Ralfa

Ilya's fingers closed around the forgotten soft black fabric, causing his mind to race back to Shane's unabashed display. He lifted the underwear to his face, breathing in the lingering scent, unmistakably Shane.

"Fuuuck, Hollander."

I think they are a bland trio but tid takes the cake for the worst but that’s a different story. what I can’t stand about Cordelia is that she had a great introduction. “I want to save the world and help my family” yet after chain of gold, all her thoughts go out to James. it’s all she can think about. she’s so mad at Lucie in chain of thorns that she isn’t looking at herself. maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with James, you would see that your supposed bestie is going through it. the going between James and Matthew is so unnecessary. we had that in TID. we had the Jem/Tessa/Will triangle. was that not enough?

CC is known to be OBSESSED with forbidden love. she has it in pretty much all of her stories. my main problem with Cordelia is how she changed from wanting to be a great warrior to obsessing over James 24/7. how can she not see that Alastair has been trying to protect her all her life? even after she finds out, she’s still basically “fuck you Alastair, James is more important to me”. the two times I was livid with Cordelia the most when it comes to Alastair is her spying on an Alastair/charles moment and then trying to say she thought he would tell on her and Matthew manipulating Alastair to see Charles KNOWING that Charles hurt Alastair. she is literally congratulating her brother being hurt and seeing his toxic ex. third place takes when Cordelia says Matthew’s rightful place is at James’s side as if he’s not useful for anything else

I have a love/hate relationship with Matthew. he needed a ton of character development but CC left him hanging. I don’t agree with the love triangle for many reasons. it was unnecessary, it was mainly there to show Cordelia would always choose James, and there was zero chemistry. if Matthew and Cordelia slowly fell in love, I could’ve been open to it. but Matthew’s whole purpose is to there by James’s side since everyone needs to worship herondales. I think in respect to the parabatai bond, he deserved better

yes he can be obnoxious and I’m pretty sure CC just gave all of Wills traits to Matthew to show she wasn’t making exact copies or whatever but it shows she is still doing it. I think Matthew was supposed to come off charming and a joy to be around. Matthew is more complex but there’s not any work on his character development. by the end of chain of thorns, he basically doesn’t matter. putting him with Cordelia so 400+ pages could be wasted was LAZY. Matthew and James are a tired copy of Jem and Will except worse. I enjoy Matthew being a bisexual but we barely see him really do anything. Lucie calls him out on his behavior but it doesn’t get further than that

why are the merry thieves thinking we know Matthew is getting bad but we don’t say anything. ARE YOU NOT HIS FRIENDS? I’m sorry but what kind of friends would watch their friend become an alcoholic? those are not great friends. it seems to be that Christopher and Thomas at least try but James doesn’t. shouldn’t a parabatai be doing more? shouldn’t they be more concerned? James really called Matthew out on his drinking once.

James in my opinion is more self obsessed than Matthew is. I do agree that he can be cocky and obnoxious but it shows also that CC does not know what to do with Matthew. there are underlying themes with Matthew but nothing is done about Matthew

he comes in very complex at least with his “I killed my sibling” and how he uses alcohol and the attention of others to calm out his thoughts. but don’t let CC attempt at complex characters. she doesn’t know what to do with them. now here comes the hate of Matthew. Alastair did not force Matthew to pick up that potion and give it to Charlotte. Alastair is not the one who even made up the rumor. yes it was shitty of Alastair to repeat it but he did not start it. Alastair was actually getting racist treatment from his peers which made him do the ah they won’t get me, I’ll uno reverse this shit so they can’t bully me! card

there is no development when it comes to not just Matthew’s character as a whole regarding Cordelia and James but Alastair as well. Alastair is putting all this overtime and for what? just so Matthew can keep blaming Alastair? where is Matthew’s part in mending their relationship? why is everything falling on Alastair? yeah let’s just have the POC do all the work. it’s problematic that Alastair has to do all of this while James and Matthew don’t have to work on anything? SERIOUSLY?

Alastair is constantly being blamed not just for academy days but for everything when it comes to James but mostly Matthew. Alastair even saves Matthew later on but we still don’t see any improvement of their relationship- which to be fair, CC makes the end of TLH about the romantic aspects of relationships instead

but still, alastair is having to walk on eggshells around Matthew. Alastair ALSO helps Matthew anyway he can when it comes to sobering Matthew up. since 400+ pages were wasted in chain of thorns, we don’t see any improvement or progress with Alastair and Matthew. Matthew has spied on Alastair and manipulated him which was mentioned above. ⬆️ Matthew has to know that his brother is a self serving dick yet he still says if you don’t do this, then you’re not a good brother to Cordelia which I made a few posts about but this one is the latest here. manipulation at its finest

honestly Alastair could be breathing and Matthew would get mad. no matter what Alastair does, it’s not good enough. yes we know Matthew is mad about the potion but that was all him. also telling Thomas this in chain of iron was childish. it deserved to be said from Alastair. Matthew is constantly doing a lot of petty and childish things that get swept under the rug

Matthew calls out James a few times when it comes to Cordelia. Matthew knows that James has been different ever since he met Grace. so wouldn’t a parabatai know that perhaps James wasn’t being a dick for no reason? look jordelia annoys me on all levels but shouldn’t Matthew know that something was not right? do parabatai not feel the other so intensely? I wouldn’t say that Matthew wants everything James has but I do see why he feels this way. (“everyone loves you, James!” yeah the way CC intended) though this is more of a CC picking herondales over anyone else. I can see why no matter what, it’s insulting that everyone loves James completely instead of Matthew

shit this has been exhausting. the friendships in TLH (especially TLH) were written in a lazy manner. CC usually doesn’t focus a lot of attention on friendship. she has a literal history of proving she cares more about the sex aspect than the friend aspect. think about how Lucie and Cordelia should not be parabatai but they still are. the purpose of a parabatai who is set up with a herondale is to basically worship them. that is why they are there. CC doesn’t give a fuck about Matthew, Jem, or Alec. Matthew might as well be dead by the end of TLH after how she treated him

I hate James so much but it’s nothing compared to my hate to his ancestors. James is introduced as your quiet, patient, reserved guy. oh but he can see shadows! which also was very boring to read. of course a prince of Hell would focus his energy on a herondale. James is not that interesting. his trauma regarding Grace is not a focus. his whole relationship with Cordelia is based on sex. I also don’t like Cordelia’s woe is me attitude in chain of iron. she knew during this time that James “likes” Grace and then when he acts on it, she’s like what the fuck! no kiss me so I can forgive you! I still find that cringe

Cordelia and James are actually great together because they only care about themselves. every couple is basically a copy of clace. Cordelia is honestly pathetic just living with James and waiting for him to love her. Cordelia as a whole is very sexualized which makes me uncomfortable especially when you see that CC is 50+ years of age writing about teens having sex. James is living in his own head where he’s thinking yeah everything is about me 24/7. he has a pov when Thomas is arrested that deserved to go to Thomas yet he makes it about James James James.

if you read shadowhunter academy book and find their story and the bane chronicles book vs TLH, you have two very different versions of James. James is actually more interesting in bane chronicles than he is in TLH. James also refers to Cordelia as food which makes me confirm that their whole relationship is based on sex. supposedly James realizes that hey, it’s always been Cordelia for him! his eyes have been opened! but why is he only thinking that when he has a sexual moment with Cordelia? Jordelia is not interesting in the slightest. why are Matthew and James parabatai? why is so much of chain of thorns wasted on this love triangle no one asked for? Matthew has more chemistry with Lucie in a few pages than he does around Cordelia.

Matthew sobering up and on the first fucking night, Cordelia is there to say I don’t like you that much sorry. WHY WERE YOU EVEN MESSING WITH MATTHEW IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE? I truly think Cordelia just wanted to make James jealous. why else go off with your husband’s bestie who is also his parabatai? the blame is on all three because they are awful to each other

when it comes to Matthew vs James, James does not show that he loves Cordelia by the send of chain of iron in my opinion. Matthew should not have run off with Cordelia but to be fair in Matthew’s eyes, he thinks James is treating Cordelia like shit. but that’s also where my hey wait! shouldn’t a parabatai know more? comes in. so we also have that. the first half of chain of thorns is literally full of miscommunication. CC does this a lot but it was at its very worst in chain of thorns

Cordelia and her treatment of her brother since I might have forgotten that. it has been shown that Alastair does a lot for Cordelia. he does. this is a fact. one part that also spoke out to me was her wedding when Thomas said he would throw out Alastair in the Thames. must be a Lightwood thing he got from Gabriel 😭 and Cordelia says no one is throwing my brother out TODAY. so is tomorrow an option? she is so desperate to with the merry thieves that she will put her brother in the back.

there’s only one other time where she defends Alastair where she says Alastair is my brother, I know you don’t like him but he’s my brother.

most of the time when Alastair and Cordelia talk, it’s about her feelings for James/Matthew. it’s never not normally about Alastair. let that sink in

here are some I’ve done about my hate for Cordelia when it comes to Alastair:

here’s this one

about the wedding

Matthew being manipulative

Cordelia being a terrible sister

others related to Cordelia:

Cordelia being cringe

Cordelia acting like she cares about Matthew

another weird Cordelia one

Cordelia not caring that Kit died for her

damn do I really post that much? 👀

The absence of his Ma humming as she worked. Of Sid’s constant chattering, always filling the space with noise. Of the soft shuffle of feet, the gentle weight of a body beside his.

The absence of her.

His Lenore.

Her scent, her laughter, the warmth of her hands. Gone.

And Haymitch was alone. But then again, not truly alone.

He had the bottle.

He drank from it like water. Like the milk he had stolen from Snow, gulping it down in spite. Like the fresh water in the Arena that had kept him alive.

Like her kisses. Oh how he had drank them greedily.

The liquor burned as it went down, always had and always would, but it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

—

At first, he welcomed the oblivion. He needed it. The sweet, numbing release that blurred the edges of memory, dulled the faces burnt into the backs of his eyelids.

But it didn’t erase them.

Didn’t erase him.

He still saw Ampert’s skeleton, the mass of squirrels atop him like a broken toy. Still saw his sweetheart’s blood pooling beneath her skull. Still saw Lou Lou—small, thin, screaming as blood leaked from her ear. Saw those birds as they stabbed Maysilee over and over again to punish him, watched as she drowned in her own blood. Always because of him.

The faces never faded. They just waited for him in the dark.

So he drank more.

—

Weeks then turned into months, and he drank so often and so violently that eventually he couldn’t tell how long it truly had been. He lost track of the world around him, and the people of District 12 left him alone.

Just like he wanted.

Mostly.

A few people he’d once called friends tried. They had knocked on his door. Left food on his porch, came inside to try and soothe him. Begged him to let them in, to let them help. But he never did. Couldn’t let them in. Not now. Not ever. He couldn’t let anyone in again. Couldn’t care for anyone else again.

Because Snow was watching, always watching, and waiting for him to slip. To let someone in, anyone at all. An old friend, a family he would pass by, someone he had helped with laundry, or bought wares from. He couldn’t do it. To be amongst someone he could care for, someone he had known, or known of. It was a risk. It would always be a risk. And it would be his fault.

He couldn’t let anyone get close, lest they end up like the rest.

Dead.

So he slammed the door in their faces. Snarled at them until they stopped coming. Hurt them. Made them bleed.

He didn’t want their pity.

He didn’t want anything.

Just the next drink.

—

One night, he shattered a bottle against the fireplace, watching the shards scatter across the floor. He swayed on his feet, staring at them, vision swimming.

He thought about picking one up.

Pressing the jagged edge to his skin.

Would it make a difference? Would it change anything?

He thought about it often.

But then he thought of them.

And it would have been for nothing. They would have died for nothing.

His Ma. Sid. Lenore. His sweetheart Louella. Lou Lou. Maysilee. Ampert. The Newcomers he had let die. Let down. They were all gone. And yet, somehow, he was still here. Still breathing.

Rotten luck.

Or maybe not luck at all.

Maybe this was punishment. A life sentence for surviving when they hadn’t. For being the one left standing. For daring to survive even when he hadn’t planned to.

—

The years blurred, slipping away as easily as the days. Haymitch had stopped keeping track. Stopped counting the birthdays that came and went, each one marking another year of sending two more kids to die. Sitting in the train with them as he escorted them to their deaths. Drinking to escape. Just like what they had done to him.

Just new faces to add to the endless supply of those he tried to forget.

But he couldn’t.

He could see himself in them. How scared they were. How unsure. He would watch their widened eyes that were filled with tears, or their shock filled stares, or watch as their violence and defiance would burst from them like animals backed into a corner.

Because that’s what they were; animals. At least, in the eyes of the Capital they were.

The only thing that made it bearable was the bottle in his hand.

But his body never forgot.

His stomach ached constantly, twisting with a pain he knew was deliberate. The scar puckered and long healed, but in a way that spoke of poor craftsmanship. Sloppy work. A haphazard job.

He’d seen firsthand what the Capitol could do to a person’s body, how they could change their appearances to suit the season, saw it each year he came to the Capital, each year he sent those kids to slaughter. He saw each year what the Capital was able to do to those kids in the arena. Had experienced it himself. So that’s how he knew the scar on his stomach and the pain he felt from it was no accident.

The Capital could sew someone up just wrong enough that they felt it forever.

Snow had done it.

Wanted him to remember—even as he desperately tried to forget. But there would be no way to forget it. The arena, or what transpired in the after when he returned. Each time the pain came, his fingers pressed against where the gash in his stomach was, and he would be there again; where he had been trying to hold himself together, trying to hold his insides inside. The moment he should’ve died, but didn’t.

A reminder.

That he belonged to them.

That he would never truly leave the Arena.

—

Haymitch never used to dream much.

Before the Games, sleep had been standard—sure, there were nights he lay awake listening to Sid’s quiet breathing, the hum of his Ma moving about their house, the bird call outside. But sleep had still been his. A refuge. A place to slip away from the harsh reality of District 12.

Now, sleep was a battlefield.

When he closed his eyes, the arena swallowed him whole.

The scent of blood and damp earth clung to his skin. The copper tang in the air. The sound of flesh tearing. The way the other tributes looked at him—desperate, starving, waiting for their chance to kill or die or be saved. The Games had been over for years, but in his dreams, he never left. He was always running, always fighting, always watching the life drain from someone’s eyes and it was always his fault.

And then there were the nights where he wasn’t in the arena.

Those were worse.

Because those nights, he was back home.

The house was warm, fire crackling in the hearth. His Ma sat at the table, rolling out dough with flour-dusted hands. Sid sat beside him, laughing over some joke Haymitch couldn’t quite hear. And Lenore—Lenore was next to him, leaning against his shoulder, her fingers threading through his.

It felt so real he could almost believe it.

Then the dream shifted, and they were laid out in green grass, and there was a gumdrop in his hand. A delicate little thing, blood red.

Lenore smiled at him, trusting, always so trusting of him, and he lifted it to her lips, just as he always did, and dropped into her waiting mouth. Whether in his home that no longer stood, or in the meadow. Or in the arena itself.

It was always the same.

Haymitch would feed her those gumdrops and feed her her death with loving and reverent hands. Hands that had caressed and held her. And hands that had killed her.

He had killed his Lenore Dove.

He had killed her.

Gasping, covered in sweat, the taste of death on his tongue he would wake after she stilled.

It never changed. Night after night, he saw her face, felt her warmth, held the sweet in his palm. And watched as she choked and died in his arms.

Haymitch sat on the edge of his bed, fingers tangled in his hair, the room spinning around him. His head ached, his stomach churned, and his throat was raw from whatever he’d screamed in his sleep.

He reached blindly for the bottle on the nightstand, knocking over various empty ones and other trinkets atop it in the dark. The liquor burned its way down, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Nothing could erase the memories.

Nothing could bring them back.

Would.

Sid. His Ma.

Lenore.

Gone. All of them, gone. And yet he was still here. Living in this too-big house in Victor’s Village, drinking himself into oblivion while their ghosts clung to him like coal dust.

He wished he could say he didn’t know why he drank. That it was something instinctual, something he couldn’t control. That he could blame it on someone else. On Snow. On the Capital. But he did know.

The bottle was a graveyard.

It was the only way he could bury the people he’d lost.

He drank to forget the look on his Ma’s face when he left for the Capitol. The way Sid had cried. The way Lenore had watched him from that hill as the train whipped past. To forget all the people he let die.

It was a slow, miserable kind of suffering. A way to atone for surviving when they didn’t.

Because Haymitch Abernathy wasn’t supposed to be here.

The Capitol had made sure to remind him of that.

They had killed Lenore. They had killed his Ma, his brother. They had taken everything, and yet somehow, he was still here.

Still breathing.

And for what?

So he could sit in this house, night after night, getting so drunk he could barely see? So he could wake up every morning with a pounding skull and the taste of regret in his mouth? So he could see the ghosts that surround him?

Snow had taken everything from him, but he hadn’t needed to pull a trigger to do it.

No, he’d let Haymitch destroy himself.

And Haymitch was doing a damn good job of it.

He took another drink.

It burned, sharp and bitter.

But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

—

The bottle on the table was almost empty. Haymitch stared at it, fingers drumming against the wood, mind hazy, beside him; a plate of stale bread and jam. He’d have to go into town soon for another. Maybe four. He was getting sick of running out, but the more he drank the more he needed to chase away the shadows that seemed to skirt in his periphery.

Over the short years he had come back from the Games he had aged considerably. The lack of sleep, the alcohol, and lack of any healthy food was one of the reasons for this.

His food was delivered on the same day as it always was every week, and his Victors winnings were given just the same once a month, and almost every single cent of that was spent on booze.

The knock at the door made him flinch.

Right. The food.

He hauled himself to his feet, stumbling slightly as he made his way across the room. The room spun around him as he sluggishly made his way over. Empty stomach and booze never made for great travel.

Empty bottles were knocked over and rolled loudly on the hardwood floors. Floors that hadn’t been washed since he moved in.

The Victors houses were decorated with gaudy items that most in the Districts could never dream of, but for Haymitch, it served as a reminder of what he had lost.

Every single surface was covered in trash, or bottles, or little things that he found and then discarded. Empty plates sat in piles on tables or broken in the sink. If his house hadn’t of been burnt down he would live there instead. In fact, it was Burdock who had found him, laid in the ashes a week after, sleeping to try and forget it all, empty bottles scattered around him.

He hadn’t been back since.

When he opened the door, the Peacekeeper barely looked at him. Just handed over the crate and left without a word.

That was fine.

Haymitch didn’t ever feel like talking anyway.

He carried the crate inside, setting it on the table.

Milk. Bread.

Always the same.

That goddamn milk. One of his first mistakes.

Another death sentence.

He took the milk and a loaf, and went back to his meal. Bread and some jam that had been in the back of his cupboard for who knows how long.

The chair groaned beneath him as he sat. A chair that had chips all along its dark wooden legs, and scratches covering every surface. It had taken many beatings over the years, been kicked and thrown and knocked over more times than he could count.

The bread was stale and brittle, and he dropped it against his plate, pushing it away with a huff. He wasn’t going to finish it. Usually never did.

But he could finish his drink. It was halfway down his throat when a knock came again. Haymitch frowned. He set the bottle down, rubbing his temples.

Didn’t I just get the food?

Sometimes he did forget things. Did them twice or not at all.

Another knock.

Usually if he didn’t answer they left it on the front step.

Another knock.

His gut clenched.

Had Snow sent someone?

Haymitch grabbed the nearest knife from the table—just in case—and yanked the door open.

A woman stood there. A woman he didn’t recognise.

And he just gaped at her, swaying on his feet.

She was younger than him, couple of years maybe, hair half braided, holding a small bundle in her hands—bread, he wasn’t sure, more fucking bread, or something wrapped in cloth. She didn’t flinch when she saw him, didn’t take a step back, even though he must have looked like hell. Smelt even worse. He can’t remember the last time he indulged in a cold shower.

Yet there she was, undeterred. Another do-gooder trying to fix the unfixable. Another young girl wishing to be with the Districts Victor. Disgust rolled inside of him.

Haymitch stepped back and slammed the door in her face, turning away from it. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

The knocking began again, but more insistent this time. But Haymitch ignored it, went back to his table, back to his drink, the one lifeline he had and threw down the knife, letting it clatter and fall from the table onto the floor.

He took another swig as he sat back in his chair, waiting for her to grow bored and leave him alone. But she never left. She just kept knocking. Insistent as she was, he was more stubborn and kept to the table as he waited, flicking the crumbs from the table onto the floors that hadn’t been washed in years.

But each time the knocks came, he felt the trickle of a memory surface; the loud bang of canon fire.

Every single one.

It was a while until the knocking stopped, and Haymitch exhaled a long breath, going to take another swig only to find the bottle empty.

It was always empty these days.

Unsteady feet carried him to the fireplace, atop it bottles of all shapes and sizes, the last drops that had been inside captured by his waiting mouth. He then moved to the bookshelves, books half pulled out or long forgotten, barren bottles against their spines.

He looked around the floor.

The buffet table.

All of them dry.

The kitchen was his best bet.

He shuffled through open doors to the kitchen, riffling through endless cupboards emptied or full of rotten food and forgotten china. Cans and bottles fell to the floor or rolled inside the shelves, the sound almost deafening, but drowning out the echo’s of that goddamn cannon fire.

The screams.

Nothing.

Empty.

His skin felt too tight, itched. He needed a drink. Needed it so badly it hurt, made him feel ill, made sweat begun to gather at the back of his neck, the corners of his temples. The room was spinning, seemed to shrink around him until he spied the sink, and there, he could have wept—could have curled on the floor and soaked the world with his tears, was a bottle with a third of clear liquor left. He snatched it and drank deeply. Drank until the last drop melted against his tongue.

It was heaven. It was relief.

It was his only escape.

Behind him there was a noise.

Heart racing and instincts kicking in, he spun around throwing the bottle in his hand at the woman who now stood behind him in the doorway. It smashed against the wall beside her, glittering glass spraying around her. She dodged it with a look of annoyance.

Still not deterred.

Maybe she had been sent by Snow after all.

Maybe this was it.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice came out rough, crackled at the edges. It had been so long since he had used it to talk rather than scream himself awake.

She lifted her chin slightly and gave her name, looking around the mess of the kitchen, bundle still in hand, “I brought you food.”

“I don’t need your charity.” He hissed, eyes narrowed, who the hell did this girl think she was? “I got all the money and food I could ever need.” Arms spread, he gestured to the room in ruins.

As quick as a whip, “Is that why you only get bread and milk?”

“Get out of my house.” The world still spun, and he lightly swayed on his foot.

He loathed the loss of that bottle, he could have gotten one last drop from it. Could have somehow scraped the edges to get it all out.

And loathed her presence even more.

Had the others sent her? The ones he had pushed away all those years ago.

She glanced down at the bundle in her arms, then back up at him, “You need to eat.”

Haymitch let out a short, humourless laugh, “Already got food.” He motioned to the crate behind him, where she had already spied only milk and bread, “Go away.”

She didn’t move.

He bristled, and a rage he had only felt towards himself for years began to surface, “Didn’t y’hear me?”

She was a Newcomer all over again.

Come to him.

For guidance.

Protection.

Company.

She would die like the rest.

He would kill her.

“I heard you.” She still didn’t leave.

Was she Maysilee coming to haunt him?

His hand tightened into fists, stumbling forward to grab a dirtied knife from the kitchen table. It scraped along the surface; another scratch. His paranoia was still thrumming in his skull, drowning out rational thought.

He didn’t know her. He didn’t trust her. Didn’t want her here prying and looking at him like that. And right now, that was enough reason to throw the blade towards her, knowing he would miss. A warning.

A threat.

And yet she still didn’t falter.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that.” She raised a brow at him.

In that moment, he decides that he hates her. Truly hates her.

She strode up to the table, opposite him. He could smell whatever was wrapped in the old tattered rag. Could smell her. She smelt of grass and the forest air and fresh laundry. It made him swallow thickly.

She shoved the stale bread and empty glasses aside to place the bundle down, eyes never leaving his before she turned her back to him and walked away, straight out the door, shutting with a click behind her.

Angry, bitter and shamed, he snatched up the bundle and unwrapped it. Fear made him think the worst. Always did. It was poisoned, his mind thought. Poisoned by the Capital. It was time he thought.

But it wasn’t.

It was a freshly baked pie.

—

Days passed and once again the food delivery came. He unpacked it in silence, unsteady on his feet.

Milk and bread.

Milk and bread.

Always fucking milk and bread.

And that night, the knock came again.

She came again.

Haymitch ignored it, had made sure he locked the door this time. All the doors, and the windows too for good measure. It made the house stuffy, and the smell of rotten food and unwashed clothes melted against his skin.

But it came again the next night.

And the next.

And each time, he pretended not to hear it. Pretended not to smell the fresh food that seeped beneath the door. Her rapping against the wood or the tread of her foot on the gravel outside.

By the fifth day she didn’t bother knocking, just came at the same time, dropped off the food and left. And he left the food at the door, right where she had left it.

But she wasn’t just at his door anymore.

One afternoon, when he finally forced himself into town—stumbling through the dusty streets, ignoring the glances he got—he saw her.

She was standing outside the market, arms crossed, watching him as he approached Hattie. Like she had known he would come.

Hattie had looked more worn of late, and when Haymitch had first come back, she had attempted to console him, but just like the others he pushed her away. At first she had given him pleading looks, then looks of pity. Eventually it turned to anger, and then worse; indifference.

The indifference was more agonising than the anger. He was just another drunk.

His stomach twisted.

Haymitch ignored the woman who seemed to follow him like a shadow. Walked straight past her, grabbing the bottles of white liquor that he had bought, shoving them into whatever pockets he had, holding the rest in his arms. He didn’t have time to shove them in a crate, didn’t think to do it, only one thing on his mind; get away from her.

She didn’t take the hint.

“You look like shit.” She said, little to no emotion present. It was merely a statement of fact; an observation. Sterile.

Haymitch snorted, “Yeah? Well, you look like someone who should mind their own damn business.”

She didn’t so much as blink, “You’re killing yourself.”

“That’s the idea.”

The woman frowned, stepping in his path, blocking him from his escape. “You think Snow didn’t know exactly what he was doing when he let you live?” Her voice was sharper now, quieter, “He didn’t have to put a bullet in you, Haymitch. He knew you’d do it yourself.”

Something inside him clenched.

He tried to shove past her, glass bottles clinking. She didn’t budge, stepping into his path again.

“You don’t know a damn thing.” He growled.

“I know you look like shit.”

“So you’ve told me.” He huffed, stepping around her impatiently, this time she let him, but trailed behind him.

Always like a shadow.

“You ever think about drinking something that won’t pickle your insides? Surely you have water in that fancy Victors house?"

Water.

His hands cupping the clear water, so clear he could see the bottom, bringing it up to his lips. The taste so crisp. So clean. So fresh.

Then the rabbit.

Dead.

The bitter taste of the tablet, the chunks that stuck in his teeth, the taste of yesterdays food passing through his lips the wrong way.

He just wanted to forget. To get away from her. "I’ll get right onto that. Maybe after I throw myself down a mine shaft."

"Long way down.” She mused.

It was like she had every response ready to go before he had opened his mouth. A retort to come back at his own. A way to snap back at him without even snapping.

Haymitch tried to speed up, but she kept up effortlessly.

"I don’t have the energy for this." Haymitch huffed, and sped as fast as he could towards the Victors village, the clanking of bottles loud, the people in town watching the lone District 12 Victor speeding away from a young woman who trailed after him. He just wanted to get back to that damn village.

Population: One.

She continued on beside him, and for one heart stopping moment, she reminded him of Lou Lou.

Following.

Watching.

Trailing along.

“Go back to your family.” He snapped, voice carrying behind him.

Without a pause, without even so much as an inkling of emotion, “Dad died a year ago from Miners Lung, ma went to a mine shaft to be with him. I got nowhere else to be.”

Haymitch stopped walking suddenly, feet scuffing against the dirt floor. He didn’t want to hear about her losses, didn’t want to hear about her life or her grief, he had enough of his own.

She almost crashed into him.

He spun around to face her, though not as gracefully as he would have liked. He felt so sick that it made him think about the poisoned water again from the Arena. How sick he had felt. How he had laid half hidden in those bushes thinking he might die.

“I don’t care.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, the weight and shape of each bottle pressed against his body. It excited him knowing they were there. But still she didn’t budge. She didn’t even look mildly offended by what he had said.

But the longer he stared, the more familiar she became. The slope of her nose, the shape and colour of her eyes.

“You’re Silton’s girl. Your ma…” Haymitch trailed off trying to think of her name.

Delae? Deline?

“Delphinia.” She nodded in confirmation.

Then it came to him, the fog parting for the first time in years.

“You and your Ma would come with laundry.”

She smirked, and it looked like triumph, “It was my favourite day of the month.”

The conversation seemed to sober him. He didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to think about his Ma, or Sid. Or how her Ma would come to him, younger her in tow to give their laundry. Always watching him. Always there.

He wanted to forget.

Haymitch turned around, “Nice reunion. Now get lost.”

All he wanted was a drink. Needed to taste it. To feel it on his tongue. But his hands were too full of bottles to take the cork out of one to drink. Too shaky to be able to balance them all to drag one up to his lips and rip the cork out with his teeth.

Haymitch needed a drink so badly that he felt that he might die.

He just needed to get home.

Needed to forget.

Needed a damn drink.

“You snuck me candy once.” She breathed from behind him, and he felt it all come back. Ice ran down his spine.

The gumdrops.

Blood red.

Feeding them into the lips he loved to press his own against.

Her smile as she laughed as he fed her another.

The fear as he yelled at her to sick them up.

Her eyes when she realised she couldn’t.

“I did the same to Lenore Dove.”

Her name felt like ash in his mouth.

Lenore Dove.

I love you like all-fire. Always will.

His fault.

He stalked away, stomach beginning to ache. But she didn’t relent. She wouldn’t let go. She was his shadow. And he wished the sun would disappear so that she would too.

“Did you eat the pies?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Go away.”

“It’s wasteful.”

“Finally you’re learning. Now scram.”

“The Mellark boy made ‘em. They got meat inside.”

“Still don’t care.”

Up ahead he could see the beginnings of it. The Victors Village. His sanctuary and his prison. His pace quickened.

“I’m just gonna keep bringin’ ‘em.”

Haymitch let out a frustrated growl, “Do whatever the hell y’want.” He called over his shoulder.

He moved through the centre, up the stairs to his home, his full hands wrangling with the door, the rattling of bottles louder than his struggling kick to fling it open. It crashed against the wall and he stepped inside, using his heel to kick it shut behind him, not bothering to look back to see that she had stopped at the stoop of his steps.

He needed a drink.

He needed a drink.

He needed-

He knew you’d do it yourself.

Damn her.

Damn her for being right.

—

The rain was coming down hard, hammering against the roof, turning the world outside into a blurry, grey mess. Haymitch sat slumped on his dirtied couch, the half-empty bottle resting between his legs, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness.

A knock at the door broke a bubbling thought. It was seeping into the back of his mind. Something Plutarch had said to him. Something he wished to forget.

He ignored it.

The knock came again.

Haymitch groaned, head rolling back against the dirtied couch.

"Go away.”

She was so persistent. So utterly stubborn in her way. She reminded him of Maysilee in that respect, and it made him sick.

Another knock, more forceful this time. He hoped that this was her growing tired of this, that she would soon leave him alone. Grow just as irritated as he was and give up. But instead of silence, he heard a faint scratching at the door. His head flopped forward as he looked out of the lounge room towards the hallway.

Then—

A sound.

A scrape.

His body tensed instantly, muscles locking up before his brain even had time to catch up.

Something was outside.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He strained his ears, listening. The wind howled, but underneath it—there. A creak on the porch.

Someone was at his door and they were trying to get in.

His heart pounded in his chest.

Not again. Not again.

His fingers fumbled for the closest thing to a weapon—a fire poker, heavy and cold in his grip. His breaths came sharp and fast as he stood, keeping to the shadows, every inch of him screaming that this was a trap.

It’s Snow. It’s another test. They let you live before, but not this time. They’re here to finish it.

The doorknob rattled.

His grip tightened on the poker.

Knock, knock.

His mind twisted violently, dragging him back, back, back. To the Arena. Panache. To the Capitol. To the nights when the door wasn’t a door—it was a beautiful landscape, and the knock wasn’t a knock—it was a warning before the pain.

His throat dried up. His stomach clenched.

Move, move, move.

He raised the fire poker, ready to swing.

And then—

“Haymitch?”

The voice cut through the fog like a blade.

Not them. Not the Arena. Not Panache. Not Snow.

Her.

Standing in the doorway, rain dripping from her hair, eyes wide she took in the sight of him—chest heaving, shoulders locked up with tension, a goddamn fire poker likely worth more than she has ever owned in her life gripped tight in his hands like he was ready to use it.

She looked at the weapon, then back at him, “What the hell?”

Haymitch couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t speak.

He dropped the poker. It hit the ground with a hollow clang, rolling slightly before stopping. His hands were shaking. His breath was ragged. His entire body felt like it was on fire.

And then the anger hit.

Hot. Furious. Drowning out the fear.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She blinked at him and it only made him angrier.

He snapped, stepping toward her, "What the hell do you think you're doing, breaking into my goddamn house? Sneaking up on me like that?"

She crossed her arms, her jaw tightening, "I knocked."

“How many times do I gotta spell it out for you. I don’t want you here.”

Her eyes flicked down to his shaking hands, then back to his eyes. A flash of recognition bloomed across her face, “Jesus, Haymitch,” She muttered, “You thought I was—?”

“Get out of my house.” He cut her off, voice rough. His blood was boiling. His skin too tight, “Leave."

She didn’t move.

"Haymitch—"

“Get the fuck out.”

Still, she stayed planted right where she was, searching his face. He hated that. Hated the look in her eyes. Pity. Understanding. Like she got it. Like she could see every broken, twisted thing inside him.

That made it worse.

"I’m not going to hurt you.” She said quietly.

“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

She let out a sharp laugh, “Right. Because this is ‘well enough.’”

His eyes snapped to hers, “Get out.”

She didn’t.

“You stupid or something? I said get out.”

She studied him. He hated that. Hated how she observed his every move, his every gesture. He swiped up a bottle and downed the drink, setting the glass down harder than necessary.

Silence stretched between them.

Then she sighed, shaking her head, “You’re angry at the wrong person.”

Haymitch barked out a humourless laugh, “That so?”

“Yup.”

Everything about her pissed him off. The way she wore her braids. The way she wore a dress that was heavily patched and hung against the tops of her knees. The way she smelt like grass and earth. Always like the earth. Hated the way she looked at him. And right now, he hated that she popped the P as she spoke.

The woman dropped another bundle, smaller than the days before onto he table, half wrapped in a faded handkerchief. The smell came quickly. Fresh pastry, and meat and something else.

"Eat.” She said simply, nodding to the sandwich as she looked him over again.

The alcohol burned as he drank again, "Fuck off."

She just sighed and moved toward the door, ”I’ll be back."

Haymitch scoffed, already looking for another bottle to begin, “‘Course you will."

Then she left.

Warnings: friends with benefits, this is primarily a smut fic, the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina, Jason is more dominant and the reader is more submissive (once the sex begins), the reader could be considered a brat, Jason calls the reader ‘babe’ (it is a canon event), Jason calls the reader ‘baby’, Jason calls the reader ‘good girl’, dubious consent - coercion (please see the above for an explanation about this), mentions of masturbation (watching someone masturbate), mentions of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep, mentions of free use kink, mentions of cumming inside someone/unprotected sex, marking/biting, groping/touching through underwear (reader receiving), orgasm denial (toward the reader), ‘just the tip’,teasing, there is a point where Jason’s dick is inside her without a condom but he doesn’t cum, and he puts on a condom before fully penetrating (what would you call that?), begging, slight mentions of subspace (but it’s more so described as a lustful drunkness), there is implications toward the end of fucking someone to sleep/fucking someone while they are asleep with their permission. I believe that is everything.

A/N: This is definitely one of my favourite things I have written. I thought maybe I was going to edit it some before re-posting it, but I was rereading it the other day and I actually realized that it's really good the way it is, so here you go - some random cocky Jason smut, inspired by the 'just the tip' trope. I hope you enjoy!

...

You knew that becoming a Titan was never going to be easy. 

But fuck, this was a lot harder than you imagined it would be. Dick Grayson was quickly becoming your least favorite person. Between the 5am wake up calls and the endless workout routines, paired with the bland ‘nutrient filled’ meal plans he had everyone on to ‘fuel your bodies’ for training - he was becoming a menial drill sergeant that you couldn’t get away from. One of the only things that made it better was the fact that you had friends around - the ability to joke about him with Rachel, Gar, and Jason behind his back. Was it a bit mean-spirited? Yes. Did you feel less guilty about it whenever he added more onto the training routine? Also yes. 

You had no clue when these skills you were working so hard on were ever going to come into play. Every single night, Dick retired himself into the comms room full of computers to ‘monitor the city for threats’ - but he seemingly never found anything worthy of the team’s attention. At least not yet. So you went about the routine of training hard, becoming exhausted, falling into bed to sleep and then doing it all over again. 

Oh - and there was the other thing. The not so occasional part of your routine where Jason fucked your brains out. The fact that the two of you had developed a mutually beneficial relationship to help ‘relieve’ each other when you were horny, a quintessential friends with benefits situation. But with your muscles sore from training and your entire body so exhausted, that was the farthest thing from your mind on this night. 

After a long, hard day of training, the last thing you wanted to hear was a knock on your bedroom door. You hoped that it was simply Gar asking to borrow some of your body wash again (because he liked the smell), or Rachel asking you to kill a spider in her room, and not Dick alerting you to some surprise training drill that he had suddenly thought up. 

You shoved your pajama top over your head, finishing getting changed for the night, and rushed across the room to the door. When you opened it, you barely had time to gauge if you were pleased or displeased at seeing Jason before he spoke. 

“I’m horny.” He announced abruptly, being very abrupt about delivering his feelings. 

But it was in character for him, and didn’t surprise you in the least. 

You hated that your stomach jolted at his words, even if just out of Pavlovian habit. It had been only two days since the last time he had fucked you. He had caught you in the shower in the morning, snuck into the bathroom with a condom between his teeth and opened the shower door to join you while you were distracted meditatively washing your hair. It had been steamy, soapy, slippery, and goddamn wonderful. 

But it had left you sore and stiff before training, and you were wondering how much give and take there was - if you truly needed his cock. 

“Hello to you too.” You said, your tone just as dead tired as you felt. 

You wouldn’t admit that you were a bit horny too. You were tired, and you wanted to go to sleep. So that made you annoyed with his presence. (It should have made you more annoyed than you were.) 

Jason bit his lip, raking his eyes up and down your body with an intense heat lurking there. You glared back at him. 

Jason was intensely attractive. He was a good looking guy, that was just a fact. And while you did enjoy the way he was looking at you, staring you down like you were a porn star when you were slumped with exhaustion, wearing baggy old pjs with mascara smeared on your face with sweat, your hair a mess from the day - there was barely a spark stirred in your stomach at the idea of fucking him right now. You were just too damn tired. Dick had been running you all into the ground, instituting the same training that Batman had given him, and it was fucking exhausting. 

“So - can I come in?” Jason asked. 

He gave you a very expectant curl of his lips and tilted his head toward you when you didn’t say anything for a few seconds. You just stood there and stared at him bitterly. 

You sighed hard through your nose, not wanting to answer the question. 

Fucking him might be nice. A good orgasm before bed. But you needed to put what little energy you had left into your nightly routine and then get a good, long sleep before Dick woke everyone up at ass o’clock again. 

“No.” You finally told him. “I’m going to bed.” 

You turned and walked back into your room, but left the door open. You hoped that he would get the hint to leave on his own. You grabbed your bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad and began taking off your makeup. 

You weren’t so lucky. 

“I’ll go to bed with you, babe.” He announced proudly. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

He then came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You felt the half hardness of his cock pressing into your ass as you wiped away your makeup with stern hands. You tried your hardest not to let him wear you down, even as you felt a tingle between your thighs. He was used to training this hard, so it wasn’t as exhausting for him. Clearly, he didn’t understand how tired you were - how badly you needed the rest. 

“Go get in your own bed.” You barked, your tone becoming more strained. 

As you leaned closer to the mirror to inspect your face, to make sure that you had gotten all the tiny specs of makeup off, you unintentionally arched your back, pushing your ass much closer to his crotch. Jason let out a quiet moan and you caught him smirking at you in the reflection of the mirror. 

He leaned in close, draping his warm body entirely over your back, trapping you there as he put one hand on the dresser and the other on the wall and leaned his body weight on you. You could have shoved him off you if you wanted to - but as you felt a tingling heat creeping up your back, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to. 

“Come on, babe.” He sighed into your neck. 

His hot breath on such a sensitive place caused a shiver through you that you would deny. 

“Why are you being like this? You know if you want a good sleep, getting fucked nice and hard is the best way to get it.” He told you, so entirely cocky. “My cock will put you right to bed, baby.” 

The words sent a hard jolt of electricity through you, settling a hard heat through you from your gut all the way to your face, burning uncomfortably through your skin. Combined with the way he ground his increasing hardness against your ass, you were forced to suppress a whimper. 

It made you even more annoyed with him - the fact he could play your body like an instrument he had finely tuned. And you reacted with that intense annoyance. 

“Why can’t you just masturbate like a normal person?” You scoffed at him, entirely firm, not giving away an ounce of weakness in your voice. 

“As if.” He held intense disgust in his voice at the very idea. 

He gave another firm dig of his hips, causing you to be pressed into the sharp edge of the dresser - a small twinge of pain that only added to the heat growing in your stomach. 

“Why the fuck would I resort to touching myself when I have the sweetest pussy ever to fuck right down the hall?” Jason explained. “But ya know, if you want to watch me jack off, that can be arranged.” 

Instead of responding to that, you just rolled your eyes. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice that subtle shift of lust in your features that said this was definitely a new fantasy of yours because he had brought it up. 

“You can’t deny that you need it too.” Jason whispered into your ear. 

“I need sleep.” You grunted in return. 

You then shucked out of his hold, using one of the evasive maneuvers that Dick had taught you in training, ducking under Jason’s arm when he wasn’t expecting it. Before he could blink, you were across the hall and in the bathroom. It was mostly because you knew that if you stood there any longer with his warm body pressed against your back, you would have given in far too easily. 

Naturally, Jason followed you. 

He stuck by your side through your entire night time routine, trying to wear you down. You weighed the pros and cons in your head without truly listening to him as the exhaustion seeped into your bones and battled with the lust growing inside of you. 

Jason brushed his teeth standing next to you in front of the sink while you brushed yours, all the while mumbling excuses through his toothpaste about how the sex would be good aerobic exercise to help with your training. By the time you got to doing your skincare, you ended up putting a face wash and moisturizer on him just to mentally drown out whatever he was saying - something about orgasms and endorphins and how it helps mental health. 

As you pulled back the covers to finally settle in, he snuck his way into your bed under the guise of ‘just cuddling’. Though you weren’t anywhere near convinced of that sentiment, you didn’t kick him out of the room or protect. You were surprised, but grateful when he took off his shirt, laid down, and seemed to finally shut up. You weren’t sure which you were more grateful for - the quiet or the stunning eye candy of his tight body on full display. But you didn’t question the fact that he had finally stopped nagging you. 

You crawled into bed beside him and settled into his arms. You gave him a kiss on the cheek as a goodnight (knowing that if you kissed him on the mouth, it would turn into something more heated). It was only about two minutes after you shut off your bedside lamp, shrouding the room in darkness, that the talking began again. 

“You could sleep through it.” He noted quietly. 

You sighed with deep annoyance. 

“If you want to. I could be gentle about it.” 

His voice continued on from behind you as he spooned you, one arm under your head underneath the pillow and the other laid almost possessively around your waist. 

Of course, he didn’t even have to be too descriptive for you to know what ‘it’ was. 

The idea of him gently fucking you while you fell into a lazy sleep was entirely too appealing. But he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to win. Especially not after you had put so much of your very little remaining energy into deterring him all night. 

“Go to sleep.” You told him with a huff, shoving your head further into the pillow. 

He simply chuckled. 

You hoped that if you just ignored him, he would shut up and go to sleep. 

You would never admit to him that heat bloomed in your stomach at the idea of Jason crawling into your bed when you were already in a deep sleep, using you for his own selfish pleasure and leaving you sore and full of cum to wake up to in the morning. 

“Hmm… no.” He replied, as easily as a petulant child, his breath fanning out over your neck once again. 

Your heated thoughts easily blossomed into a moan from your lips when he latched onto your neck without warning. He picked a particularly tender spot, sucking hard with teeth and the fullness of his lips, easily knocking the wind out of you. You shoved your heated face tightly into your pillow, praying that he wouldn’t notice your reaction. That he wouldn’t realize he so blatantly had you like putty in his hands. If he knew that, he would know that he could just take whatever he wanted and you wouldn’t protest. Not in the slightest. 

Jason already knew that. But he wasn’t just going to pull down your shorts and slam his cock into you. As much fun as that would be - he wasn’t barbaric. Plus - now that he had one of your sweet little sounds in his ears, he wanted more. He wanted to hear you beg for it after denying him for so long. 

He moved his arm from being so tightly around your waist, and pushed your shirt up. You tried your best to put up a wall of indifference toward this. He began skimming his touch oh so lightly along the roundness of your stomach, right above the band of your shorts. You knew he felt the shiver that ran through you, but you refused to say anything. You weren’t pretending to be asleep at this point, but it was a game to the two of you. You still refused to give in. 

But he was playing to win. 

He shoved his hand into the waistband of your shorts, touching you outside the fabric of your underwear. His skin felt like he could have burned you, even through the fabric. You had to make a conscious effort not to buck forward into the touch. When his fingers skimmed across your hotly beating clit (when had you gotten so turned on?) you swallowed another whimper and steadied your voice. 

“Jason.” You said his name firmly, like a warning bell. “If you don’t behave yourself, I’m gonna kick you out.” 

“I don’t think you will.” He whispered into your neck, defiantly cocky once again. 

He sucked another hard, hot mark onto your skin as he cupped your pussy whole in his palm and began grinding the heel of his hand against your clit. 

You let out a wobbling moan and your body thrashed, your energy so depleted that you could no longer hold back your body’s natural reactions to him. You were met with the hard wall of his body behind you, so firm and perfectly hot as he pressed himself tighter into you. 

He gave a satisfied grin into your skin and only doubled down, putting more pressure on your throbbing clit and causing hot waves from that point, adding to the rolling boil that raged under your skin. 

With the beautifully firm pressure and Jason’s talent, the way he knew your body so well, you could have come from this alone. Especially as the pleasure throbbed through your core, your underwear became more soaked through and it was all so beautifully smooth and wet. 

Jason began grinding his cock - still trapped inside a pair of sweats - against the back of your thigh. He groaned into your neck when he felt a pleasurable tingling of his own spreading through his gut, though he craved to be inside of you. As much as he was enjoying this - the sweet, needy sounds falling from your lips, the way your thighs clamped around his wrist, as though desperately trying to keep him in place while your hips humped against his hand like a bitch in heat - he knew that he needed more. 

And he was going to make you beg for it. 

When he felt the signature twitch of your legs that said you were about to cum, he stopped. He held his hand completely still, his strong arm easily pinning your hips down to the bed to prevent you from humping against him and simply taking what you needed. In that moment, he even curled two of his fingers up to shove the fabric of your underwear inside of you slightly, creating a sharp sting that reminded you just how empty you were feeling. 

“Jay-!” You let out his name in a petulant whine, about to scold him for the ruined orgasm, but he cut you off. 

“You gonna ask me nicely now?” He rumbled into your ear. “Admit you were wrong?” 

You wanted to bark out ‘either make me cum, or go to your own damn bed’ - but you knew that Jason was just as petty as you were. At that point, he would have gotten up and left for his own bed just to prove a point. 

“You’re keeping me awake right now.” You huffed out, trying your best to sound annoyed. (Which wasn’t too difficult, considering how badly the ruined orgasm had frustrated you.) “My point still stands.” 

Of course, sleeping was the farthest thing from your mind now. The sexual frustration had injected a new wave of energy through you, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to rest until you were truly satisfied. 

Unfortunately, Jason knew that too. 

“Okay.” Jason sighed quietly, giving a click of his tongue. 

He then completely pulled his hand out of your shorts and pulled away from your body. It seemed like he was moving to get out of the bed - you worried you had accidentally triggered that signature pettiness in him. 

But as usual, Jason Todd surprised you. 

You bit your lip to hold back a cheer when he reached for the waistband of your shorts and underwear pulled them down all at once, exposing your hot, soaked cunt to the cool air of the room. (At some point, the blanket had been accidentally shoved off you.) You took a glance over your shoulder and of course, he was shoving his pants down to his knees. You caught a glimpse of his long, thick, hard cock bobbing out of the fabric in the darkness. But you didn’t dare to spend too much time admiring it, for fear of making him too cocky. 

You relaxed against your pillow in satisfaction, waiting for Jason to grab a condom out of the bedside table’s drawer so that he could literally fuck you to sleep. 

You were surprised when he scooted back toward you, pressing himself right up against your back once more. He proceeded to simply press his hips against yours - his cock laid flat against the bare folds of your leaking pussy, immediately becoming slick with your wetness. But be made no moves to grab a condom or even tease you by pushing inside of you raw. 

(Which - yes, the two of you had agreed to always use condoms, but it was secretly a fantasy of yours that he would go against the rule because of his overbearing need to feel you raw - or even the need to cum inside of you). 

But instead of doing any of that, Jason seemed to be settling in to relax. 

Jason draped himself across your back, wrapped his arm around your waist again, and gently laid his head on your shoulder. But he made no effort to move, or fuck you. Your pussy throbbed with need, feeling the hot, hard length pressed against you, entirely unmoving. When you clenched around nothing, you let out a wave of slick that you knew he could feel right on his cock. You felt a groan catch inside his chest, but still, he didn’t move. 

“Jason.” You breathed out, having to question him after a few more moments of silence and stillness. “What are you doing?” 

“Going to sleep.” He answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I thought you wanted me to just shut up and leave you alone so that you could get some rest?” 

That. Little. Shit.

You resisted the urge to elbow him in the face. 

Obviously, being so close to you, he felt your entire body tense up with anger and annoyance. He was only able to partially hold back his satisfactory laughter. When the quiet snickers met your ears, you became even more annoyed. 

“Jason.” You scolded him gruffly. 

“Oh? I’m sorry,” He said, entirely sarcastic. “Did you want something?” 

“Did you want something?” You parroted back, mocking his words in a childish voice. 

Essentially, you had no more clever comebacks left. He had won. 

“I guess I can give you something for your troubles, babe.” Jason sighed, as though it were a grand inconvenience to him. “Maybe just the tip, though.” 

“Just the tip.” You sighed, finding yourself repeating his words once again. Though this time your voice was dead and sarcastic rather than mocking - mostly because you didn’t believe him. 

You knew that in Jason land, ‘just the tip’ meant slamming his entire cock into you after the tip lingered in your entrance for a moment. You clenched down on nothing again at the thought. 

Once again, you were expecting him to grab a condom so he could fuck you freely without worry. You were surprised when he peeled his body away from you slightly and reached down to grab his cock. After a moment of rubbing the fat cockhead along your folds to get it nice and wet, he did as promised and pushed the tip inside. 

It was the first time he had ever been inside of you without the barrier of a condom, and feeling his hot, raw skin touching yours - even just a little bit, made you gasp. 

“Jason!” 

Your voice was whiny even to your own ears, so needy for him after so much teasing. Upon instinct, feeling that painfully empty ache coming from deep inside you, you arched your back and attempted to shove your hips toward him - attempted to pull more of his thickness inside of you. But Jason was quicker, and he had his hands on both your hips, shoving you down onto the bed so hard and fast that the tip of his cock fell out of you with a wet pop. 

It was a sound that made heat beat through your cheeks, and the feeling of his wet cockhead brushing against the backs of your thighs took your breath away. 

“Oops.” He chuckled, and moved to slot himself back into position.

You had no clue why it was so dizzyingly hot. 

But this time he held you down firmly so you couldn’t simply fuck yourself back onto his cock. You moaned as the thickness of the cockhead popped back inside of you - you yearned for more, but he stayed still. 

After a moment, he began to move his hips so slightly, feeding no more than an inch of his cock into your throbbing cunt before pulling it back out. It was an entirely careful movement on his part where he fed you the first inch, and didn’t let the tip pop out again, in pathetically shallow thrusts that could barely be called sex. Your pussy ached, tingled, yearned for more. 

You mentally cursed Batman for teaching him such good self discipline and him using it for this.

“Jason.” You whined, trying fruitlessly to fight against the firm grip he had on your hips in order to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“What, babe?” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss a line across your shoulder. 

“You know what.” You replied, your tone even more frustrated and whiny. 

You wiggled your hips desperately, trying to get more of him inside of you. You yearned to feel the perfect ache of his thick cock splitting you open, hitting all of those perfect spots so deep inside of you. 

“No, I don’t.” He told you, his voice somehow steady and confident. “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” 

You couldn’t see it or feel it, but his hips were trembling and his abs were tight with the pure resistance of his self control. All of the energy he was using not to slam his cock into the tight, warm velvet of your cunt, especially as he felt it leak so freely around the tip of his cock, knowing how badly you needed him. He wanted nothing more than to watch you whine and babble and fall apart on his cock - but he wanted to win just a little bit more. 

There was a distinct pause. The last shreds of your own stubbornness hanging in the air, even as your cunt throbbed with need. 

Even if Jason couldn’t see your face from this angle, he could feel the warring in your body. He knew you too well. And he knew how to break you down so perfectly. 

“If you want anything more than this,” He told you, emphasizing the point with another pathetically shallow thrust. “If you want anything more than just the tip of my cock,” His voice was low and silken and creating even more heat that almost drowned you. “Then you’re gonna have to beg for it.” 

“Fuck you, Jay.” You whined out in protest, once again trying to fight his grip on your hips to fuck yourself against him. 

He viciously dug his fingers into the fat of your hips, causing a sharp sound from your throat at the beautiful pain. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to the back of your neck, and growled out his next words in a low tone that dragged through your insides in the exact spot where his cock should have been. 

“Come on.” He urged you on. “Fucking. Beg.” 

That was when you broke. 

At least you hadn’t given in too easily. 

“Please,” You whined out breathlessly. “Please, fuck me! Fuck me, Jason! I need it.” 

“What else?” Jason asked expectantly. 

You could have killed him. But when your desperate cunt unconsciously clenched down on the fat head of his cock and you felt yourself growing only more hot and needy, you knew that there was only one thing to do. 

“I’m sorry, Jay, I should have - I should have just asked nicely in the first place. I do need it. I need your big cock inside of me so badly.” You poured it on thick, emphasizing the last words in the most pornographic voice you could muster, hoping that he was running low on self control as well. 

And he was. So he was very satisfied with this. He grinned into your skin, leaving a surprisingly tender kiss on the back of your neck before he mumbled out ‘good girl’ - something that made you moan out sharply. 

You let out a sharp noise of disappointment when his cock popped out of you again. 

“I need a condom.” He told you, giving you a reassuring pat on the ass. “As much as I’d love to cum inside you, we do have an agreement.” 

You weren’t sure which was hotter - his sex-thick voice admitting that he shared one of your deepest fantasies, or the fact that he was caring so deeply for you, making sure that he protected you with a condom even when you were in that floating headspace and willing to let him do just about anything do your body. 

Your mind was swimming contemplating it, and next thing you knew it, he had the condom on successfully. He then slammed his cock inside of you in one firm, smooth movement. Any thoughts were easily pounded out of your head by the practiced movement of his hips.

“Better now?” Jason grunted into your ear. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating through his cock, spearing into you. 

But you were now alight with intense pleasure, warm satisfaction rolling through you - so you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care about how smug he was. Every bit of cockiness he had, he did back it up with a pretty big dick that he knew how to use well. Not that you would ever say those words aloud to him. Not even on your deathbed. 

“Just shut up and fuck me.” You ordered, though it was breathless and had no bite. 

“As you wish, babe.” He replied, and then doubled down - his hips fucking into you with an intense fury. 

You moaned like a whore at this, finally feeling that dizzying fullness that you had been craving since he had snuck his touch into your shorts. Jason drank up your sounds and easily wanted more - more of your perfect pussy squeezing around his cock, more of that wetness coating his inner thighs, more of that filthy wet smacking as he fucked into you. 

He leaned down, draping his body fully over yours once again, creating a pleasantly smothering weight on top of you as you laid on your stomach on the bed with your face nearly drowned in the pillow. He slowed the pace of his hips to a dangerous torture of a grind, fucking you so deeply now that you were sure you could feel him coming up inside of your throat. You let out a wounded noise, and he hushed you gently. 

“Shh, babe, I’ve got you.” He whispered into your ear. “Gonna make you feel so good.” 

He moved one of his hands from your hip and shoved it between your body and the bed, and once again he was cupping your mound fully in his hand - but this time there was no fabric barrier, and he was settled deep inside of you. It was filling your whole body with lava, turning every place he touched you to boiling ash. You were sure that you would have dissolved into nothingness if not for the anchor of your cunt hanging onto his cock, keeping you grounded in reality with that slight nip of pain as your muscles clenched onto him. 

“Now say thank you.” He told you, his voice so gruff in your ear, so thick with desire that it made you dizzy. “Thank me for giving you my cock.” 

He used two precise fingers to rub circles on your neglected clit, immediately sending shockwaves through your body that made your muscles jump and jolt. 

You gulped for air and struggled to move your face out of the fabric of the pillow, and Jason saw this. He moved his other hand and slid it under your cheek, gripping under your jaw to fully lift you up. 

He stilled his hips completely once again, causing a pained sound to emanate from your lungs as you clamped down on his cock deep inside of you while he continued to relentlessly work over your tender clit. He gave you a couple of seconds to catch your breath. But you were so cock dumb that you had to be reminded of the goal. 

“Come on, baby.” He encouraged you, pressing his lips to your cheek that he wasn’t holding onto. “Say ‘thank you’.” 

“Thank you.” You easily repeated back, now completely pliant to his desires. “Thank you for-for your cock.” 

“Good girl.” Jason praised you once again. 

Then he began fucking into you once more - it only took a few careful thrusts of his hips and the talent of his fingers on your clit to finally bring your orgasm to life. He shoved his tongue into your mouth as you screamed through it, imitating some sloppy version of a kiss while you flailed and creamed on his cock, your body becoming truly boneless and tired as the orgasm rocked you. 

When it was finished, he was still throbbing hard inside of you, and you let out a whine of disappointment. You were absolutely dead tired now, and you couldn’t even think of how much energy it would take to finish him off. Mister ‘Twice In A Sunday’ could last quite a long time, and that didn’t exactly work for you in that moment. 

“You can go to sleep now, babe.” He whispered into your ear. “I’ll clean you up when I’m done.” 

He began thrusting into you once more, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift closed. 

It ended up being a good night for both of you.

...

MILES is a very light sleeper.

a lot of people don't really expect that because he always looks like he's having the best, most deepest sleep of his life, all curled up in a tight ball, blankets burrito'd around him

bro is the literal definition of snug as a bug in a rug

he even snores just a little! when you first hear it you think he's like, growling in his sleep??? because of how low it is, nah, he's snorin.

there's literally never any sneaking up on him while asleep- MILES literally woke up because RIO walked past his bedroom door once. she didn't go in, didn't even touch the door; she just tip-toed in her work sneakers instead of socks or slippers.

and that woke him up, made him all grumpy because that was really early in the morning and now he can't go back to sleep

once he's up, he's up. and it takes an hour or so to get back to sleep, so he just deals with it

he sits up, but just stays sitting in bed slouched over like a zombie for a good few minutes.

he just needs a sec to boot up, give him a lil bit and then he's up and at em like he was never asleep in the first place??

weirdo.

one time, UNCLE AARON scared him awake from a nap because they had stuff to do, and he was literally so mad about it. he knew it was a dumb thing to be mad about, but MILES couldn't keep an angry pout off his face and AARON was just snickering at it the entire time

when sleeping, MILES doesn't dream. like, at all.

people around him will be talking about crazy dreams and nightmares they've had where their teeth fell out or they got turned into a horse or got chased by a giant lego man, and he's just like. tf???

he's very clingy in his sleep and when he's tired, even when he tries his best not to be, so if you choose to sleep with him then you just kinda have to accept your fate

thankfully he doesn't move around that much besides the occasional adjustment, he doesn't thrash around or anything crazy

the most annoying thing would probably be him snoring? it's not loud, barely audible if you're not right next to him, but if you do sleep near him then you'll hear it

it kinda just happens no matter how he sleeps, so if you can handle a little. um. natural white noise!

MILES is the best cuddle buddy you'll ever have.

he's very considerate tbh, he'll let you lay on him any way you want as long as it's not that uncomfortable for him

be warned though: he's an early riser.

will wake up first and do dumb shit to wake you if you're not up by time he's done eating breakfast.

he'll start lifting your eyelids, poking you, tickling your hands ( he don't do feet. ) and shit like a little damn kid

and he won't stop until you wake up, so gl w that

MILES, however..

well, he's also a light sleeper. more on the average side

but he doesn't wake up at every little thing. only if someone opens his door or talks too loud

some things wake him up, some don't

sirens and explosions outside of his window only start to wake him up after he becomes spiderman, he could sleep like a baby through it before

he usually falls asleep in a very fixed position, like curled up on his side or laying on his back with his legs crossed

but he'll always wake up halfway off his bed, limbs thrown out like he's a ragdoll, mouth wide open and dry, covers either tangled around his body or just on the floor

so.

yeah, MILES moves in his sleep!

he'll go from laying on his back to on his stomach, from his stomach to his side, from his side to somehow slumped against the wall by his bed???

because of that, he'll wake up very disoriented. he needs more than a second to boot up, his feet just kinda carry him to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face and stuff-

MILES isn't up-up until he blindly puts his hands under the ice cold water to wet his toothbrush and that shocks him awake, only to realize he completely missed his toothbrush and squeezed the dollop of toothpaste directly into the sink

he kinda just stares at it for a few minutes, pretty embarrassed, before scooping it off the porcelain ( or whatever sinks are made of ) and using it to brush his teeth

somehow, JEFF always knows when MILES just let the wasted toothpaste dissolve into the running water and squeezed more.

it's like his own spidey-sense.. just for something as stupid as toothpaste.

MILES does dream almost every time he's asleep, even when just napping, but he often doesn't remember them unless they were super duper crazy

he remembers the nightmare where he shot webs out his butt like a real spider, and that really scary one that he doesn't like to recall but has to do with the prowler

but he can never recall the only one that actually made him wake up in a cold sweat, panting as if he just ran a marathon.

"what was it?", you may ask?

well, MILES was president of some place.

he didn't find out where until DREAM PRESIDENT MORALES set a lot of very prejudiced laws against lego people, and it turns out he was president of lego city

( one of the laws was that, if anyone falls into the river, they're not allowed to be saved )

he got overthrown during a revolution that was led by a very violent lego spiderman who only spoke in what his brain's version of spanish was, so he could barely understand anything

and the part that made him wake up was when they tied him down and were threatening to go through his sketchbook and, upon opening it to the first page, something jumped out at him and startled him awake

you know those jumpscare videos where a spider jumps out during a seemingly calm scenario?

yeah, MILES gets weird deja vu when he sees those, but doesn't know it's because of that dream.

anyways- MILES does try his best to cuddle when sleeping, he really does!

he'll spoon ( big or little, he don't mind ), lay on you, let you lay on him

even just holding hands, or sleeping back to back

anything really, long as he goes to sleep touching you

but if it's one of his more active nights where he makes his big moves, you probably won't survive unless you're a deep sleeper.

he'll probably push or kick you, and not be sorry about it.

and he'll wake up totally out of it, wondering why the hell he's so uncomfortable

and sees he's sprawled on top of you like a terrible blanket instead of the very cute, cliche way he imagined waking up with you

something like this will happen every time, so. just throw him a pillow and a sheet and tell him to sleep on the floor.

or you take the floor, either works for him-

MILES really isn't the perfect gentleman. unless you or his parents tell him to give you the bed, he will happily let you sleep on the floor

never wakes up before you unless he had a really bad nightmare like PRESIDENT MORALES, and if you wake him up he'll be so petty and passive aggressive while he's still half asleep

so just. slap him awake if you need him that bad, shake him violently and yell frantically that they hit the pentagon

just wake him right up, so that he can't just glare at you with an adorable sleepy pout on his face, eyeing you angrily, even as he trudges to the bathroom...

And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.

After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.

Fun, right?

Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.

The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.

Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.

You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.

But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.

“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.

Silence.

He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”

You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.

A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.

“Yes, Miles?”

“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.

You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”

“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.

“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.

He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.

“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for… obvious reasons.” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling.

He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.

“And what reasons are those?” he asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.

Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His hand gestured to the air plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“

“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”

He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.

“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.

He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.

A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.

“What are you—?”

He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.

“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.

Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.

“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.

“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.

“I love you, Miles.”

— extra scene

Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.

Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.

“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.

“Ow!”

Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca eschucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

And when you heard Miles expel a weighted, disgruntled sigh; you were led to believe the two of you had more in common with each other apart from the fact that you both lived here.

After weeks and weeks of begging, and endless explanations as to why exactly he needed his girlfriend to sleep over when they wouldn’t even get to utilize the time spent together because they were supposed to be asleep, Miles had finally convinced his mom and dad to let the two of you have a sleepover.

Fun, right?

Yeah, well you thought it’d be. Until his mom insisted the two of you bring your pillows and blankets and fantasies of your life as a matured couple to the living room and sleep out there. Six feet away from each other. You guys were practically social distancing like it was 2019 all over again.

The curt reasoning she offered included something about her not wanting the two of you in his room alone at night; not that she thought her son would actually be dumb enough to do anything along those lines with her in the house. You loved Mama Rio, but even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. This was her house, and that meant you had to follow her rules. The fact that you were even able to come over as much as you did was a blessing in itself, so you took everything else in stride.

Miles let you take the couch of course, and he was currently sprawled out on his back on the floor, a pillow tucked beneath his head as he studied the minuscule cracks in the ceiling as if they truly interested him. Scrolling through his instagram timeline had gotten old fairly quickly, and at 1:00AM in the morning, neither of you were really motivated enough for conversation.

You were more than grateful to spend a night with your boyfriend, but this wasn’t necessarily how you expected it to go. Whenever you guys would hang out during normal hours of the day, you’d always end up in his embrace, curled and cuddled into each other comfortably. Whatever movie or tv-show you’d put on in the background begging for the same attention you’d give each other. After growing used to such a routine, that was really the only way you could fall asleep at his house.

But alas, holding your pillow close to you instead of him would have to suffice, you decided, as you let your eyes close once again.

“Baby?” Miles called out into the darkness, lip chewed in anticipation.

Silence.

He’d said only a word but you knew better than to engage. A conversation would end up with the two of you in trouble in the morning, so you pretended to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake. I counted exactly three seconds between your last two breaths and when you’re asleep it slows down to five.”

You stifled a laugh, ultimately blowing your cover. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

“People who are asleep don’t laugh!” he quipped.

A smile snuck onto your lips and you hadn’t the heart to reprimand it, lids peeling back open to stare up at the same ceiling he was.

“Yes, Miles?”

“Can you not fall asleep either, or have I become an insomniac all of a sudden?” The question came with a sigh, long arms spread to their full wingspan as he tried to count how many full rotations the ceiling fan made in a minute. That was how bored he was.

You sighed disappointedly, toying with the frayed tassels on your blanket. A moue on your face. “No, I can’t fall asleep either.”

“I think I know why.” he sung the last word in suggestion, hands absentmindedly drumming against his abdomen.

“Miles,” you warned, letting your head fall to the side so you could stare at the top of his head and address him directly. “Your mom gave very specific instructions, and personally, I would like to return home to mine with my head still on my shoulders.” grumbling your response, you shoved down the urge to invite him up there with you like your mind was telling you to.

He propped himself up on an elbow at that, eyes immediately making contact with yours. Your first mistake was not looking away, because those pretty pools of hazel were already starting to convince you and he hadn’t even opened his mouth yet.

“But how is that fair?” he complained, sounding exasperated. “We take naps together all the time when you’re here, I just wanna cuddle with you.” he sulked, as if you were the one who’d come up with the rule. Never in a million years would you submit the both of you to this kind of torture. You loved falling asleep in his arms.

You rolled your eyes at him, “Well, yeah. But that’s during the day, when she can check on us anytime she wants to. I don’t think your mom wants us that close to each other at night for… obvious reasons.” The last part of your sentence faded to a jumbled murmur as your gaze traveled back to the ceiling.

He impishly raised a brow as if he didn’t know what you were referring to, chin resting in the palm of his hand. With only the faded lights of the city to illuminate the living room, the cheeky smile on his face went unnoticed, though you could hear it in the tone of his voice, loud and clear.

“And what reasons are those?” he asked, feigning innocence. His long lashes blinking at you.

Hand smacking to your forehead, you recited a silent prayer, a plea for strength. It was beginning to look like you weren’t going to get yourself out of this. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His hand gestured to the air plainly. “Well obviously. But still, we’re not dumb. That’s why I always take you to the roof when we—“

“Miles Gonzalo Morales do not finish that sentence!”

He snorted at the squeak of your voice and you used your pillow to hide your heated face.

“This is not going to help us fall asleep.” your irritated statement was muffled from the fabric of the pillowcase.

He hummed. “Exactly, meaning there’s only one thing left to try.” Slow to catch on, you didn’t realize what he meant until you felt the couch dip from the weight of his knee.

A hand trickled up the exposed skin of your thigh and it stopped when it met your sleep-shorts clad hip, the pillow snatched from your face and tossed onto the floor where he previously resided just a second ago.

“What are you—?”

He hovered over you, one hand pressed into the cushion beside your waist to hold himself up. Your question fell short when he swiftly parted your legs with his other hand and comfortably slotted his body between your thighs. A relieved sigh escaped him, his cheek nuzzling into the soft of your chest when he laid on top of you. His favorite way to cuddle.

“Shhh, trying to sleep.” murmuring a dismissive answer to your query, he let his eyes flutter to a close and snaked his arms around your waist, forearms cradling the curve of your back.

Contrary to the fight you were putting up just a minute ago— your arm curled over the expanse of his shoulders, fingers idly twirling at the baby curls that dusted the nape of his neck, something you always did to help him fall asleep faster. He let out a low, satisfied sound and relaxed into you completely, his hold on you tightening. While a part of you wanted to protest, an even bigger part wanted to remain under him like this. His weight was comforting; made you feel secure in the way a weighted blanket did.

“Your mom is not going to be happy with us.” you reminded him, stretching your other arm down enough to grab your blanket and pull it up over the two of you.

“It’s worth it. I’ll happily take the blame,” he drawled sleepily, snuggling in closer to the kiss that grazed his forehead. “I love you…” The laggard pace to his words let you know he was already dozing off, and you smiled, fatigue finally catching up with you too.

“I love you, Miles.”

— extra scene

Jeff stood in silence, arms folded over his broad chest and lips puckered awkwardly. Rio occupied the space next to him, hands perched on her wide hips, fingers tapping against them and her jaw clenched in disapproval. Her expression was everything but amused at the scene in front of them. He stole a tactful glance at his wife every two seconds, silently trying to gauge how irritated she was without having to ask her.

Sometime during the night you and Miles had switched places, and now his lanky legs were draped over the arm of the small couch and you were on top of him, clung to his body like a wet T-shirt, face barely visible seeing as it was nestled into the crook of his neck. With his mouth hanging slack as he loftily snored, Rio felt her eye almost twitch while she stared down at her stubborn son, who seemed to have magically teleported from his assigned spot on the floor and into yours instead.

“Well, I coulda told’ya that would happen.” Jeff said quietly with a laid-back shrug, to which Rio responded with a back-handed swat to his chest.

“Ow!”

Through her aggravation she still kept her voice low as to not wake the two of you, eyes narrowed at her husband. “I am going to strangle this boy, Jeff. Dios ayudame. ¡Tu hijo nunca eschucha! (God help me, your son never listens!)” she griped, gesturing towards Miles’ arm that was loosely circled around your waist. She tramped down the hall, hands tossed up in defeat while she grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

Lips downturned into an offended frown, Jeff coddled his chest with his palm and followed after her, voice kicked up an octave like a nagging child. “Why is he only my son when he does something you don’t like? We made him together!”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms!

It didn’t matter in the moment. Both of you just wanted each other’s energy. He wanted you to keep grinding on him the way you were. You wanted him to keep rubbing your ass the way he was. You could feel his increasing heartbeat as you deepened the kisses. He felt so small under you but he loved it.

Before Miles knew it, both of your shirts began to slip off. After 15 minutes of making out, the second stage was beginning. He slowly began to massage your tits through the bra, allowing you to let out small moans into his mouth. Your left hand moved from his neck to his chest, subconsciously going up and rubbing his lower abdomen. A shiver went up his spine as he broke the kiss and let out a quiet gasp into your neck.

You smiled to yourself as you had found something that made him tingle. He began to kiss your neck and leave little hickeys that could barely be seen due to your complexion. You did the same, leaving one dark purple hickey that could be blended in with his prowler suit.

For a moment, you two stopped to stare at each other. You could see the mixture of love and yearning for you in his eyes. All the emotions and intimidation of the prowler has quieted down, and it was just your beautiful boyfriend. You two began to smile at each other and even let out a little laugh. If it was one thing that Miles had learned from you, it was that vulnerability was not weak.

- E-1610

Miles is a lot more playful during these sessions. He lets you take the lead, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t do anything to you. He loves when you grab the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. It makes him feel like he’s in a movie or a book. He knows you love to have your ass grabbed because the first time he did it, you let out a little moan into his ear….had him thinking about that for DAYS.

He’s usually the one to pick the music bc he listens to more music than you. This time, he chose the playlist with “Sativa” by Jhené Aiko in it, one of his favorite Swae Lee features. You love to lay on top of him when you two makeout and he doesn’t object because it gives him more access to you.

He loves to hold hands when you two are making out. Believe it or not, Miles is never really relaxed. He’s always rushing, always has somewhere to go, always jittery, anxiety be on 10. But when he’s holding you, when he feels you, all of that goes away. This is one of the only moments where he isn’t worried about grades, being Spider-Man, or his parents. When your lips connect with his, a switch is flipped.

You start to grind on him, his crotch rubbing up on yours. He quickly hides his moan in your ear…and the hand on your ass squeezes harder. He tried to slow his heartbeat down as you’re giving him those neck kisses he loves some much. You leave a hickey that he knows his parents will raise hell if they see, but he doesn’t care in the moment.

As you keep slowly grinding on him, he’s taking yours and his shirt off and grabbing your boobs under the bra. You let out a moan that thankfully couldn’t be heard past your door. You could feel him getting a little carried away but you didn’t care. He didn’t care either, he just wanted you, he needed you.

He added a heavy handed slap to your ass that made you gasp. He then chuckled quietly to himself as you did the same. Your tongue began to slip into his mouth, making both of you moan into each other’s mouths. You grabbed his neck, choking him lightly, something he didn’t know he liked.

Your lips departed as you both started cracking up out of nowhere, seeing as how wild you had gotten. These are the moments he loved the most, the little things that were irreplaceable. Moments like these where he felt like a regular boy in Brooklyn who had someone he loved.

Damn him.

You expected him to try and draw your attention, he didn’t, and that was the problem.

He let you ignore him. All throughout the two hour lecture he let you pretend he wasn’t there and that did not keep you from thinking about him.

You had to ask if you could borrow Amelia’s notes after lecture and she gave you a worried look, she was the one normally begging to see your notes.

~~~

You had lunch before you had to assist with a lecture, sitting with Brandon and your other friends. Your boyfriend had been silent about your sudden hair change where as your other friends had been curious and a little negative only one seemed to like it. You ignored them as you sat at the table with Brandon’s arm thrown over your shoulder.

“You didn’t come to school yesterday,” one of your other friends, Franny pointed out, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. She wasn’t a real red head, but she had been dying her hair for as long as you had known her, to the point you couldn’t figure out what colour her hair really was.

“Stomach ache,” you shrugged, “Did you miss me too much?”

“I needed help understanding Tami’s lecture, she talks too fast and explains to little, you’re her TA aren’t you? Her and Jefferson?”

“I’ll make time to help you with it if you buy me dinner.”

“Unlike you, Ms. Genius, I am broke.”

Tyler, one of the others looked up from his honey garlic chicken with a frown , “You have a trust fund.”

“Yes and I have a two thousand dollar limit a week!”

“How much do you spend in a day?!”

“I only spend on necessities!”

“Franny,” Mei , the one who liked your hair, grunted with a roll of her dark eyes, “You don’t even know what necessities are.”

“Well excuse me for not growing up poor.”

“Wow,” you, Mei and Tyler drawled sarcastically (the only minorities at the table) while the others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“No offence,” Franny added running her hands through her hair, Franny had this thing called foot in mouth syndrome. First time you met her you almost strangled her. She was more Brandon’s friend than yours, their mothers were friends.

You pointed at her with your fork, “You see, just for that I’ll charge you two hundred bucks an hour for my service.”

“Get wrecked.”

“Get bent,” you retorted, “maybe it will get your foot out of your mouth.”

“Maybe I’ll let Brandon do it.”

“Franny,” Brandon scolded and you threw your fork at her, it bounced off her forehead and clattered to the floor. With a huff you stole your boyfriend’s to continue eating as she squawked.

“Now I need a fork,” he huffed kissing your cheek before going to get another.

Mei nudged you suddenly, “Who’s that with Amelia?”

You looked back and sucked in a sudden breath at the sight of him. He towered over her much like he did you. You never really thought about Miles’ height, something he no doubt got from his dad, your fading Memories of Mr. Davis being ones where you had to tilt your head back awkwardly to look at him.

You weren’t short by any means, neither was Amelia but damn.

They seemed to be having a conversation.

When did that happen?

Then Amelia did the one thing you would never forgive her for, she pointed in your direction and immediately Miles’ eyes found your own from across the room. You couldn’t help but shudder, lips parting at the attention. He smirked slightly, hard eyes glinting. You went to force yourself to look away until you saw Brandon, but it wasn’t just you, Miles saw him too and you wondered if he knew that the boy with crooked glasses and dark hair was the one you had chosen after leaving him behind so suddenly.

You recognized the flash of carnage in the hard lines of his face, the promise of damage.

As Brandon cut across your vision, Miles took an inconspicuous step forward, if you hadn’t been overly aware of Miles’ character you would have thought it was an accident. But as Brandon hit the floor, face cracking against the blue tile you knew better.

The answer was yes he knew and he didn’t like it one bit.

Your table released sounds of shock, Tyler outright cackled as you scrambled from your seat, the entire food court turning to see what had happened, immature fingers and snickers followed.

Amelia crouched to Brandon’s height. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“You okay man? My bad,” Miles had the audacity to say, brows and lips pulling down into a apologetic frown.

You shot him a viscous glare that returned he with a dangerous little smirk as you crouched to check on your boyfriend. His nose bloody but not broken. “You’re fine,” you reassured, “not broken,” you whispered, picking up his glasses that had fallen from his face.

“That’s embarrassing.”

“Sorry man,” Miles apologized again, sticking out a hand and you had half the mind to bite and snap at it. Brandon took his hand and let Miles pull him upright with a bit more force than necessary causing him to stumble, you stepped forward to throttle the little shit.

“Here,” Amelia appeared with napkins and you took them to help, pressing the sheets of paper against his nose to catch the blood.

Your gripped your boyfriend by the hand, “I’ll take you to the nurse-.”

He shook his head, “I’ll go myself.”

“Brandon—.”

“You don’t have any other time to eat today,” he held the napkins to his nose, patting you hand in reassurance, “The Nurse is just around the corner I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go with him,” Miles offered and you shook.

“You don’t have to-.”

“It was my fault, the least I can do is make sure you don’t drop on your way over.”

Hell no.

“Miles,” you started dangerously, “¿a qué están jugando?”

He made face that could only be described as fake innocence, “Mama told me to be nice, es lo que voy a hacer.”

You opened her mouth to yell, nice? That was him being nice? That bastard!

“You guys know each other?” Brandon cut in, his voice nasally, blue eyes squinted as he tried to get a better look at Miles and you realized you were still holding his glasses.

You wiped them off with the hem of your shirt and balanced them precariously on the bridge of his bruised nose. He blinked and looked between the two of you.

“Yeah,” Amelia jumped in when she knew you weren’t going to answer, your lips pursing stubbornly. “They grew up in Brooklyn together, I was just about to invite him to sit with us,” she looked at you, “So how about you introduce them to the others and I take Mr. Clumsy here to the nurse?”

She didn’t give you a chance to argue as you as she lead Brandon away, leaving you standing there with a smug looking Miles. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“Common knowledge.”

“What are you playing at, Miles?”

He cocked his head, dark eyes raking down your figure and back up, lingering on your hair, “I like your hair.”

“You don’t get to like my hair.”

He clicked his tongue, “So rude, mami.”

“Get lost.”

“Can’t.”

A call of your name had you turning to see your table watching you guys curiously. You huffed shot Miles a warning glare and marched towards your table. You didn’t have to look back to know he was following you. You took a seat, and Miles sat in Brandon’s seat, casually pushing his tray down to the next seat. You hands twitch as he settled. You looked down at your food before Mei nudged you.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us?” Franny leaned forward curiously and a bit too curiously.

You sighed and pointed at the boy who had caused you nothing but grief in the past seventy two hours even though you had only seen his face three times, two in the same day, “Miles Morales,” you pointed at your friends introducing them individually.

“How do you guys know each other?” Tyler asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“We grew up together.”

You sighed and pinched your nose, jerking when his thigh brushed against yours as he adjusted in his seat. Making sure to shoot him a petulant stare that he returned with an unmoved one of his own.

Your table made sounds of acknowledgment and inquiry, you didn’t talk much about your childhood. You didn’t talk about your childhood at all. All they knew was that you were from New York, and went to LIU. You didn’t talk about family, you didn’t talk about friends or the schools you went to, boyfriends (or in your case boyfriend), nothing.

“She’s never mentioned you,” Franny said from across the table, “I swear we were beginning to think she was made in lab or something with her huge brain and her “perfect” character,” she said a little too passive aggressively, hands lifting in air quotes. “She’s our age and she’s already almost done with her masters, can you believe that?”

Miles leaned back in his seat, his arm brushing yours and you felt your skin burn pleasantly at the feeling.

No.

Bad.

Bad.

He cocked his head, barely sparing her a flippant glance, “So am I. We’re in the same morning lecture.”

Franny blinked, “What kind of water is in New York, and can I have some of that?”

“The most it will do is make you competent,” Mei scoffed taking a drink of her water and you snorted earning an unamused look from Franny.

“You do realize I’m in the same program as you?” She raised her brows,

“Yeah and that big new library with your daddy’s name on it has nothing to with it,” Tyler pointed out sarcastically.

“Just because you don’t have connections—.”

You all groaned.

“Don’t make me throw this at you again.”

“I’m just saying—!”

“That’s it I’m done,” you got up throwing your bag over your shoulder, picking up your tray, and as you passed, you felt a familiar calloused finger brush the back of your knee. The feeling sent a shiver up your spine so violent you almost stumbled. Stubbornly you kept your eyes forward and dumped your tray, leaving the cafeteria without so much as a good bye.

You arrived at the lecture you would be assisting in fifteen minutes early to find Professor Jefferson already there. He looked up and smiled, “Missed you on Monday.”

“Sorry about that,” you moved to the one of the teaches desks set to the left of the screen.

“Don’t worry about it, this class is a bit heavy so I went as asked for a second TA if that’s okay with you.”

You looked up and nodded, “That’s great, less work for me.”

Turns out that was a lie.

Miles walked in just a minute behind you, Mr. Jefferson looked up and beamed at the sight of him. “There he is.”

You got to be kidding me.

The universe hated you.

You tried to ignore him as Mr. Jefferson let you know that you would be serving as lecturers for the class in the week to come. He had a surgery scheduled and would be out of it for the next mon and half. You had half the mind to yell at him for it but refrained. As Mr. Jefferson spoke, Miles had taken to toying with your things, picking up your pencils, that you would snatch back, try and flip through your note books but you smacked his hands.

And then he started playing with the fringes of the old sweater you were wearing. No doubt he recognized it, something you had since you were fourteen. At that point you didn’t even care anymore, tuning him out like he was an irate child.

Soon the undergrads started to filter in and Mr. Jefferson left you with promise to email you the lesson plans.

Miles didn’t appreciate your blatant disregard of his presence. He shifted closer and you had to resist the urge to be weird and inhale his scent like a crackhead. His fingers brushed your waist and you lashed out and smacked him over the head. “Keep playing with me, Morales, keep playing with me and see what I will do to you,” you hissed and he had the audacity to grin, he loved it when you got mean. “Just because I haven’t stabbed you yet, doesn’t mean I won’t, especially after that stunt you pulled in cafeteria.”

“That was an accident.”

“I know you,” you whispered, eyes flicking around, you knew Franny and Tyler had this class, you didn’t want them to see you two arguing. “You wanted to hurt him to hurt me, I saw it on your face. I can’t believe you. Still acting like a child,” you went to turn away but he tugged your chair with a strong arm forcing you to face him. He was too close and too warm.

He looked at you sternly, “Even if I did want to hurt him to hurt you, it didn’t seem to work, ¿verdad? Are you sure he’s your man?”

You made a dangerous sound that caused his eyes to light up. He leaned forward, moving to brush his cheek against your own as he pressed his lips to your ear, “Besides, if you knew me at all, you’d know I would never hurt you, mi vida.” Your body trembled as your head cocked slightly, unconsciously shifting closer to the familiar feeling of his breath on your neck, the smell of his cologne. “Him on the other hand,” the darkness in his tone caused something hot to pool in your stomach a contrast to the cold feeling of dread that spread in your chest, “I can’t promise the same for him can I?”

You turned, nose brushing his cheek, dark eyes catching his, “If you touch him, I’ll kill you.”

“All he has to do is get out of my way,” he brushed a finger over your bare thigh and you tensed, “I promise I’ll be nicer if he does.”

You scoffed pulling away, “Go to hell, Morales.”

“Already there, mami.”

~~~~

You couldn’t escape Miles the entire day, he was in your four o’clock lecture and you were quite sure he had done that purpose. Sitting next to you, corning you by the window.

You were glad when your day was over, rushing to your car. He hadn’t followed you, or if he had he done it from a far. As long as he wasn’t bugging you, you really couldn’t care less. You just wanted to go home and be left to your own devices.

You noticed Brandon sat against the hood of your car. He looked exhausted and there was an ugly bruise forming on his nose. “Hey, baby,” you pouted at the look on his face, hands cupping his cheeks. “How are you feeling.”

“Tired, and my roommates kicked me out for the night so hopping to crash with you.”

You beamed, “Of course,” you kissed him softly and you both slipped into your car. And as you drove to your apartment, a motorcycle zoomed passed you, cutting you off so suddenly you almost swerved. You took in its New York plate and it’s monochromatic purple and green colour scheme.

Miles.

~~~

“Why don’t you talk about your childhood?” Brandon asked suddenly as he settled in bed beside you. You were on your laptop skimming through the email you had been sent by Mr. Jefferson contains that semester’s lesson plan, comforter thrown over your legs.

“What do you mean?”

“You just don’t talk about yourself like at all outside of your academic accomplishments. Like I didn’t even know you spoke Spanish until today.”

You released a noncommittal hum, not quite present.

“Baby,” he pressed a hand against your screen to draw your gaze, “Why don’t you talk about it?”

“Because I don’t want to,” you said a bit too bluntly perhaps even a bit too mean.

He frowned “I’m your boyfriend,” he started, “You sleep with knife under your pillow, and your mattress. You flinch at loud noises and you you always have extra locks installed into your door, don’t I have the right to know why you behave like that?”

“The right?” You hated how that sounded. The right. “You have no right to anything I don’t want to share.”

“I just want to know.”

“Why?” You asked in frustration,” Why do you want to know and if you hit me with that “It’s my right” bullshit—.”

“Because I care about you,” he whispered, “We all do, and maybe we’re all just trying to get a hold of piece of you.”

“That’s what I don’t want,” you huffed, “It wasn’t good, Brandon. It wasn’t fucking good at all.”

“We’re your friends, though aren’t we? Shouldn’t we know the bad to help make up with good?”

“And risk having you looking at me like how you look at MeiMei?” You shook you head, “no thanks.”

“There is no way we look at Mei.”

“You look at her like she’s fragile,” you pointed out, “As if she isn’t the strongest out all of us. She tells you her family lived out for their car for six months and suddenly she’s some new charity case for you to fawn over.”

“That’s not true!”

“Yes it is, and I don’t need my own boyfriend of all people to look at me like that.”

“I won’t,” he said, “I promise, just tell me something, anything.”

“Like what?”

“Your family.,” he tried, “Your mom, your dad?”

You scowled dangerously and he seemed to pale, “My dad,” you started slowly, angrily, “was shot at point blank range through the back of his left ear when I was seven, we were on our way home from getting ice cream, I sat there in his blood for three hours until someone found us.”

“Oh god.”

“My mom,” you shrugged, “kicked me out of the house when I was fourteen because I looked too much like him, I haven’t seen or heard from her in years,” you finished taking in the growing pity in his eyes. “There’s the look,” he turned away from you guiltily and you snorted bitterly. “Next time don’t grill me on something I clearly don’t want to talk about.”

“I’m sorry.”

You slammed your laptop shut and put it on your bedside table, reaching out to shut you lamp. You tried to settle tried to close you eyes, but you couldn’t without seeing them, without seeing and blood and without the sound of screaming in your ears. Without—.

Brandon tried to wrap an arm around you but you recoiled sucking in a sharp distressed breath, “Don’t touch me,” you shrugged him off leaving bed.

“I’m sorry! Just come back to bed,” he tried but you slammed the door shut behind you with a huff, you heard him groan. You moved to the guest room, it was filled with and odd mix of Amelia and Mei’s things, the two crashing here when they felt like it. You moved to the window opening it you climbed through onto the fire escape with a shiver.

The night was chilly and your shorts and cropped T-shirt did nothing to sheild from it but you refused to back inside, bracing yourself on the railing head ducked, the back of your bonnet brushing the nape of your neck.

“I know you’re there.”

He landed softly from where he had been perched on the escape above you. He leaned back against the railings, propping up his elbows. “Nice place, mami.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

You shook your head clenching your eyes shut, “Miles, I have a good thing going here I don’t need you ruining it for me.”

“I don’t have plans to ruin anything.”

“Except my boyfriend’s face?”

“Nothing important,” he corrected and you muttered angrily under your breath shooting him a glare.

“He’s important to me, Miles.”

“Then why are you standing out here with me?” He raised a challenging brow and you shivered at the cold. “He’s your man, ain’t he?” He asked again, a dangerous nearly mocking edge to his voice. “You see I remember when it was you and me, when I was your man you loved to keep me in your bed,” he bit his lip, eyes hooding in a way that drew a strangled sound from your throat. “Never wanted me to leave.”

For a moment your mind cast back to the feeling of calloused hands travelling up your thighs and gripping you hips. Kisses that left you dizzy, marks on your neck.

You had to turn your head away. “That was a longtime ago. You need to let it go. Let me go.”

“Impossible.”

“Miles,” you sighed.

“Mami, I made you a promise, remember? You and me always. I don’t break promises easily.”

You shook your head, “That’s a lie, you break promises when they mean nothing to you. Cause damage to things that mean nothing to you,” you sighed, “You can’t break through to me by bringing up a promise we made when when we’re eighteen,” you looked at him tiredly, “I’m not eighteen anymore, neither are you. Things change, so do people.”

He looked at you for a long moment, unbelieving, he sighed and you watched him shed his windbreaker in his signature purple, “Here,” he held it out to you.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering,” he retorted, “Don’t make me force it on you.”

You looked down at your shaking hands, the tips of your fingers felt numb. You took the windbreaker. It was warm and big and smelt overwhelmingly like him. It nearly knocked all sense from your head. He stepped close to you in a black long-sleeve. He leaned down, hands on your hips, tugging you flush against his warm body, you couldn’t help but curl into his heat, “Your window,” he whispered and you frowned.

“What?”

“For someone who’s talking about change I find it hard to believe it when she leaves her window open in hopes of me climbing in,” he kissed your cheek softly, “I don’t give up easily, mami. I’ll see you at school.”

He took a step back, hands falling from your waist as he went to descend the fire escape. He looked up at you, “Get some sleep, not with him though, if he makes you upset again, I won’t be so nice about cracking his skull on concrete, ” he pointed at you before disappearing from your sight entirely.

You almost felt amused but you knew his threat of damage was literal.

You climbed back back into the room and shut the window behind you.

You slept alone that night, nose buried in his sweater.

That was strike one.

~~~~

You and Brandon didn’t talk for a week after that little confession the day before. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part but you were stubborn, you let him kiss you hello and goodbye but you wouldn’t let him farther into your bubble, didn’t let him into your head or your space past that.

You had spoken more to Miles out of necessity than your own boyfriend and you knew Miles loved it. You could see the growing triumph in his gaze the longer you and boyfriend went without speaking. He had especially looked so smug the day you ran into school late dressed in the clothes you had slept in paired with the windbreaker he had given you. “Looking good, mami,” he whispered in your ear.

You were too tired to care.

Because at that point, Miles had gotten under your skin. He seemed to always be around, always be painfully close to you and that was a problem. You couldn’t send him away, your friend group were intrigued by him, Amelia liked the fact that you had someone around to connect you to your past and if she had questions you refused to answer Miles would do so gladly.

Even Brandon seemed to like him and it caused your head to hurt just thinking about it. Maybe Brandon had no sense of self preservation because Miles looked at him as if he were a lame animal standing by the River ready to be taken.

It scared you.

But intrigued you.

You wanted to see what he was planning.

“You have to come over for dinner,” he said the moment he sat down beside you. You turned away from where you were fussing with Brandon’s new glasses. You didn’t like them, you missed the old wired frames, these new ones made him look like that owl from animal crossing.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“This is for Mama.”

“No tengo tiempo.”

“Tener tiempo.”

You sighed and turned away from Brandon to find Miles looking at you with hooded eyes, chin balanced on his hand, he was a bit to close, you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“I’m free on Tuesday night.”

“Great,” he stole a piece of chicken from your plate before Tyler drew his attention holding out his textbook for help. You looked back at Brandon who was watching you curiously.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Here,” Miles held out a phone as you prepped for that afternoons lecture . You blinked confused pressing your hands against your pockets.

“That’s my phone!” You snatched it back with an annoyed scowl.

“I know. You’re slipping, Mami,” he smirked, “I put my number in there, I’ll pick you tomorrow.”

“Or,” you started, “You can send me the address and I can go myself.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he said with no nonsense and walked off.

You looked through your contacts and frowned at how he saved himself.

‘My Man.’

And if that wasn’t immature enough he changed Brandon’s to ‘Who?’.

Real fucking mature, you chuckled and pushed your phone into your back pocket. Missing Miles little grin.

There you go.

~~~~

You glowered as Miles pulled up in front of you on his motorcycle, he pulled off his helmet and gave you a smirk. “Hop on, mami.”

“I’m not putting a helmet on, I just did my hair!” You complained and he only shrugged.

“Can we take my car?”

“No,” he drawled, “Come on, I thought you liked riding.”

You scowled at the double meaning. He cleaned off and opened the storage compartment, pulling out and extra helmet. You sighed handing him the bottle of wine you knew Rio would like in exchange.

“Not gonna lie I thought you were going to put up more of a fight.”

You sighed placing the helmet over your head. “I don’t have the energy.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

You rolled your eyes as you climbed behind him, hands on clamped down on his shoulders, trying to keep us much distance between the two of you as you could.

He turned his head, lifting up his visor so you could see the unamused look in his eyes. “What are you a Victorian lady? Closer.”

“I’m good.”

He huffed, gripping your hand he pulled it from his shoulder and pulled you close. You squealed as you slid across the seat until your front was flush against his back, your arms unconsciously wrapping around his waist.

“Much better,” the engine revved beneath you as he pulled into the traffic.

“Fucker.”

Rio was already at the door by the time you got to the third floor. She squealed the moment she saw you, pulling you into a tight warm hug. “You hair, much better,” she hummed kissing your cheek happily and ushering you inside. You made sure to kick off your shoes as you entered looking around the space. It was so odd how a completely different space could feel like the home you once left behind. You immediately noticed one of the picture frames sitting on the entry table, you picked it up with a small smile. It was of you, Miles and Mr. Davis, you were seated on the officer’s shoulders with a melting ice cream cone in hand, Miles was looking up at you with a smile he didn’t quite have anymore. You placed it down and continued into the apartment noticing Aaron sat on the couch.

He perked up when he saw you standing to his full height. “Look who it is, the lady of the hour,” he hugged you tightly, before nodding at Miles, “Giving you enough trouble yet?”

“I’m still waiting for the rapture.”

He chuckled, “Good thing we have a doctor in the house .”

“That reminds me,” you turned to the kitchen where something heavenly was being made. You wrapped your arms around Rio, “Did I ever tell you how proud I am Dr. Morales?” You muttered against her shoulder and she hummed.

“I think we all have something to be proud of these days.”

Dinner was nice, you and Rio did most the talking trying to catch up with one another. Miles was the quietest from where he sat beside you. Occasionally placing certain things you wanted on your plate. It bloomed a warmth of familiarity in your chest.

That was dangerous.

“So,” Aaron started after moment of silence, “You free at the end of the month, kid?”

You nodded, “Probably, why?”

“You remember how I was talking about curating for some art shows in town,” he pulled a pamflet from his pocket, “You should check this one out.”

From beside you Miles sighed and Aaron sent him a teasing grin.

You nodded, “Yeah, I’ll come,” you took the pamflet, noting the familiar vibrancy of street art.

There was a sudden vibration from Aaron’s phone drew his attention and he sighed. “Sorry, I gotta go,” he kissed you and Rio on the cheeks and clapped miles on the back before leaving.

When done you stood and began to help clear the table but Rio tutted, “No, no, you’re a guest.”

“Let me help,” you protested.

She shook her head, “Miles will clean them later,” she sent him a look when he went to open his mouth and he let go of his argument entirely.

“Make yourself comfortable as I get desert ready.

“That’s too much, Mrs. Morales.”

“Nothing is too much for you, Miles keep her entertained,” she pointed at her son and disappeared into the kitchen.

He stood, “Come on.”

“Where are we going.”

“To my room.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

He ignored you and walked down hall leaving standing by the table. You followed after him with an annoyed sigh. He left his door open for you, the first thing you noticed was that the room seemed lighter, not as dark as it used to be. He still had his punching bag nailed into the wall by the door, a desk punched ago at the wall opposite to his bed that was a queen instead of a double. All necessities not personalization except the occasional poster or painting, he had a few picture frames sitting on his bed side table and desk.

That’s when you noticed an old record player pushed to the corner of hide desk. You smiled, “You still have it.”

He hummed and lounged back on his bed, eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t think that’s what your mom meant when she said to keep me entertained,” you pointed out.

He smirked, “I could keep you very entertained if you come here, mami,” he pat his thighs and you rolled your eyes, looking under his desk where he usually kept his vinyls and you were not disappointed. You bent down to rummage through them and released a triumphant sound when you found one of yours among the collection.

You were quick in playing it humming happily along as you settled into his chair, “Needless to say I keep it in check, she was a bad-bad nevertheless, calling it quits now baby I’m a wreck,” you sang as you looked around the room again, noting his book collection and the mess of papers stacked on the shelf above his desk. You could hear him humming along with you.

You looked at the picture frames on his desk sucking in a sharp breath at the one in the middle. It was the two of you a few years ago. Miles ever the non-photogenic of the two of you had his face hidden in your neck as you had your head thrown back in the midst of a laugh arms wrapped around his neck, paint stained fingers buried in his hair. His hands were gripping your hips holding you flush against him, stained with spray paint and behind the two of you on a brick wall was a bright yellow sunflower. Aaron had taken the picture and in the afternoon sun you could see the shimmer of a silver chain around your neck.

That same chain hung on the side of the frame, the charm a cute little sunflower. You had to look away. Turning in the chair you found Miles watching you. “You can take it if you want,” he said with false detachment. “It’s yours.”

“No.”

“I made it for you.”

“That’s why I gave it back,” you whispered music almost drowning you out. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t keep it after what happened.”

He sat up suddenly scrubbing a hand over his face, looking at you with a softness that almost scared you. “Take it,” he insisted and you shook you head. “Mami, please.”

You stood and turned your back to him pacing towards the window, looking out towards Boston traffic. Your shoulders tensed when you felt his breath on the nape of you neck. He pressed his fingers softly against your neck, and you felt the chill of the chain against your skin. He pressed against you and you couldn’t really find it in yourself to fight back.

Which was pathetic in itself.

It was like being close to him trigger this limp kitten reflex that you couldn’t shake.

His fingers brushed your skin as he clasped the necklace around your neck. His hands moved down your shoulders to your waist, gripping you close as he bent down to press his nose against you neck. You inhaled deeply eyes clenching shit against th onslaught of memories. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are.”

“This isn’t good for me.”

“I can be good for you,” he whispered swaying to the music. “I can be so good for you, mami, I promise. So much better than him.”

You turned in his hold, “After I watched you crack, Brandon’s face on the floor I don’t believe you.”

He held you tighter releasing a frustrated breath eyes shuttering, “I don’t like it when you talk about him.”

“Why? Does it make you jealous?”

He chuckled lowly, “Definitely,” he whispered pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t like sharing.”

You leaned forward nose brushing along his, “Good thing I’m not something to be shared. Or claimed, I’m not a fucking  peninsula, Miles.”

He hummed, “You’re not but you’re still mine.”

“Yours? How is that? Considering he’s the one I let into my bed,” you mocked, “the one I let hold me, kiss me—.”

“Keep that up, I’ll do more than crack his face on the floor,” he threatened and you unconsciously pressed closer to the hard lines of his body. You liked how he looked like when he was angry, so handsome.

“Guys! Dessert.”

You pulled away from him with a challenging little smile before leaving him behind.

As you sat at the table you missed the excited look Rio shot her son at the sight of necklace nestled between your collarbones.

You didn’t take it off.

That was strike two.

~~~~

There was something hazardous about getting ready with all your friends in a small bathroom to go to a Saturday night party that filled you with anticipation.

Finally something to relieve you stress.

Two weeks had passed ever since your dinner at the Morales household and Miles had made himself comfortable in your space. He texted you regularly, some nights when you couldn’t sleep he would keep you company on the fire escape.

It was dangerous slope, a clear mirror of the years before the two you got together but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop it.

Did that make you a bad person?

Clinging to something you shouldn’t when committed to something else.

“Can I borrow this?” A hand reached for the necklace nestled between your collar bones, tugging slightly at the delicate silver chain, thumb brushing over the sun flower.

You looked away from the mirror you were focused on in your attempt to get your eyeliner even.

You looked at Franny with a short scowl. “No.”

“Oh come on it would make sense for me to wear it, I’m wearing yellow,” she complained, tugging on it again, “You’ve been wearing it for weeks.”

You smacked her hand away, “It’s gift! And you loose everything I’ve let you wear so no.”

“A gift?” Amelia asked from where she sat on the bathroom floor, painting her toe nails last minute. She grinned, “From Brandon?”

You went quiet and turned away to look at the mirror.

“All the more reason for you to trust me, Brandon’s my bestie, I’ll keep it safe!”

“No!”

“So mean!”

“Get over it!”

“Ow!” Mei complained from where she burned herself a second time while curling her hair. You sighed and finished off your liner motioning for her to give the curling wand to you.

“You are hopeless.”

By the time you got to the house the party was in full swing, Brandon and Tyler met you guys at the door, “What I need is a drink, my boyfriend and some good music to dance to,” you gripped Brandon’s hand dragged him through the house, waving at people you recognized.

“Nooo,” Brandon complained and you pouted, he didn’t like dancing but you needed him close to you. So you could think about him and him only.

“Please!”

“No.”

“You’re so boring!” You complained as you found the drinks.

“Ouch.”

You poured a perfect shot of tequila into your solo cup and threw it back with a small wince. Your poured another but before you could toss it back it was taken from you by Brandon.

“You have work in the morning—.”

“Do I look like I care?” you reached for the cup but he poured it down the sink. “Why am I even here if you won’t let me drink?” You whined stomping your foot in annoyance.

“Oh would you look at that, Mr. Brandon is raining on the parade,” Amelia crowed when she saw your expression. “This is why we don’t invite you anywhere fun!” And there were exclamations of agreement amongst the group.

“Okay now you’re just being mean.”

“If I want to walk into work hung over you should let me as my boyfriend.”

He huffed, “Am I the only one who remembers that when Miss New York over here gets drunk she gets violent?”

“I don’t get violent I am just less likely to let bitches try me,” you corrected.

“Yeah and that normally means Franny laid out on the floor with a chunk her hair missing.”

“That was one time!” You gasped, “Besides she deserved it and I said sorry! Look we’re the best of friends now!” You don’t wrapped you arms around the unsuspecting girl and she hugged you back immediately because Franny wasn’t one to turn down affection from anyone.

“Yeah, that’s great but you weren’t the one who had to explain to her mother over dinner why your girlfriend had ripped out a chunk of her daughters hair.”

“Did you tell her that her daughter lacks situational awareness and is ignorant to her racial and class biases?” Mei asked from where she was filling a solo cup with beer.

“No?”

“Don’t worry,” you patted Franny’s cheek a bit more aggressively than you should have, “She’s learning.”

“She hasn’t said one semi-racist or classist thing in two weeks,” Tyler said handing her a solo cup and both you and Mei cheered sarcastically. “That’s a new record.”

“To Franny!”

“To Franny!”

“Fucking hilarious,” Brandon drawled, “And I’m still not dancing.”

“Boo!”

You handed him your bag, “Then I’ll go and dance by myself and you can be a cute little bag holder,” you smiled giving him a chaste kiss before disappearing among the crowd, hips swaying to the music ignoring your boyfriend’s calls for you to come back. If you can’t drink you were gonna dance till you felt high enough to reach mars. You heartbeat in sync with the deep base that rattle your bones.

It didn’t take long to feel eyes on you as you danced, hands twisting up into the air, hooded eyes looking around the crowd to spot the culprit. Deep down you knew exactly who was watching you, his eyes berating against your skin. You took your time to look around, breath racing and you nearly stopped breathing when you spotted him the dim room, stood to the corner by the stairs, a red cup in hand, eyes fixed unwaveringly on your figure.

When your eyes met he cocked his head towards the stairs an invite for you to follow.

Your heart stuttered no.

No.

No.

No.

You looked around the party trying to find Brandon but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You looked back at Miles and he held up something familiar. Your purse, the purse you had given Brandon to hold.

There it was, that dread in your chest as he disappeared up the stairs.

You followed quickly, hand reaching for your butterfly knife you had hidden in your bra, the music was loud even upstairs, the bass rattling the walls and the floor beneath you heels.

You looked around ignoring the couples pressed against each other, stepping over some did who had already passed out.

“I’m here, mami,” the bathroom door opened a crack and Miles peered at you mischievously. You pushed into the room. It was surprisingly clean considering the absolute carnage in the lower level of the house.

“What did you do?” You snapped slamming the door behind you, locking it with a press of button, hand flicking the apart the wings of your knife. He didn’t look moved as he swung your bag around his finger. “Where is he?”

“Yo no le hice nada.”

“Liar,” you gripped him by the collar and yanked him close to you, knife brandished. “What did I say?”

“No, mami, ¿qué te dije? Hmm?” He prompted lowly, eyes narrowing challengingly. “I don’t like sharing, and I’ve been very patient, no?”

“Miles—.”

“He’s not good for you.”

“And you are?!” You scoffed.

“Better than him and you know it!” He snapped taking a step closer and you pressed your knife under his chin. “He rains on your parade, your smile falls when ever he talks to you, not mention he’s jealous.”

“You’re the one who’s jealous, doing childish shit like this,” you reached out to snatch you bag but he held it just out of reach. “Give it back! Miles!” He tossed it backwards and pushed you up against the door and you pressed the knife harder into his skin. He hissed but did not retract he had never been scared of your knife.

“You keep talking about how important he is to you and yet when you’re upset you look for me, when you would hold him for a week you wouldn’t let him touch you but you craved my hands—.”

“That’s not true—.”

His hands pressed against your waist, hot and searing beneath the purple mini dress you wore, you couldn’t help but gasp, eyes fluttering. “Look at that, mami, I’ve never seen him make you feel like that and you think I’m lying,” he pressed harder against your knife and with a panicked breath you dropped it hands shooting out to angle his head noting the crimson beads blooming against his skin. He didn’t care as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“Miles.”

His head ducked nose pressing against your neck and you trembled. “Please, mami,” he whispered and you whined as his lips moved along your skin. “Tell me yes, let me in just for little bit, Hmm? I promise I’ll be good. So good.”

You pressed into him feeling any sort of reservations slowly being chipped away. He nipped at your neck and your mind seemed to go blank.

Miles.

Miles.

Miles.

It seems all your senses had been consumed by him and him alone. All you could smell was him, he was all you could see, hear and touch. All you could think about.

Your hands met the his shoulders as he ran his nose along your cheek, lips so close to pressing against your own. “Please, mami,” he begged again and you pushed him back from the door, hands slowly pushing his sweater off his broad shoulders. He chuckled as you angled your head, lips brushing against your own. It hit the ground and your body jerked, and for a moment you felt a sense clarity.

What were you doing?

He pressed his lips against yours and all sense of clarity vanished into thin air, it was almost a relief to feel them pressed against yours. You hands moved to cup his jaw, mouth moving against his hard and slowly. He tasted sweet, like your favourite candy, with the familiar burn of tequila on his tongue.

He turned you around stumbling forward until your lower back pressed against the bathroom counter. His hand swiped any iteams placed on it to the floor and lifted you up onto it. You cling to him desperately, pulling him closer, legs locking around his waist. His hands ran up your thighs riding the dress up and over your hips, you nipped at his lips receiving a low groan in return.

He gripped you tightly, holding you in place on hand finding your lower back while the other gripped the back of your neck with hard calloused fingers so tight it almost hurt. He held you in place, subjecting you to his hot and heavy kisses. You fisted his shirt, heels digging into his lower back your lungs burning.

Miles parted with a strangled gasp, trailing kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, sucking, nipping and you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking into his, thighs twitching as you moaned hands tugging at his braids.

Your eyes strayed to the reflection of yourself in the frosted shower door. Your dilated pupils, your swollen lips, the sound of your desperate whines in your ears.

That was strike three.

“Touch me,” you begged eyes fluttering shut, “Please, please.”

“Anything you want, mami.”