody properly caught your eye.
You weren't a football fan, but you knew who Alexia was because of the expectation she woke up when she won her second Ballon D'Or and when Spain won the World Cup, as the press talked non-stop about the different problems with the federation, especially about the incident during the final.
You clicked on her profile. Her profile pic was a picture with her dog, Nala. She had more pictures uploaded; you could see her with her family, her friends, her team and by herself. You scrolled down to the “About Me” paragraph.
“Hi! My name is Alexia. I like playing football, spending time with my family and learning new things. 😃”
“Cute”, you thought. You hesitated about what your next move should be. You liked her profile but decided to not write her yet.
“Hi. I saw your profile some days ago and you seem lovely. I'd love to hear from you”. You hated the way you wrote that text. “Y/N, you want to get to know her as a friend, maybe as something more, this is not a business meeting”, you said to yourself. Your text was fine, you were only overreacting. If you knew they way Alexia reacted to your text, you'd feel more than accomplished with yourself.
“Hi, Y/N. Thank you! You seem really lovely too. I'm seeing that you have four cats! Wow, that's some good company. I think a get along better with dogs because I've been around them my whole life, but the cat life sounds fun too. 😸”
You chuckled as you read her message. “She's indeed very lovely”, you thought.
“Yeah, so damn crazy, but it's quite fun😸😹” You had never used those emojis. Weird. Adorable but weird.
As you kept talking during the week with Alexia, you got to know her better. She told you about the passing of her dog, Nala, and how bad that affected her. You told each other about your life: family, friends, place of work. She even taught you a little bit of football, and you were so entertained you couldn't quite believe it, as you never showed any interested in football except for some random matches of the men's world cup. You started to educate yourself in women's football.
“Can I call you?”, was the message you received from her on a Saturday night. You had spent the whole day rotting on your sofa and talking to Alexia until your eyes started to feel really heavy. As she called you, and you responded, you started to breath uncontrollably rapid but at the same time, you felt so comfortable listening to her. Alexia's voice was soft, and her laugh sounded so delicate, you felt butterflies in your stomach every time you made her laugh.
“It was nice talking to you, Ale, but we both need some rest, especially you. You have training tomorrow.”
“... I liked hearing you calling me Ale”
“I like hearing you, Ale.”
“God, are you always this flirty?”
“Not in person. I'll have to be a little bit tougher when I'll have you in front of me.”
“No, don't be. I'm pretty sure I'd love the timid version of you. I can't wait to see it.”
553 notes
·
View notes
Text
Realizing They Have a Crush + Confessing
Characters ;; Hobie, Miles, Gwen, Pavitr !
Extras ;; No warnings, sfw, headcanon style !!
♡
Hobie Brown
He realized very quickly. He liked being around you too much. He loved giving you stuff. He loved seeing your smile and hearing your laugh when he stuck up an attitude with people.
He wasn't for labels, but damn he just might for you. He liked the sound of you being his in reality. You'd definitely get a pass if you worry about that type of stuff, too. I mean, he said he doesn't believe in consistency.
And so, he admitted his fondness for you very quickly.
He didn't see a point in beating around the bush, if you liked him great! If you didnt, well he'd like to stay friends.
Yet when you said yes, he couldn't help and smile widely, throwing his arm around your shoulder as a prop.
"Mine, eh?" He'd ask with tease filling his tone
He was all for spending time with you. I mean, you made him feel so good. He also loved having an arm around your waist, holding your hand, anyway to know you're by him still. Only you get to see his soft guy interior when he calms down at the end of the day.
At the end of the day, his heart swells a little when you two exchange 'I love you's.
Miles Morales
At first he just thought he had a fondness for you.
But when he flipped through his notebook and saw your face plastering almost every page, he got hit with realization. Sure, he drew all his friends, but you were different.
Every time he saw you, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He couldn't push the feeling down.
He asked Hobie for help. All he got told was "Be honest," and that didn't help.
His confession was an accident entirely when he had been alone with you, and he was trying to describe his crush in a way for it to not sound like you.
"They're really cool! Yeah.. really.. cool." He sounded lost in thought, heat rising to his face. Didn't help that you had peeked in his notebook and saw the drawings of you.
But when you acknowledged that it was you more than likely, he fumbled, trying to say no. But when you kissed his cheek, he felt on cloud nine.
Was geeked to be called yours. Especially since his parents loved you(you didn't call them by their first names)
Gwen Stacy
She immediately knew she loved you, but she was scared.
She was too scared of losing you, just like... nevermind.
It didn't matter, though, you would find out easily by how she acted. Her excited toe to heel jumps when you came around or just her bright smile when you talked to her. She found opening up to you easy.
She found the emotions all too troubling. So telling you was a huge problem for her. Especially since she found you clouding her mind so often, she zoned out during class and other activities.
She told you by starting a conversation. Hanging out, a sleepover maybe, and slipping it in during a heavy talking moment. She thought you didn't hear.
But you did, and you being excited warmed her to no ends. "Wait, really? You're serious!" She'd happily chirp out.
She got more allowing with touch. Actually, she was more touchy. Hugging on you or using your lap as a pillow.
You're her safe haven, and yes, she's so scared of losing you, but she's learning to worry less and love more.
Pavitr Prabhakar
Absolutely love sick puppy. He had a crush for a long time before he realized that his feeling with you was special.
But everyone knew, including you. There was no real need to confess. I mean, his pupils ere practically hearts around you.
Truly, you were his sun, and he revolved around you. As far as he was concerned, it should be the same way for everyone else !
Besides his following you around like a lost dog, he wasn't overbearing. He gave you space when asked, though he might be awkward the next day he completely respects it.
He finally decided to tell you in a cheesy way. Showing you his favorite spot in his universe, and he mentioned it quietly.
He would be.. okay, if you said no. But he didn't have time to think of that because before he knew it, you were already agreeing to being official.
Absolutely ecstatic. Totally ruined the romantic moment with his squeals, but your laughs were music to his ears for all he cared. "Jeez, that was nerve-wracking." He'd say after the moment calmed down.
Extremely flaunty that you're his. Made matching bracelets that consist of his spider suit colors for you and your favorite colors for his. Or your spidersuit colors, if you're one too!
♡♡♡♡
Hope you guys enjoyed this. I really hope this uploads without fail this time!! Requests are open☆☆
#astv#atsv x reader#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown#miles morales x reader#miles morales#gwen x reader#gwen stacy#pavitr prabhakar#pavitr x reader#sorry for the delay
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
childhood sweethearts (6) II a.russo x reader
series playlist part one part two part three part four part five
thank you all for the feedback for what you want to see! not sure for how long this little story of mine will go for yet but i appreciate all ur support of it sm
childhood sweethearts (6) II a.russo x reader
you kissed her.
alessia tensed up at first before pushing you off, eyes wide in shock at what just happened. though that shock only lasted a mere second as just as suddenly she'd pushed you away she was balling your hoodie in her fists, yanking your body back into hers and smashing her lips to your own again.
the kiss was messy and it was rushed, trying desperately to make up for all the time that had passed since the last one. though unlike when you were younger alessia's lips weren't chapped, they were soft and welcoming, her tongue darting into your mouth as her hand tangled itself in your hair and you grabbed onto her waist tightly.
you hated how kissing her still felt the same as it did all those years ago, and that no one you'd kissed since then even came close in giving you these same butterflies. her touch making your lips tingle and your head spin, you were drunk on her and drunk on the way she made you feel, how years later she still knew exactly how to treat you and your body.
but as much as you were drowned in an overwhelmingly familiar euphoria, every nerve in your body on fire and commanded to attention at the feeling of alessia's lips on yours, it was too much.
no one prepares you for your first love. the way your stomach drops when you realise its love, the awkwardly clumsy first touches as you learn your ways around one anothers bodies, jaws aching from how hard you smile at anything and everything your lover does.
but if they can't prepare you for your first love then how is anyone expected to know what your first heartbreak feels like, and the gaping hole it leaves not just in your heart and your head but your life.
gone is your person, the one steady continuance which you know you can go to for comfort, the person you spend all your free time with and when you're not with them you're thinking about them.
but when its that person whose causing all your hurt, who rips out your heart from your chest like its nothing, who do you go to for comfort? for a reprise from the ongoing dull ache in that hole in your chest?
just as much as all the passion and the pleasure came hurtling upwards to the surface as you fiercely kissed alessia, so did the heartbreak, and the betrayal. the end of the carefully curated trust you once held so dear, moving swiftly into when you would welcome the nights spent silently crying yourself to sleep, chest heaving as you muffled your sobs into your pillow.
you'd lived a lie after you'd found out alessia's intent to leave you without an explanation and decided to leave her first. brushing off your families comments about how excited you must be for alessia, ignoring the sharp ongoing twist of the knife in your back anytime they mentioned her name as if everything was fine and normal.
you'd hum and smile, forcing yourself through some half cocked lie about helping her pack, about how happy you were that she was going to get all these new opportunities in america.
going as far as even joking about how you'd need to make sure your passport was in date so you could visit her. the words stung in your throat like you'd swallowed razor blades, mouth burning like someone had shoved a red hot poker on your tongue.
but it was too raw, too painful, too hard to be honest about what happened. it would mean revealing a lot more than just losing her, but rather who she was to you when you lost her, and you just weren't ready for that.
you knew your family would have accepted you, in fact looking back now you really weren't sure what it was which held you back from coming out. maybe it was the fact you needed to come out at all, you still liked boys, but you loved alessia, and so did they.
but you weren't ready. so you forced smiles and nods, taking each uppercut with a grin plastered on your face, wearing a mask that everything was fine and okay.
but overtime you grew tired of wearing that mask and taking those jabs, tired of the lies and the pain they brought with them, why should you even have to lie? to spare alessias good reputation? or to conceal your own truth?
so overtime you'd made more of an effort to change the topic when she'd pop up, you'd make excuses not to be home when you knew the russo's were coming over. you spent more time with your university friends, throwing yourself head first into an overly active social life. tip toeing around the truth that you'd not spoken a proper word to alessia since the day you'd broke up with her.
thats not to say the blonde hadn't tried.
every day during those two weeks before she flew out to the states she'd called, messaged, sent flowers, even showed up to your doorstep.
but you'd ignore her every attempt, throwing yourself into preparing for your own university acceptance while navigating your first heart break and pretending everything was fine and dandy, no easy feat to juggle really.
and after a few weeks of embracing your new friends and your new life, you realised you didn't want her to see that. why should she have any right to see what you were doing without her? see what she lost when she left you?
so you blocked her number, removed her from your social medias, explained to your parents that the two of you just hadn't been talking much anymore with the timezones and with being in such different places in your life.
you'd drifted you told them, asking over and over for your mum to stop pestering you to get coffee with her and carol, explaining that you had new friends, new hobbies, that people grow apart and you were fine with this.
on the other hand with every attempt to reconcile things with you or explain herself further shot down, not that she was even sure what she'd say if you gave her the time, alessia eventually swallowed her pride and accepted the loss, backing off and doing as you'd asked, putting all of her focus into this new chapter, without you.
after all this was what she wanted. this was easier. it wasn't, it wouldn't ever be. but she refused to accept the truth and instead drowned herself in the dangerous denial that she'd not done anything wrong.
you were the problem. you'd not been supportive. you'd not have been able to do distance for four years. you had broken up with her and it was the right thing for both of you.
did alessia believe a word of that? never. but without you there to ground her all she could do was to continue to affirm these things over and over, desperate to convince herself that you were the vilian in her story.
she'd told her family not to mention UNC to you from the moment she'd signed that contract, claiming she was keeping it as a secret to everyone and planned to tell all of her friends at the same time not wanting anyone feeling left out.
they'd been surprised at this of course, and alessia lied through her teeth saying she'd mentioned thinking about maybe going overseas for football and you were supportive, but that she hadn't confirmed anything yet and this was an entirely new situation for her to come to terms with and she needed time to do so, and her family respected that.
of course they weren't to know that alessia didn't just love you, she was in love with you. they didn't know that when she left she'd have been leaving her girlfriend behind, not her best friend. they were none the wiser of what alessia was giving up, of how much her heart ached at the thought of you, the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes at any mention of your name.
if anything that was yet another regret she held, not coming clean to her family about the fact you weren't just her best friend, at the time you were her everything and so much more.
alessia knew you meant as much to her family as you did to her, you were their second daughter and they adored you. they wouldn't have cared that the two of you were more than just best friends, alessia had known that from the moment she first kissed you and realised she loved you the way she was supposed to love boys.
and maybe if they had known the truth about the two of you they might have been able to talk some sense into her about what she did, what she lost, maybe stopped her from making such a life altering mistake.
because you weren't the villian in her story, you were the victim. and it had taken a lot of years of self work and reflection for alessia to completely accept that. accept that she was the problem, it was her mistake, her who had broken your heart and caused you an unthinkable amount of hurt and pain.
and alessia wasn't sure this was something she could ever forgive herself for.
"alessia." you pushed her off you suddenly, your lips separating with a gentle smack. you stepped away when she tried to reach out for you again, face flushed bright red and lips slightly swollen.
"we can't. that was a huge mistake." you forced out, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to quieten your mind enough to remember where you were, why this was wrong and for once embrace the pain it was making you feel.
"but-"
"no lessi." her heart stopped at the nickname, something she'd not heard in years and her knees almost buckled and hit the floor at the implosion of emotions that came with it.
you however regretted it the moment the slip up left your tongue, quick to correct yourself as not to give her any false hope.
"alessia. that was a mistake, i really can't do this. you need to leave now, please!" you turned away from her, back hunched over as your hands gripped the back of the sofa so hard your knuckles turned white.
"you kissed me." alessia reminded, fists balled by her sides as you felt her gaze burn the back of your neck. "i know. which is exactly why you need to leave, i can't do this with you again." you whispered back, holding back the tears which threatened to spill over as that every familiar ache in your chest started again, something you'd not felt in years.
"but why? i know i royally fucked everything up. i hurt you, i left you and i broke you, and there isn't a day that i don't regret that more than anything." alessia started and you tensed as you felt her stand closer, hand gently ghosting your back before thinking better of it as her touch disapeared.
"i'm not that same young selfish reckless teenager anymore. maybe you were right and we don't know each other in some ways, so just let me show you that i've changed. please! i've just gotten you back i can't lose you again." alessia all but begged as the room began to spin and your eyes slammed shut, a thick silence falling between the two of you momentarily, and then something in you clicked.
"you haven't gotten me back though alessia." you spun around so quickly it caught the blonde striker off guard as she stumbled over her feet trying to step back.
"you will never understand just how you made me feel. you made me feel about two centimeters tall, like i wasn't worth anything, wasn't worth telling of your grand new journey, after years of loving you and being in love with you that i wasn't even worth a goodbye!" you spat, hurt replaced by anger as years of bottled emotions suddenly exploded.
alessia remained silent, knowing she deserved to take all of this and more as her feet stayed rooted in place and you advanced on her.
"and now you want to tell me about change? regret? your hurt? losing me? getting me back?" you laughed now, though your tone was anything but humorous as you shoved at her chest, the taller girl barely moving as you did.
"fuck you! you will never know just how much it hurt alessia. because you didn't think about me, you didn't care about me and you left me!" you yelled, shoving her again as her eyes welled with tears but she refused to break your eyeline.
"and because you left me you weren't there when i needed you. you weren't there for my first day of university, you weren't there for my graduation, you weren't there when my fucking dad died, when he left me too!" you were screaming now, your voice hoarse and cracked but now the dam had spilled over there was no way of stopping it from overflowing.
"and i hate that you were the only person i wanted to tell, the only person i wanted to hold me and tell me it was going to be okay. it had been nearly two years and i still wasn't over you, i still wanted you to be there even as my best friend if nothing more, but you weren't!" your voice broke, tears gushing down your face as alessia bit down on her bottom lip which trembled, tears spilling over in her ocean blue eyes.
"my siblings had partners to turn to, they had their own support systems. i had my friends but they weren't you, no one has ever been you and i hate you for that. because you aren't my person, if you were you'd have never done what you did." you poked her sharply, sniffling and wiping your nose with your sleeve, hand trembling as you did so.
"when he died my mum pushed everyone away. i needed her to tell me it was going to be okay, i needed her tell me we were going to be okay without him and she didn't, she couldn't. so i had to be the parent and i picked up the pieces, i organised the funeral, i watched her crumble and break and become a shell of the woman she once was. and i did it alone, at twenty!" you yelled, fists raising to hit the girl as she grabbed your hands, holding them tightly in her own.
and at that you crumbled, dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, the grief of not one but two losses now hitting you in waves, barely able to keep your head above water as you drowned in your own emotions.
without a second thought alessia was sat by your side, pulling you in between her legs as she wrapped herself tightly around you, her front pressed to your back as you fought her, elbowing and yelling and swearing for her to get off but she refused.
and when you were unable to fight her anymore, you gave in. your sobs echoed around the apartment as the blonde buried her face in your hair, her lips whispering apologies over and over as your entire body wracked and convulsed with grief, finally allowing yourself to actually feel everything for the first time in a long time.
you weren't sure how long you sat there for, but with time you ran out of tears to cry and your head started to come back down to ground level, your breaths shallow but starting to even out as your eyes throbbed, red and puffy.
it was then you remembered who it was that was currently holding you, who it was that was whispering over and over how sorry she was, how strong you were. so you pushed her off, the blonde now allowing you to as she shuffled back a little, wanting to give you space.
"sorry." was all you managed to get out, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep shaky breath, your chin resting on your knees which were tucked to your chest. alessia watched you carefully, fingers twitching to reach out and comfort you again.
"it's not your fault he died, and its not your fault that i needed to step up and be there for my mum. but i did need you alessia, even as my best friend who i'd known since we were little. my best friend who adored my dad and knew what a loss it was that he wasn't there anymore. and because of what happened between us, you weren't there." you forced out, avoiding her gaze as you sighed, your head starting to pound and a dull ache settling behind your eyes.
"i wanted to be." alessia finally spoke up, head lifting and eyes roaming your deflated form. "my mum called to tell me when she found out, and the first thing i did was try to call you. but you changed your number and i took that as a sign you didn't want me having your new one." alessia admitted, your gaze remaining trained to the floor.
"i wanted to fly home for the funeral, to be there for you. but it had been two years and i didn't want to make it worse, i didn't even know what i would have said. my mum told me it was only going to be a small ceremony and only she and my dad were going, but i made her promise me that she would look after you in my absence." alessia continued, playing with her fingers as her hands sat dormant in her lap.
"she tried to check in. but my mum, she was my priority that day, i didn't focus on anyone else, couldn't do anything else. i gave my speech and hers, and i went home and cooked her dinner, which she refused to eat. my brother took over so i went to my room,and i didn't leave it for three days." you confessed, refusing to look at her knowing exactly the pity which would shine in her eyes.
"it was a really shit year. the university gave me extensions on everything and i took a leave of compassion for a few months, my friends did their best to help me. but i spent every day with mum trying anything to bring her back. i grieved silently and by myself, everyone else had their own emotions to be responsible for i didn't need to burden them with mine." your voice was barely above a whisper now, fiddling with your necklace as you spoke.
"your mum tried to help, all of mums friends did but she pushed them away too, isolated herself away from the world, away from us. but then i remember one morning i woke up to the smell of something burning and thought she was trying to set the house alight-" a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.
"-thought she might have been burning dads stuff, she slept in the spare room and we weren't allowed in her room, didn't touch his things for months. but i raced down and she's there in the kitchen, trying to make eggs but she forgot about them and they burnt to the pan." you let out a small chuckle now, sighing quietly.
"but it was the first morning she'd gotten out of bed by herself. and when she saw me she hugged me, told me good morning like there wasn't a small fire in the corner. but it was the first time she seemed even a little bit alive again, she'd even gone out the front and grabbed the paper." you wiped away a stray tear with the corner of your sleeve.
"then slowly things started to shift, she went to get groceries, started to at least sleep in her room again. it took time but she reached out again for help, started to sift through his things, yelled at me for staying home instead of going to class. i started to do night classes to try and catch up, i wanted to graduate with my friends and i knew that he'd not want me to stop because of him not being there to tell me to keep going." you paused, the image of him briefly flickering through your mind as you gently touched your hip where his name was hidden, tattooed only for your eyes to see.
"i was at your graduation." your head snapped up at that, a frown forming as your eyebrows creased and alessia's face paled, unsure if she should have confessed. "what?" you managed to force out.
"i'd come home by then. i still spoke to a few of the girls from secondary school, not as much but we caught up once i moved back home. i asked one day if they wanted to get lunch and they said they were going to your graduation-" the back of alessias neck prickled as she spoke.
"-i hadn't spoke with anyone about you for a long time. they didn't invite me with them, i hadn't ever spoke to them about it but i assumed you'd told them we weren't...well friends." alessia winced, unsure how to really word things in the right way.
"but i looked it up, saw it was an open invite. so i went and i sat right up the back, i saw your family all there but i didn't dare to say hi. i didn't want to ruin your day but i wanted to be there, and i was so proud watching you walk across that stage and get your degree." your eyes met for a fleeting moment as a soft smile graced the older girls face.
you really wished she hadn't told you that, feeling yet another twist of the knife in your back as a weirdly familiar feeling settled in your stomach at her confession, but it wasn't a feeling you were going to give the luxury of developing any further, you couldn't.
"whatever trust i had in you is dead alessia, i'm really sorry i kissed you but i can't do this again. i can't sit here and be hugged and comforted by you, i can't kiss you like nothing happened and reminisce on old memories, i can't risk giving you a chance to hurt me again, to leave me again." you admitted quietly, looking away from her as the striker remained silent, thinking over her words carefully before she responded.
"i'd like you to leave now please alessia, please." you whispered, head hung low, shoulders sagging as you heard her start to move beside you. your eyes widened as you felt her hand gently touch your cheek, the blonde squatted down beside you.
"alessia-" you started softly, moving away her hand.
"i'll leave, but i'm not leaving again. i live here now, ten minutes down the road." alessia started, standing up as you remained seated on the floor.
"i have caused you an inexcusable amount of pain and hurt and i know that, thats mine to bare forever and you're right i will never understand how you felt, and how you feel." she continued, hovering a few feet away as you looked into the kitchen.
"but i'm not going anywhere. please take some time, as much as you need, i promise i won't reach out or ambush you or anything. take some time and think, because i'd really like the opportunity to be in your life again. i don't deserve it and i'm selfish for even asking-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, hand lingering on the handle of your front door.
"-but ultimately if you don't want anything to do with me, i'll respect that and i will leave you be. but i live here now, my life is here now and so is yours and if you give me the chance to be in it i promise you that i will spend every single day making it up to you and showing you just how much you mean to me." alessia's voice softened, and she turned the handle as you spared her a glance, a small nod all she needed as she sent you a sad smile.
and with that, she was gone.
~
sure to her word alessia left you be. a week passed without anything further, your mum even laying off about everything as your sister announced she was pregnant. you were happy for her of course always wanting to be an aunty, but overall you were grateful she had given your mum something else to focus on than pestering you about the fake date you 'went' on.
you tried to keep busy. that first week you threw yourself head first into work, staying back later and starting earlier, going out for dinner and drinks with your colleagues again, feeling incredibly welcomed into the much smaller community of teachers than you had in australia.
you'd made friends with some of your colleagues there but you'd also made the mistake of trying to date one of them. you'd gone out a few times and everything seemed okay, nothing was labelled but you were enjoying your time together and getting to know one another.
but then after a particularly rambunctious staff christmas party and one or five too many tequila shots you drunkenly decided to sleep with a different colleague and well, it didn't end well for you.
you swiftly learned why dating your co-workers was now a no go, painstakingly awkward staff meetings and social events where you knew others were whispering about you tainted your experience of what was supposed to be your dream job and in a beautiful new country.
determined to prove them wrong you'd tried to suck up to the principal and the head of department, accepting extra shifts, after school bus duties, playground duties, each offer adding more and more onto your growing workload.
with this being your first real job out of university besides your placements, and younger than most of your colleagues you were naieve to think you could handle it all amongst being so far away from home.
you burnt yourself out, fast. so when the bell rang to end your final school term of your second year teaching abroad, you'd already handed in your resignation and ended your lease early, booking a one way ticket home.
your mum of course had been warning you from the get go about looking after yourself, and you'd brushed her off time and time again that you were fine, that you could handle it, that you were loving it.
and yet the reality was far from that.
when you'd finally come clean, unable to keep your head above water anymore feeling as though you were failing yourself and your students. you'd called your mum and come clean, and she hadn't tried to talk you out of staying or coming home, knowing you were an adult and this needed to be your decision.
so when you'd made that decision she was as supportive as you needed her to be, going to open houses and inspections, face timing you and sending videos, sending in your applications until finally one was accepted.
your mum had of course assured you were more than welcome to move back in with her but for the sake of your own independence having become quite accustomed to living by yourself, you'd as gently as you could shut that down quite quickly.
but back to present day and that second week without any contact from alessia, she lived rent free in your head.
you once again tried to busy yourself, desperate to keep the tall blonde striker out of sight and out of mind only the more you tried to push any thought of her away the more she popped up.
true to her word alessia had steered clear, not showing up to help out leah that second friday much to both your relief and maybe disappointment? you weren't sure why your face fell a little seeing a different one of leahs team mates stepping in, your head was an absolute mess.
so that night you finally let your thoughts wander rogue.
curled up on your lounge with a mug of tea, your walls slipping for a moment as you indulged yourself in remembering the good times the two of you had. you recalled certain things with a smile on your face, hours passing as you lay there thinking it over and over.
you jumped as your phone began to vibrate by your head and your stomach lurched seeing her name on the screen. realizing the time, worry seeped into you that she might be drunk again, calling you as an afterthought.
so you let the call screen out, releasing a breath you didn't realise you were holding in when she didn't call again. but moments later, your phone pinged with a message.
iMessage from alessia russo - 10:04pm.
hi. i'm so incredibly sorry to call you so late i probably should have just sent a message, and i am absolutely still giving you space. i'm not sure if you've spoken to your mum but mine called me earlier about another family dinner at your mums house this time? next week i think. my mum really misses you and i think she'd love to see you if that was something you were open to? i can very easily make other plans to not be there so you aren't uncomfortable.
iMessage from alessia russo - 10:05pm.
you of course don't have to go, and you don't have to reply to this either. i'm not trying to push you into anything either, but you do know what my mums like and she really does want to see you
iMessage from alessia russo - 10:05pm.
you always were her favourite daughter
iMessage from alessia russo - 10:06pm.
sorry that was probably a bit forward, and weird.
iMessage from alessia russo - 10:07pm.
it's alessia by the way
you felt a smile tug at your lips as your eyes scanned the incoming messages, imagining the way her cheeks would have flushed in embarrassment the more she rambled on had the messages been in person.
alessia on the other hand was wincing as she sent you yet another message despite her promise she would leave you be.
she watched as the text bubbles appeared, and left, and appeared again, and then left. "you alright less?" lotte chuckled, sat on the ground trying to build a new bookshelf, having come over to spend the evening with her long time friend, considering her more a sister.
“why am i such an idiot.” alessia sighed, flopping backwards into the sofa and covering her face with her hands. “is this about her again?” lotte asked gently, aware that this was quite the sensitive topic with the striker especially as of late.
before she could reply alessia felt her phone vibrate on her stomach, turning it face up to look her eyes widened and she quickly threw it to the other side of the lounge as if it was red hot and had burnt her.
“okay what was that about?” lotte asked with a concerned gaze. “she’s calling me!” alessia panicked, lotte rolling her eyes. “…so answer it.”
with a hasty nod alessia practically dove onto her phone, clicking accept right on the last ring and scrambling to her feet, hurrying off to her bedroom for a touch more privacy.
“hello?” she answered, composing herself for a moment.
“hi.”
“hello.”
“you already said that.”
“hi?”
“i already said that.” alessia settled somewhat hearing the lighter tone of voice which you were using today.
“so i got your messages.” you trailed off, pausing for a moment to think what you wanted to say, regret washing over you that you hadn’t just messaged her back.
“sorry there’s so many. i promise i really did mean to-“
“-give me space. and you have, I know that alessia it’s okay, I’m not upset with you for messaging.” you assured her calmly, the blonde nodding at your words which of course you weren’t able to see.
“so, the dinner then.” alessia spoke, certain that’s what you’d been returning her call to talk about, the striker already having confirmed with lotte that the two of them would easily be able to spend the evening together instead so you’d be able to go to the dinner and see her family without seeing her.
though to alessia that felt about as easy as swallowing a watermelon whole.
“yeah look i really appreciate you messaging to clarify things. my mum hasn’t mentioned any dinner but i’m seeing her tomorrow so I’ve no doubt it’ll come up then.” you started, picking nervously at your nail beds as you readied yourself for your next words.
“-I was calling to ask if you wanted to grab a coffee or something this week. i’ve had my time to think and i actually do have some things i’d like to talk with you about, but in person.” you asked, chewing the inside of your cheek somewhat nervously as you awaited her answer.
“oh! um yeah, yeah that sounds good. i’d like that.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
part seven
#alessia russo x reader#woso x reader#woso#alessia russo#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso blurbs#engwnt#arsenal wfc#awfc
762 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN ; LEE HEESEUNG
pairings. yandere!heeseung x fem!reader
wc. 1.4k
warnings. dark fic, reader is trapped , but heeseung has brainwashed her , oral (m. recieving) , unprotected sex , names (butterfly, baby, pretty) this is just fiction , this doesn't portray heeseung irl at all !
synopsis. heeseung loves you so much , his pretty little butterfly.
authors note. loosely based off a book i read called the butterfly garden by dot hutchinson , it's a really good book , i recommend it ! someone asked for a yandere heeseung fic and i thought of this
heeseung loved butterflies , he thought they were the most beautiful creatures he'd ever laid eyes on. as a kid , he'd go to his grandparents's house — his grandfather was very rich man , who had a huge mansion , with a huge green house , the size of a mini mansion — that's where his grandmother kept all her flowers , and butterflies.
he'd watch the butterflies fly around the green house, all sorts of different colors , he was mesmerized by them. when his grandparents past , he inherited all the money , along with all the properties , including the green house.
heeseung hadn't outgrown his obsession , rather he gained a new one , you. he saw you one day , working at a coffee shop he often visited , he couldn't keep his eyes off you. he could remember the outfit you wore , a yellow sundress , you were so sweet , the way you greeted everyone. your smile , you were so beautiful , like a pretty little butterfly... he had to have you , he needed to add you to his butterfly collection.
he watched you for silently months , learning everything about you , where you were from , your family name , favorite things. you didn't have many friends , so that was good , no one to really miss you. while watching you , he made some moderations to the green house , adding a beautiful bedroom , with all your favorite things , along with a bathroom. he made sure everything was perfect — perfect for his newest and prettiest butterfly yet.
it was so easy befriending you , you were polite to anything with a pulse , all he had to was introduce himself , and your friendship blossomed from there. you thought he was so cute , you never really got attention from boys , so it was new. you'd seen him multiple times at the shop , so you were aware of his existence. he was kind , and sweet.
you never saw the signs , you would have never believed that the doe eyed boy had a sick and twisted plan brewing. first he got rid of your family , isolating you from them , telling you lies , saying that they hated that you two were so close , that he was only using you as a charity case , until you stopped contacting them all together. your so called friends didn't even need any pushing , he just wired a few thousand into their bank accounts , telling them to back off. when you came crying to him , telling him that they completely cut you , he put a act , telling how he always said they were no good , that he was the only one for you , he was your only friend , you believed him , you believed that he was the only person who had your back , that everyone else basically hated you.
that's when he knew he had you...
that was was about a year ago , a year and 6 months to be exact. a year and 6 months since you last seen your family , or friends , or the outside for thay matter. a year and 6 months since he trapped you in his butterfly garden.
"butterfly , where is my pretty little butterfly?" you heard his voice , the door closing on the way in. "im in here!" you called from the bathroom , running out into the indoor fields where you spent most of your days , alone with the butterflies , watching them fly around. "hello pretty , it's been a while hasn't it." you smiled , nodding. "almost a month , i missed you so much." it was sick , you knew that , but he was your only source of friendship , that love that you so desperately craved.
"did you , i missed my butterfly too , i watched you from the camera , wishing to be with you while on my trip." he said , pointing to the camera in the corner. "maybe next time i can go with you." he shook his head. "now you know you can't , butterflies are fragile , people will hurt butterflies and i can't have you getting hurt and corrupted by those people , now can i?" he caressed your cheeks , noticing your frown.
"those work trips are boring anyway , i would rather be playing here with you in the garden." you knew what he meant by playing. "don't you like playing here with me and the other butterflies?" his doe eyes always made you feel bad about asking to go out , he knew that and he loved to use it to advantage. "i do , i promise i do love the garden." he smiled. "good , now don't ask about it again , okay?" you nodded. "i won't heeseung , i promise."
"good , now how about you show me those pretty wings of your , take off your shirt off for me." you turned around , taking your sweater off , revealing the huge tattoo on your back — butterfly wings. he had gotten them tattooed on your back the 4th day you were trapped here , it took almost 5 months to heal. "so pretty." he could feel himself growing hard in his slacks , just from the tattoo. "my pretty butterfly." he pressed his hard cock against your ass.
"i think you're the prettiest one here." he kissed your shoulderblade. "butterflies don't live long , but you , you'll last forever , won't you." he kissed your neck. "hee-heeseung." you moaned softly , he was sick , this was sick , you shouldn't want him to touch you , you shouldn't crave his touch. "i'll never let you go." he bit down on your earlobe , he genuinely meant what he said , he was never gonna let you go.
"get down on your knees." he said sitting on your bed once you reached your room. you sunk down to your knees , his bulge right in front of your face. "you see how hard i am for you?" he palmed his cock , unzipping his pants , his cock slapping against his stomach. "come on , grab it." he groaned as you wrapped your hands around his cock , jerking him off. "fu-fuck , put it in your mouth." you obeyed , taking him fully into your cavern. "sh-shit , just like i trained you to do , good girl."
he grabbed the back of your head , guiding you up and down on his cock , you gagged around his length , tears wielding in your eyes. "you looks so pretty , gagging on my fat cock , drooling." he grunted , pushing your head down , fucking up into your mouth. "fu-fuck im gonna cum , gonna cum down that pretty throat of yours." he whined , pushing your head down one last time , keeping you there as he came , hitting the back of your throat. "fuck!" he pulled you off him , you coughed , finally being able to breathe.
"you did so good , took my cum so well." he pulled you up , manhandling you on to the bed , putting you into his favorite position , face down ass up , so he can see the wings on your back. "such a pretty sight , my beautiful butterfly." he lined his cock up at you entrance. "so tight." he filled you up , his cock stretching you open like always. "your pussy is always so good , you feel so nice around me struggling to take my cock." he grunted , thrusting inside of you.
"fucking beautiful baby , gonna keep you here forever -fuck- the only butterfly i need." he began to fuck into your hole much faster , you gripped the sheets below. "fe-feels like heaven." his eyes were trianed on the tattoos as he fucked you , pushing your back down to hit a new angle that made you scream. "shit , heeseung im gonna cum." he grunted , fucking you faster. "fuck , cum for me , cum all over my cock." he rubbed your clit , you mouth formes a 'o' shape before you came , legs shaking.
"oh fuck , you're squeezing my cock , im gonna cum." he pushed your body flat against the bed , using your tired body to get himself off. "fuck , im cumming ngh fuck !" he whined , his cum painting your walls , pulling out milking his cock , more cum spurting on your back. "sh-shit." he stuttered , he breathing heavy. he looked down at your body , almost getting hard again , the way his cum looked on the wings , made his cock jump in arousal. "shit , i'm gonna get hard again if i keep staring at your pretty wings , covered in my cum like that."
you whimpered , trying to move away. "n-no more." your voice horse , body sensitive to touch. "i know , i know my fragile butterfly is so sensitive." he climbed off of you. "no need for clothes , i want to see my butterfly covered in my cum for awhile , just for me." he wanted to capture this moment.
"my pretty little butterfly"
©️LUVYENI
#kpop x reader#kpop smut#yandere enhypen#enhypen yandere#enhypen scenarios#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen imagines#enhypen hard hours#enhypen fic#enhypen smut#enhypen x reader#enhypen x female reader#heeseung x reader#heeseung smut#lee heeseung hard thoughts#heeseung hard hours#heeseung hard thoughts#heeseung scenarios#lee heesung x reader#lee heeseung hard hours#lee heeseung smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
happiness is a butterfly | zhou guanyu x fem! reader
summary; y/n learns that happiness is a butterfly all thanks to guanyu
warnings; mentions of depression, anxiety, mental health centers
taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03
word count; 900
note; testing how the small font looks w written fics !
‘born to die’ series masterlist.
masterlist !
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
5 years ago
“I’m never having kids. Nope.” An 18-year-old Y/n said to Y/b/f as she scrunched up her nose. “It’s too much of a burden and I have enough of that on my mind.”
Y/b/f sighed, knowing full well about the burden on Y/n mind. They’ve been childhood best friends and it was fascinating to see Y/n turn from a bubbly girl to someone who struggles so much to get out of bed.
“Well, you never know. Maybe you’ll meet someone special?”
Y/n let out a mix of a laugh and scoff at Y/b/f’s words. She picked at her chipped nails as a smile appeared on her lips. “Yeah, right. Sure.”
It wasn’t until 5 months later when Y/n was finally out in the city after spending a few months in a mental health center. She was strolling the city streets, a small smile on her face as the spring sun warmed her skin.
She noticed a deep blue butterfly fluttering in front of her, seemingly leading her down the sidewalk. She was so distracted by the butterfly that she didn’t realize a man walking right towards her.
Suddenly, the two collided. Before Y/n could even brace for impact and the possibility of hitting the ground, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist. “Are you okay?”
She glanced up and was met with one of the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever seen. She opens her mouth for a split second but immediately closes it when she realizes the butterfly she was previously watching is fluttering around them. His voice interrupted her thoughts when he repeated the question, slowly removing his hands from her.
“Yes, yes! Sorry.” Y/n said in a panic, her face heating up from the situation. She awkwardly laughed as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I was just distracted by that butterfly. It was all my fault really.” She responded and gestured towards the blue butterfly that was flapping away.
His eyes followed hers and he caught a glimpse of the butterfly. “Understandable, it’s quite beautiful.” He chuckled before glancing back at her, “Much like yourself.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. Actually, giggle. A sound she hadn’t heard come from her for months. She couldn’t believe that a random man she bumped into somehow made her feel 10 times better than she felt just the week prior.
She stuck her hand out with a smile, “I’m Y/n.”
He happily shakes her hand and his lips curled into a smile, “Guanyu.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
present day
“Are you sure you’ll be fine on your own with her?”
“I’m her father, Y/n. We’ll be fine!” Guanyu exclaims with a smile, holding an 8-month-old baby girl in his arms. “You need a rest day and what better way to rest than to have a girl's day with Y/b/f?”
Y/n let out a sigh of relief before gently squishing her daughter's cheek. Her straight black hair was in a little ponytail that stuck straight up with a butterfly clip to match her name, Hudie, the word for butterfly in Chinese.
It was only fitting since the only reason why Y/n and Guanyu met was because she was so distracted by a butterfly. When the pair found out they were having a girl, there were no other name options.
She sighs, grabbing her daughter from her husband's arm to tightly hug her. Despite Hudie being 8 months old, Y/n still hadn’t spent time without her and the thought of not being around her daughter made her anxious.
Guanyu noticed her worry and chuckled as he gently rubbed her shoulder. “I’ll send you pictures later if that helps with your anxiety.” He offered. He smiled when he saw her quickly nod before handing back her daughter to him.
“Y/b/f’s waiting, I should go,” Y/n said before leaning forward and sharing a kiss with Guanyu. “Have a fun day with our little butterfly.” She reached over to poke her daughter's belly before grabbing her bag
“And you have a fun and relaxing day with Y/b/f, okay, love?” He called out, watching her put her shoes on at the entrance of the door.
“I’ll be back soon! I love you!”
“We love you!”
When Y/b/f saw Y/n finally exit her home, she wore a smile on her face. She knew exactly why it took her so long to leave.
“I’m never having kids.” Y/b/f said in a mocking tone as her best friend entered her car.
Y/n scoffs and playfully rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up!”
“5 years ago, you would’ve laughed if I told you that you were hesitant to leave your daughter and husband to hang out with me.”
She playfully rolls her eyes again in response, tuning her friend out as she watches her pull out of the driveway. Y/b/f was right though. She never would’ve imagined her life to be like how it was.
Y/n never would’ve imagined that she’d marry the cute guy she bumped into. She never would’ve imagined that years later, she was happy and no longer struggling with depression. She never would’ve imagined that she would have a carbon copy of her husband and enjoy the sound of her laughter.
None of it could have been possible without Guanyu, who turned her dark gloomy days into sunshine-filled and joyful from the moment she met him due to being distracted from the blue butterfly. He showed her what happiness truly was. He showed her that happiness is a butterfly.
#formula one x reader#f1 x reader#f1 scenario#formula one scenarios#f1 imagine#formula one imagines#formula one imagine#f1 scenarios#zhou guanyu scenarios#zhou guanyu x reader#zhou guanyu imagines
205 notes
·
View notes
Text
★ Happy Endings in the Avengers Compound ★
paring: wanda maximoff x female reader
summary: Wanda is to afraid to make a move with you but what about when you get a date that isn't her?
warnings: literally nothing, it's just pure fluff, jealousy if that needs a warning? really shitty ending cuz i didn't know how to end it lol, a tiny bit ofcussing, terrible writing
a/n: I wrote this while I should've been taking notes in English cuz I was so boreddddd got this idea from a video my friend sent me that was all like, "girl whos obsessed with you does your makeup or something" cuz there's this girl in class who likes to do people's makeup and it was so fucking funny cuz she kept making comments I swear so yeah I just wanted to say that. enjoy :)
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
With a big grin, you harshly push open Wanda's bedroom door and squeal. “I got a date with this really pretty girl at the coffee shop!” Wanda's head snaps up from the book she's ready, and no amount of enthusiasm takes over her face. “A girl? what's her name, last name, date of birth, addresses, place of work, and hometown?” you chuckle, sitting criss cross on her bed and taking her cold hands in your warm ones. “Her name is Vanessa but I call her V, her last name is Tanner, birthday is March 23rd…I don't know what year, I don't know her address, she works at the hospital a few streets away, and I don't know where her hometown is.”
She takes a moment to think before questioning, “So you're going out with a woman you barely know? That doesn't sound safe honey.” You chuckle and nod. “I do know her! We spent like two hours talking in the café!” She looked back to her book and muttered, “Yet you still don't know how old she is.”
You giggle, and a sudden thought appears that makes you smile even brighter. “You should do my makeup! She's taking me out to dinner at a really fancy restaurant at seven.” Wanda frowns. You hate fancy restaurants. The last time Tony tried to take the team out to one, you stared at the menu with a disgusted look on your face the entire time. Wanda ended up taking you to a diner later that night, and the burger you had was much better than the snail food Tony made you try. Why are you going out with this girl if she didn’t even care enough to learn that?
Wanda rolls her eyes a bit. “Why would I do that?” She asks, and you smile. “Because you love me.” you say. and she mumbles something incoherent before looking at your face and sighing in defeat.
You cheer, launching yourself into her arms and letting your head rest against her chest. The corners of her lips tug up at your happiness, but they go back down when she remembers why.
“Come on butterfly.” She helps you up off the bed, leading you to her vanity and forcing you to sit on the chair. She grabs a bronzer stick, gently applying it to the middle of your cheeks, kind of on your cheekbone. She grabs a beauty blender and blends that in before grabbing a blush palette. Bucky walks into the room, laying down on Wanda's bed and beginning to talk about some guy he met at the park today. “And he’s such an attention seeker!” He ends with, and it’s silent until Wanda speaks quietly- clearly to you, “Just like that girl you’re seeing.” You scoff, and Bucky bursts out laughing as he looks between the two of you. “What's that supposed to mean? You haven’t even met them yet!” You say, and Wanda shots back, “And I don’t want to.” Bucky holds his stomach in laughter, and both you and Wanda turn to glare at him. The frown on your face is clear as you look at Wanda, and she sighs as she tells you, “I’m sorry okay Butterfly? I just…..I don’t know.” You miss the way Bucky smirks at the witch as he leaves the room quietly.
“I guess…..I just don’t like that she has you and I don’t.” This brings a small giggle out of you. “Of course you have me Wands! You’re my best friend!” You say, oblivious to the way she grimaces at the word “friend”. She sighs, and doesn’t say anything as you apply some eyeshadow and highlighter to your face. “There you go Butterfly.” You look at yourself in the mirror, grinning at the sight and then at her. You kiss her forehead in thanks. “Thank you Wands!” You say, beginning to run out of her bedroom to go search for an outfit to wear.
“Anytime darling.” She mumbles, releasing a heavy sigh and holding her head in her hands. Someone gently knocks on the door, and she wipes her tears away and says without turning around, “What’s up Butterfly?” A slightly deep and raspy voice speaks teasingly from her doorway, “I thought that nickname was reserved for your girlfriend?”
Wanda turns around, facing the redhead woman in the doorway and lets the tears fall. Natasha’s smile falls, and she instantly walks to Wanda and wraps her up in a hug. “She-she’s going out with someone else Nat! I’m too late!” Natasha knows about Wanda’s crush on you, as it was revealed after Wanda finally snapped at her after months of the ex-assassin teasing her about the way she looks at you. Natasha’s always been a very, go for it type person, so that’s the advice she had given Wanda the first time the younger girl asked for help asking you out. The witch practically laughed in her face.
“It’s okay kid……it’s okay.” Natasha tries her best to soothe her, but nothing seems to help as the tears continue to fall so she hesitantly pulls away and asks, “Do you love that girl Wanda?” The answer is obvious. “Yes….more than I love anything.” Wanda says. Natasha gently smiles. “Then you’re going to do what you should have done a long time ago. You’re going to buy her her favorite flowers,” Wanda nods along, sniffling a bit as she tries to build up her courage. “,you’ll put on some nice clothes instead of sweatpants and a hoodie,” she giggles and looks down at her comfortable clothes before nodding. “,and most importantly, you’re gonna do it today. Before she goes out on that date. I’m like 84.62 percent sure she likes you back so it’ll all be all right.” Wanda’s eyes go wide. She was expecting this to be more of a in a few weeks plan, but clearly Natasha had other thoughts. The redhead doesn’t give room for complaint though, as she simply gets up and walks out of the bedroom.
Wanda takes a deep breath, wiping her tears and glancing up at the clock on the wall. It’s currently 4pm, so that means there is 3 hours until your date with that bimbo.
Three hours for her to get a bouquet.
Three hours for her to figure out what she's even going to say.
Three hours for her to get her shit together.
Those three hours are spent with Bucky and Natasha, spending the first hour going to multiple stores in search of the perfect bouquet. It’s stupid really, the need to find the perfect bouquet but the older two just roll their eyes and stay silent.
The next hour is spent trying to figure out what to say, and both Natasha and Bucky could not stay serious as Wanda rehearsed on a pillow. That pillow was thrown at Natasha's head.
The last hour was an hour of panic, especially when you came in to say your date was 10 minutes away. This was her time. She walks through the hallway, finding you sitting on a couch in the living room. You changed clothes, and you look absolutely stunning. She stops walking for a second to admire you, but a giggle from behind her causes her to abruptly turn around. She sees Tony, Natasha, Bucky, Steve, and Thor all standing there with smiles.
Tony's is more of a smirk, but everyone else's is supportive as they give her silent thumbs up. She rolls her eyes at them being nosy and continues to walk closer to you.
Your focus is on your phone, but you look up with a bright smile when you notice Wanda's platform docs. “Hey Wands! What's up?” She swallows thickly, sweaty hands gripping the bouquet a bit tighter behind her back. “Wands? Why do you look so nervous?” You giggle, and she can't help but smile at the sound.
The group is still watching from the doorway, and Natasha rolls her eyes when Tony pulls out his phone and presses record.
Wanda reveals what she was hiding, and you immediately gasp at the sight of the beautiful flowers. “Well aren't you just a gentle woman my dear? These are beautiful Wands. Thank you.” She smiles as you bring them a bit closer to your nose and sniff them. “Not as beautiful as you.” She cringes, and you immediately burst out laughing. “That was sweet but it was definitely the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say.” She nods.
Tony agrees quietly and Bucky hits the back of his head.
“So um….Butterfly.” You nod to acknowledge her. “I was- I was thinking recently and um…” Your phone begins to buzz, and you simply place it in your purse as you give her your full attention. “Well…” She takes a glance at the group who's still in the doorway, and they all send her encouraging smiles. It's then that you notice them, sending them all confused smiles before looking at Wanda again.
She's taking one last deep breath when Jarvis suddenly alerts the house. “There is a woman named Vanessa Tanner at the front gate, saying she's here to pick up her date.” Natasha and Bucky instantly panic, looking at each other before going back to Wanda.
As if those are the magic words, Wanda's eyes widen and she begins to ramble, “I really, really, really like you Butterfly and I know you may not feel the same way but Natasha and Bucky said you did and I figured that if there was a little bit of hope, I should try it.” A shocked look takes over your face. “It's totally fine if you don't feel the same way but I just couldn't let you go out with that bimbo named Vanessa if there was even a small chance you liked me….half as much as I do you.” She doesn't take her gaze off the floor, and she takes your silence as an answer as tears fill her eyes.
“Wanda. Look at me.” You demand, but she shakes her head no and continues to study the carpeted floor. “Wanda. Look…at…me.” She slowly looks at you, and the happiness in your eyes is enough to make her let out a small sigh of relief- not complete relief though.
“I wish you had told me this before I practically threw myself at a woman I barely know. Because I'd much rather you be the one picking me up for dinner than Vanessa.” You both giggle, and she hesitantly asks, “So...what does that mean for us?”
Natasha rolls her eyes and Tony shouts, “Ask her out you dumbass!” It's clear he's talking to the witch in front of you and she blushes red as she glares at him before turning back to you. “He's right. So, would you like to go out with me Butterfly?”
You take a moment to pretend you're thinking about it before asking playfully, “And what would we do on this date Miss Maximoff?” She hadn't really thought about it, so she takes a minute to do that before declaring, “I'd take you out to dinner, not a fancy restaurant with food you hate, but your favorite dinner a few streets away. And then I'd take you dancing to that place we went to for your birthday because you had a lot of fun there, and then I'd bring you back here and make you a homemade dessert. Your favorite.” You smile. “Then yes, I’d love to go out with you Wanda Maximoff.” You lean in a bit to kiss her cheek, and she blushes a bit.
Suddenly, cheering erupts and the sound of a confetti popper going off can be heard. “What the hell Tony?” Wanda asks, but both of you can’t help but chuckle. He grins. “This long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over!” Natasha smacks his arms and questions, but it’s more like telling him what to say, “Don’t you mean, “I popped that confetti popper because I’m so happy two of my teammates have finally found happiness”?” He’s silent for a minute before he laughs loudly as says, “No. Not at all. I meant to say, this long lasting nightmare of having to be around you two’s sexual tension is finally over! Let’s party baby!” You giggle, but Wanda narrows her eyes, letting them glow red. Suddenly, the second unused confetti popper in Tony's hand flies up to be level with his face, and he mumbles, “Well shit” right before it goes off.
While he’s spitting out small pieces of paper from his mouth and trying to blow them out of his nose, the doorbell rings. “It is Vanessa Tanner.” Jarvis notifies, and you start to walk to the door with Wanda hot on your heels. “Where are you going?” She questions with a hint of sadness in her voice as she’s sure you're going to go on that date with Vanessa even after everything just happened.
“I’m going to go tell her it won’t work out.” You say casually, and the smile is right back on Wanda's face as she uses her powers to freeze you in place and run ahead of you. You simply laugh, calling out, “Wanda! Wanda!” She turns around for a second to look at you. “Be nice please?” She giggles. “It’s nice of you to think I can do that Butterfly.” She runs off to go probably harass Vanessa, and you're left frozen in the hallway with a small chuckle.
What Wanda doesn’t know is that you’d been waiting for that day even longer than she had. She’d always been it for you, ever since the first day she came to the compound. But over time, you slowly lost hope she felt the same way, and decided to just move on. If Wanda hadn’t done that sudden declaration of love, the future you two eventually have together would have never happened, and that's something you now think about daily.
#marvel x reader#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#fluff#wanda maximoff fluff#wanda maximoff oneshot#wanda maximoff fanfiction#the scarlet witch#Scarlett witch x reader#marvel x you
235 notes
·
View notes
Text
So, I was watching ATLA and LOK for the millionth time, and there are so many elements in these shows that I have applied to my life, it's not even funny. This isn’t even really meant to be particularly educating but honestly I could have used atla and lok alone at the beginning of my journey and still come to the same conclusions as I had today. They’re both some of my fav shows since I was a child, and looking back and seeing its influence on me is very nostalgic. Also the live action is getting produced soon so I can’t think of a better time to make this post.
Chakras
Anyways In Avatar: The Last Airbender," Aang learns about chakras from Guru Pathik. Chakras are like energy points in our body. Each one is linked to a different part of life, such as love, truth, or survival. When Aang clears blockages in these chakras, he can use his Avatar powers better. I had made a post about I will link here but honestly watching the scene in a kids show is more appealing 😭😭
youtube
Meditation
Meditation is used a lot in the Avatar series. It helps characters like Aang to focus, feel calm, and understand themselves better. In real life, meditation does the same thing! It can obviously help reduce stress, improve focus and make us feel happier. In both shows I saw characters use meditation to induce a plethora of things.
Talk to Past Lives: Aang uses meditation to talk to his past lives for advice.
Ask for Help: Aang meditates to ask spirits for help.
Clear Minds: Characters meditate to think clearly and make good decisions.
Astral Projection: Aang and Jinora can travel as spirits, separate from their bodies, and etc
Yin and Yang
Avater uses the Moon (Yin) and Ocean (Yang) spirits to symbolize balance. Yin (Moon spirit) is like the subconscious mind, it's quiet, internal, and creative. Yang (Ocean spirit) can be seen as the conscious mind, it's active, external, and logical.
Just like in Neville Goddard's teachings, both aspects need to work together for balance. In the show, when the Moon spirit is killed, chaos ensues because the balance is disrupted. It's only when the Moon spirit is revived that harmony is restored. This is similar to how our subconscious (inner self) and conscious (outer self) minds need to work together to achieve our desires as we want to experience both of the worlds as they work in unison.
Astral realm and the sprit world
Atla and lok also talks about a spirit world. This is like another dimension filled with spirits and mystical beings. It's similar to what we call the 'astral realm' - so a space beyond the physical world where our consciousness can go. Also Jinora, a character in "The Legend of Korra," has a unique spiritual ability that allows her to astral project. So she can separate her spirit from her physical body and traverse both the physical and spiritual worlds in her spiritual form.
Jinora displays astral projection abilities multiple times. For instance, in Season 2, she uses this skill to guide Korra, who is lost in the spirit world, she also uses it to find and save Kai in seasons 3. Her astral form appears as a glowing butterfly-like spirit, and she used it multiple times to lead her friends to safety.
The Void state
In lok a character named Zaheer learns to fly. He was put in jail for trying to kidnap the Avatar. But he obviously didn't waste time while in jail. Instead, he used it to meditate and try to reach enlightenment. He does this by entering a 'void' state when he meditates. He lets go of all his earthly attachments and desires, and this makes him weightless. His ability to fly is deeply intertwined with his spiritual beliefs and his interpretation of the teachings of Guru Laghima, an ancient Air Nomad.
In the show Guru Laghima, who lived 4,000 years before Zaheer's time, was the first airbender known to have unlocked the ability to fly. According to his teachings, one could achieve flight by "entering the void" - which meant letting go of all earthly attachments and desires to attain true freedom. When his gf dies This emotional event helps him truly let go of his last earthly tether, thus allowing him to "enter the void" and unlock the ability to fly.
Reincarnation and the avatar cycle
I knew the shows were probably based of real life because I’ve seen aot nomad clothing, and I know monks are very closely reflected onto the show but really every aspect rings true and is similar to beliefs in Buddhism. This is especially true when looking at the Dalai Lama, who is a spiritual leader in Tibetan Buddhism.
People believe that the Dalai Lama is a new version of Avalokiteśvara or Chenrezig, who is known as the Bodhisattva of Compassion. When a Dalai Lama dies, it's believed he comes back to life in a new person. Then, high-ranking lamas look for signs to find this person.
This is like the cycle of the Avatar. When an Avatar dies, they come back to life in a new person from the next nation in a set order (Air, Water, Earth, Fire). The new Avatar is found using different tests, which is much like how the new Dalai Lama is found.
But there are some differences. For example, the Avatar can remember their past lives, but the Dalai Lama usually doesn't say they remember theirs. Also, the Avatar is special because they can control all four elements, which is a fantasy idea and doesn't have a real-life counterpart in Buddhism.
I was researching my a specific Lama and his story was a reflection of Korra’s character. It's interesting to note that both the Dalai Lama and Korra knew from a young age that they were special. In the show, Korra knew she was the Avatar when she was very young. Similarly, the Dalai Lama also recognized his identity at a young age.
Honestly, it's just a really good show to watch. I probably even missed some elements from the show bc I’m more concerned about watching it than learning something. But I love both ATLA and LOK and I've even shifted to LOK and will shift to ATLA as well! I really suggest watching its so good y’all. Byeee
240 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader
Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.
Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡
Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.
Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍
Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬
Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.
[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]
MASTERLIST
Previous chapter || Next chapter
“Miles, what would make you hate me?”
The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.
“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”
At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.
“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.
Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.
“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”
“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”
“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”
“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”
He thinks about it for a moment.
“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”
“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”
“No!” He rapidly shook his head.
“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”
“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”
“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”
“Well, you got a chance now.”
“How so?”
“You got me.”
You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.
“… I’ve got you?”
Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?
“F’course you do. We’re friends.”
Friends.
“Friends?” Just friends?
Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”
Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.
Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.
“You want some?”
You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.
“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”
“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”
Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”
“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”
“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”
“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.
“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”
You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.
“You’re welcome, princesa.”
Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”
His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?
You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.
Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.
“Sure, whatever.”
That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.
Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.
The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.
Damn the rich, all of them.
Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.
Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.
When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.
He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.
“Did I make ya wait long?”
A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.
“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”
He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”
A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.
“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”
With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?
“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”
And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.
Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.
“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”
“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”
“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”
“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”
“How so?”
Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.
“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”
He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”
“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.
The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”
“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”
His head turns. “… I see.”
He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.
“.. So can you tell me?”
A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.
“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.
“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”
Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”
“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”
Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.
What would make him any different from the elites?
“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”
He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”
“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”
“Credible name?”
“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”
The boy swallowed.
“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”
And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’
And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.
“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”
The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”
“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”
Without missing a beat, he answered.
“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”
“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“
“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”
“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”
Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”
With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”
Planned? Planned by who?
Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?
“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”
“Then the Aureum building?”
“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”
Miles pondered and pondered.
“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”
“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”
“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”
Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”
“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”
“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”
It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.
“You know any of their names?”
“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”
Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.
Miles swallowed.
It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”
“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”
“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”
Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”
“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”
Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.
“She from the finer part of York or what?”
“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”
Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”
“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”
“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.
“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”
Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”
“It ain’t like that.”
“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”
“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”
“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”
Miles didn’t reply.
As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.
“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.
“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”
“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”
“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”
Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.
“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”
.. Miles left seconds after.
It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.
His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.
He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.
But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.
Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?
An illegitimate child. Which one was it?
Your brothers, who had everything?
Or you, who had nothing?
And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.
And you could still taste blood in your mouth.
You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.
The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.
Snap.
Snap.
ＳＮＡＰ.
The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.
“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.
Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.
“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.
Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.
Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.
“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”
You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”
The lights dawned upon the both of you.
“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.
You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”
Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”
“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”
You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.
“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”
“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”
You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.
“Is that a threat?”
“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”
You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”
“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”
You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”
“Sure.”
Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.
No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.
But could Miles do it?
Could he actually change you? Humanize you?
Make you kind and loving, and normal?
You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”
“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.
“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”
“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”
You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”
Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”
Oh, so like a normal family?
We were capable of having that this whole time?
…
“[Y/n]?”
You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”
“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”
“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”
The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”
Such a romantic.
“Do you think you can handle it?”
“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”
Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”
“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”
“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”
The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”
Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.
“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”
“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.
Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”
Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”
“Well, you��re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so.”
You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.
A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.
He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.
In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.
Then there was this drumming.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.
You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.
You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.
Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.
Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.
It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.
Really, who are you, [Y/n]?
Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?
And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?
“.. Miles?”
From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.
Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'
Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.
“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”
“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”
His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”
He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.
“.. Nightmare.”
Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.
Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.
“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”
His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”
He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.
You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.
You chose him.
But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?
Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”
Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.
“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”
“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”
“Me duele la cabeza.”
“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”
He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”
“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”
He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.
But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?
“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”
Rio sat in silence.
“.. Que?”
Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.
“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“
“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”
Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”
“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”
“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”
“Well, ma, it’s just..”
“Did she cheat on you!?”
“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”
“And then?”
“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”
“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”
“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”
“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”
“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”
“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.
“So.. Who’s the girl?”
Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”
“Mhm.”
“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”
“Oh, so she’s an artist?”
Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”
Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.
He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.
But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.
But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.
His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.
“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”
“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”
Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.
“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”
“Oh?”
“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”
“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”
He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.
“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”
“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”
Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.
“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”
Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.
Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.
“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”
The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”
“I can help—“
“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”
“But Ma—“
“Rest.”
And he did.
Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.
her ♡ || two minutes ago.
sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭
remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date
i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad
if you want, we can do it tomorrow.
Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.
So he waited for another five minutes.
.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.
He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.
‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’
“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”
He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.
“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”
‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!
‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’
“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”
It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.
A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.
“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.
He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.
Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.
As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.
He peers through it, before kicking it away.
Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.
But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.
It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.
Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.
Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.
This belonged to his father’s.
He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.
A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.
Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.
It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.
“Miles, do you want juice?”
“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”
His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.
Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.
There was a USB.
“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”
Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.
As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.
The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.
And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.
Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”
You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”
One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.
Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”
“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”
Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”
You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”
Wait. What? WHAT?
Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?
I’m just as shocked as every other person.
“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”
“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”
“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”
“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”
You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.
A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.
You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.
Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.
The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.
It was your own greed that was worsening you.
Your desire to have a tantamount of power.
But what if you never needed it?
“Miss!”
What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?
“Miss [Y/n]!”
.. But what about Miles?
He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.
“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.
Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.
As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.
“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”
“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”
“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”
You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”
The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.
Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.
“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”
The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.
“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”
“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“
Clack.
You turned your head.
What was that?
ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ ＨＥＲＥ
No shit.
Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.
Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.
“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.
You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.
“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”
Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.
You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”
“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”
You tilted your head.
“Who would you like me to be?”
His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.
[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]
#miles morales#42 miles morales#42 miles morales x reader#astv x you#miles morales x reader#miles morales x you#astv miles#astv x reader#astv x y/n#earth 42 miles x you#earth 42 prowler#earth 42 miles morales x female reader#earth 42 miles fluff#astv#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x reader#miles morales prowler#miles morales x y/n#prowler miles#miles morales 1610#d
154 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
erkekadin-blog
Erkekadin
reina-2spooky-blog
reina-2spooky
giulia266eyes
Giulia266 Eyes A.K.A. Beres Giulia
the-art-of-dany
Mochi is life 🎶