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primaviva · 1 year ago

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baby hair princess; miles morales

featuring. miles g. morales x latina!reader

synopsis. you stumble upon miles in a state of frustration, aggressively tugging at his hair, and instinctively, you step in to offer your assistance. however, you make one specific request in return for your help—a favor you hope miles will grant you: doing his edges.

warnings. none just pure fluff and sassy miles !! for my not boricua readers, pretty sure the only word really different is “pinche” for hairpin (art credit: snoopminnie)

“boy, if you don’t stop tryna run away-”

miles instinctively moved backward, evading your attempt to grab hold of him and keep him still. his resilience and stubbornness were evident, leaving you to wonder if these were qualities he had always possessed.

typically, miles relied on his mother for assistance with his hair, including styling and maintenance. however, his stubborn streak had prompted him to take matters into his own hands, gradually attempting to style his own hair. yet, he had not yet mastered the art of caring for his own locks, which led to the predicament you found yourselves in.

within the confines of the shower, miles followed his usual routine. he delicately massaged the hair product into his strands, employed the appropriate brushes, and adhered to the techniques he had learned for his specific hair texture.

however, patience continued to elude him when it came to detangling and combing. convinced that knots were of little consequence, he clung to that belief until today, when the knots seemed to wage a battle of their own. miles understood that detangling in the shower typically facilitated the process for curly hair, which only added to his confusion when the water failed to alleviate the difficulty. frustration took hold, compelling him to forcefully yank the comb through his tightly coiled curls.

his efforts proved disastrous.

as the comb became entangled in his hair, his arm persisted in its pulling motion, resulting in a swift and painful injury to his wrist.

usually, styling his hair did not consume much time, and earlier that morning, he had told you that you could pull up in the afternoon. however, unbeknownst to him at the moment, senora rio had allowed you entry into his room, recognizing the close bond you shared with the morales family. when you entered, you observed miles struggling to maintain his grip on the comb, his pride, dignity, and remnants of masculinity on display.

and so, the scene unfolded with you and miles' situation as he scrambled to cover his head. your intentions were pure, simply attempting to assist miles in combing his own hair. however, miles, true to his stubborn nature, resisted your efforts with the tenacity of a pitbull, determined to maintain control over his own grooming routine and feelings of embarrassment.

“this is not a telenovela with your dramatic ass so leave the theatrics for english class,” you swiftly retorted, a hint of exasperation in your voice as your hands instinctively found their place on your hips. “take the bonnet off.”

you gracefully settled onto the edge of miles' bed, the mattress yielding beneath the gentle pressure of your legs. the soft fabric of the bedspread caressed your skin as you positioned yourself on your knees beside him, creating an intimate proximity.

with an audible groan, miles met your determined gaze, his eyes rolling in a display of stubborn defiance. the atmosphere crackled with a mixture of frustration and resistance.

"i can do this myself," miles declared, his tone lacking the reassurance he intended. with an abrupt motion, he forcefully yanked the comb through the tangled strands of hair, the sound of resistance echoing in the room. the sensation of hair being torn from the comb sent a shiver down your spine, a visceral reminder of the struggle at hand.

his words hung in the air, a plea masked as a command. "you didn't see anything," he insisted, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. the weight of his unspoken plea lingered, an unspoken request for understanding and discretion. “understand?”

you regarded him with a stoic expression, your features carefully neutral. "i understand that you're in need of some serious assistance," you stated, your voice devoid of inflection. as you took a deliberate step closer, an electric wave of nerves filled the air he breathed. lookin’ like them kids that get embarrassed by they mama on facebook live for misbehaving. let me help, te suplico por favor.”

extending your hand, your fingertips grazed the edge of the purple bonnet, the fabric cool and smooth against your skin. locking eyes with him, you held his gaze, ensuring that miles focused solely on your expression. with deliberate intent, you offered him a gentle smile, a silent reassurance that your intentions were rooted in love and support. it was a subtle gesture, one that conveyed your unwavering commitment to help him through this, especially since you had always excelled in the art of hairstyling.

miles' eyes remained fixated on you, their intensity betraying a roiling mix of emotions. the heat of embarrassment colored his cheeks, suffusing his face with a noticeable flush.

"fine, i'm letting you help, but only because i can't get the knot out," he conceded, defeat lacing his words.

a mischievous smirk stretched across your face, a subtle display of triumph at his reluctant surrender. with a fluid motion, you maneuvered yourself behind him, a slight shiver of anticipation dancing along your spine. as you sat up, your hands found their place on his shoulders, offering physical support.

the proximity between you was palpable, each breath shared in the confined space. your head tilted to the side, and your words grazed his ear, their gentle cadence resonating against his skin. a tingling sensation rippled down his neck, a delightful shiver provoked by the intimacy of your closeness.

surprise mingled with satisfaction as you observed the ease with which he acquiesced. normally, miles would put up a greater fight, but the direness of his situation was evident at a glance. you couldn't help but notice that he was attempting to comb his hair dry—dryer than his texts, even.

"you're doing this because i am your boyfriend and you care. not out of pity, okay?" he stated, his words carrying a hint of self-assurance that seemed more like an attempt to convince himself rather than you.

you responded with a nonchalant hum, acknowledging his statement without verbal confirmation. your gaze remained fixed on his hair, carefully examining it without yet laying your hands on it, teasing the anticipation in the air.

restless fidgeting overtook miles as he squirmed under the weight of your scrutiny, a palpable sense of judgment lingering in his mind. the passing seconds stretched into what felt like agonizingly long minutes, further heightening his humiliation in his eyes.

"just don't laugh," miles demanded, his plea inadvertently causing you to stifle a giggle that bubbled up uncontrollably.

"i can't promise that," you replied, laughter still tugging at your words.

with determination, you began to gently pull at his hair, your fingers seeking out the knotted areas hidden within. the absence of matting provided a small relief, knowing that the problem was limited to knots alone. you pulled back his hair, carefully inspecting the sides, the back, and even searching for any residue or soap that may have clung to his roots.

curiosity flickered in his eyes as he glanced back at you, his voice betraying a hint of impatience. "how long is this going to take?"

with a playful yet assertive response, you couldn't help but let a touch of sass color your words. "stop acting like a diva," you retorted, the hint of amusement evident in your tone. "it's gonna take as long as it needs to, especially since you been putting your hands on your hair like you chrisean rock. now, turn around."

taking charge, you gently guided his head away from you, redirecting his gaze back to his lap with a firm yet tender touch of your hands. with your focus regained, you returned to the task at hand, your fingertips lightly exploring and assessing the core areas that harbored the most stubborn tangles. each delicate touch was a sensory exploration, searching for the knots that required the most meticulous attention.

with a curious and investigative spirit, you allowed your fingers to delve deeper into his hair, purposefully seeking the sensation of his scalp beneath your touch. it was a tactile exploration, a quest to uncover any remnants of shampoo buildup or dandruff that may have intertwined with the knots.

as you did so, miles let out a deep sigh. you sensed his annoyance, understanding that your playful banter and sassy remarks could sometimes test his patience. but you both knew that the exchange of playful banter and sass was a known part of your relationship—a back-and-forth dance you both engaged in. bickering was woven into the fabric of your relationship, something you both embraced. he, in your words, was the "leader of the sassy man apocalypse," despite his inevitable protestations as any self-respecting sassy man would. however, this particular sigh carried a different meaning.

as your fingers traversed through his damp curls, a subtle shudder coursed through his body, reverberating in the sanctuary of your hold. "that feels good, ma," he breathed out, the admission slipping from his lips almost unconsciously.

stunned by his unexpected confession, you momentarily paused, your fingertips suspended in their exploration. the weight of his words settled upon you, a surprising revelation that bypassed your awareness.

"really?" you questioned, surprise laced in your voice. tentatively, you allowed your fingers to resume their gentle exploration, cautiously delving deeper into his hair, trying to recreate whatever he let slip from how good you seemed to be.

the electrifying sensation of your fingers weaving through his hair was potent enough to derail his train of thought. a feeling of bliss surged through him, coaxing his eyes to flutter shut, surrendering to the pleasure that pulsed from your touch. his head found a resting place in your capable hands, a gesture of trust and vulnerability as you continued your ministries.

witnessing the effect you had on him, satisfaction rippled through your being; it was almost as if you physically felt your ego boost and the arrogance that swelled within you. the tension in his muscles melted away, dissipating into the air, as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. it was a physical manifestation of the pleasure and relaxation that enveloped him, a silent testament to his peaceful state.

in that fleeting moment, a pang of guilt grazed the edges of your conscience.

you almost felt bad for knowing that you were about to disrupt this serene moment for miles.

almost.

as you skillfully worked your hands through his hair, a contented hum escaped his lips, affirming your success. a mischievous smirk played across your face, well aware of the satisfaction you had brought him.

"well, nice you enjoyed it while it lasted," you sarcastically remarked, abruptly halting your ministrations. "because from this point forward, it's going to be red eyes and shaking," you teased, alluding to the potential discomfort of untangling knots in his hair.

the moment you ceased massaging him, he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the depths of relaxation. his eyes remained closed, oblivious to your smirk. however, at the mention of the word “knots,” his eyes fluttered open, nerves piqued. he observed your preparations, mild concern evident in his gaze.

"wait, what do you mean-" miles began to question, but before he could finish his sentence, you deftly dragged your fingers down through the knots at a fast pace, eliciting a wince of discomfort from him.

a deep chuckle escaped you, a private amusement at the reaction you had provoked. using your hand as a comb, you carefully untangle the knots in that particular section, providing him with a subtle reminder of the purpose behind your actions.

"that's exactly what i mean," you replied, your tone laced with playful satisfaction.

you turned your attention to his cómoda, scanning the array of hair products with your eyes, searching for the water bottle that would serve as the catalyst for dampening his hair. each spritz would prepare his curls for the upcoming detangling process.

despite the discomfort he felt, he mustered his best effort to endure the pain, determined to ignore the laughter that escaped your lips. his gaze followed your movements as you delved into his drawers and retrieved the spray.

"what are you doin’?" miles inquired, his voice carrying a hint of shakiness, still recovering from the sting inflicted upon him moments ago. yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, observing your unwavering focus on his hair.

reading his anticipation, you knew he anticipated the impending combing with a mixture of dread and curiosity, fully aware of the potential discomfort it would bring.

"necesitas mojarte el cabello," you stated, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, tilting his head slightly to ensure thorough coverage with the spray. "y cus’ of that, i'm spraying the shit out of it because your whole head dried during that hour-long battle where your hair was kicking your own ass, and you lost miserably. so, forgive me if i find it a lil’ funny that you're treating me like an inexperienced stylist, considering the miracle i'm performing right now."

with the final sprays, you set the water bottle down, keeping it within reach in case individual strands require extra attention during the detangling process.

placing the spray in the hands of his frog build-a-bear plush, memories of your mall date resurfaced. you had convinced miles to get matching frogs, despite his initial reservations. seeing his green frog nestled among his deep black covers, contrasting with your pink one, brought a genuine giggle to your lips. your imagination wandered, picturing miles donning a purple bonnet, cuddling the little plush as he slept.

as you playfully turned him to spray different sections of his hair, he fought back a laugh, savoring the lightheartedness of the moment. he felt a deep sense of gratitude for your assistance and admired the care you took as you continued to spray his locks. each mist of water touched his hair, eliciting a subtle coolness and leaving a faint scent in the air. he kept his eyes closed, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks out of a mix of appreciation and mild embarrassment.

when the spraying finally ceased, he opened his eyes, curious to assess the state of his hair. he couldn't help but chuckle lightly at your comment, attempting to defend himself. "i didn't lose that hard," he protested playfully.

amused, you responded with a teasing tone, "if having a comb stuck in your hair isn't losing to you, then i don't know what to tell you, mi rey."

a sigh escaped his lips, accompanied by a raspy chuckle, his laughter mingling with the sound of the running water. it was another blow to his ego, a reminder of your witty banter that often left him both amused and challenged.

you reached for a nearby towel, presumably the one that had once rested on his neck, and deftly adjusted it over the shoulders of his white tank. this thoughtful gesture ensured that his back remained dry, sparing him any discomfort.

glancing back at the array of hair products, you carefully selected a detangling spray, knowing it would help soften his hair. the chaotic tangle of strands, a result of miles' frustrated attempts at untangling, called for some extra care and attention.

"mí rey," he softly repeated to himself, savoring the endearing nickname. although it was said in jest, it warmed miles' heart whenever you called him that. a smile spread across his face as he gazed at you with wide, affectionate doe eyes. "you're enjoying this too much, aren't you?" he questioned, his glance filled with both amusement and adoration.

as you carefully draped the towel over him, creating a barrier to protect his back, miles couldn't help but notice the tenderness with which you carried out this simple act. it touched a chord within him, a gentle reminder of your thoughtfulness. he found himself captivated, his eyes fixed on you, appreciating not only your efforts but also the person you were.

"of course i am," you responded, a playful smile gracing your lips. "bullying men is fun," you added sarcastically, the mischievous glimmer in your eyes betraying your lighthearted intent.

with the detangling spray in hand, you began to work your magic on miles' hair. each spritz released a fine mist that enveloped his curls, saturating them with the product. the light-catching droplets bestowed a subtle and enticing shine upon his locks. taking a moment, you sprayed some of the product onto your palm, rubbing it between your hands to ensure even distribution, before gently scrunching his hair, coaxing the detangling spray deeper into the strands.

"ready?" you asked, giving him a moment to prepare himself. the anticipation hung in the air as he readied himself for the untangling process, knowing that your skilled hands would soon navigate through the intricate maze of his hair.

a soft giggle escaped his lips at your playful bullying comment, finding it endearing rather than offensive. his eyes remained fixated on you as you meticulously sprayed his hair, the mist enveloping his senses. nodding in response to your question, a hint of wariness flickered in his gaze, unsure of what awaited him in the next moments.

"i'm ready, amor. just don't pull too hard, alright?" he requested, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability and trust.

with a reassuring smile, you replied, "i'll be gentle," your words offering the comfort he longed for. the weight of his anticipation lifted slightly, replaced by a glimmer of hope that you would navigate this challenge with care.

as your fingers began their task of untangling his hair, the knots seemed to have woven themselves into a formidable labyrinth within his curls. yet, you remained undeterred, driven by a determination to restore order and softness to the hair he loved almost as much as you.

again, almost.

his hair resisted your touch, each knot presenting a unique challenge. he emitted sounds of mild discomfort, a testament to the sensitivity of his scalp and his desire to endure the process without feeling embarrassed. your heart swelled with tenderness as you witnessed his effort to maintain composure in front of you, further igniting your resolve to handle his hair with utmost gentleness.

you embarked on the task of unraveling the knots, starting from the bottom where the tangles were most stubborn. with your fingers as your gentle guides, you skillfully released the friction between neighboring sections of hair, diligently working your way from the base to the crown. the surface-level knots surrendered to your patient touch, as you meticulously separated each strand with care. however, as you traversed his hair, it became apparent that the majority of the knots ran deeper, demanding a more thorough approach than initially anticipated. the need for a brush became imminent sooner than expected.

delicately, you began to divide his hair into six distinct sections, methodically parting each portion to facilitate focused attention. "dame un pinche," you commanded miles, and he silently complied, passing you a bag of hairpins and clips. a glimpse into his world, the assortment of cute-colored pins and clips hinted at their sentimental value, likely passed down from his mother.

with miles holding the bag for you, your fingers danced above the contents, contemplating the best choice. after careful consideration, you selected five firm metal clips, their purpose clear in your mind. as you divided his hair into the necessary sections, you secured each one with the clips, fashioning little buns that held the strands aloft. this strategic maneuver ensured that the rest of his hair remained out of both of your ways, sparing him the annoyance of wet locks clinging to his face or water trickling down his neck longer than necessary. you understood his preference for a fuss-free styling experience, catering to his needs. after all, he is your boyfriend.

equipped with a wide-toothed comb and the spray bottle in hand, you prepared the hair once more by saturating it with a fine mist. the water droplets danced upon his strands, awakening them with renewed moisture. the stage was set for the comb to work its magic.

starting from the tips, you delicately guided the comb through his hair, gradually making your way towards the middle and then the top. with one hand, you held his hair in place, providing stability as you applied a bit more force, determined to conquer the stubborn knots that lingered.

a hushed "ouch" escaped miles' lips, his eyes instinctively fluttering shut in response to the fleeting discomfort. sensing his reaction, you paused your combing and turned your head to face him.

"cállate! you tender-headed baby, i ain’t even pulling that hard," you reprimanded, a hint of exasperation lacing your words. the desire to avoid his dramatics for the remainder of the thirty minutes propelled your stern response.

"ight," he muttered under his breath, bitterness coating his tone.

unfazed by the interruption, you had already completed the first section while he voiced his complaints. with the hair still saturated, you gave it one last thorough brush, observing with satisfaction that the knots had vanished, leaving behind tightly coiled curls ready to bounce back to their full glory. the comb glided effortlessly through the now smooth strands, the sound of its gentle strokes harmonizing with the sigh of relief that escaped both of you.

with precision and determination, you continued your task, skillfully releasing the clip from the neighboring bun of hair you had previously created. as you secured it in a new bun, the section was neatly isolated, awaiting its turn to be untangled. following the same method as before, you began from the bottom, working your way to the middle and then the top, unraveling the knots with practiced finesse. the repetitive yet rhythmic motion of your combing became almost meditative, a soothing cadence that echoed in the small room.

yet, as you approached the crown of his head, meticulously brushing downward to release any stubborn knots near his scalp, a delightful surprise caught your attention. delicate strands of hair, small and wispy, dared to defy the boundaries of the meticulously sectioned locks. they sprouted from the front area of his face, cheekily eluding confinement within their designated sections. a knowing smile crept upon your lips, for you knew they were baby hairs—duh! you had some of your own along with others that you either slicked back or styled with a touch of eco gel.

however, there was something distinctly enchanting about miles' baby hairs. while they retained their petite stature, you couldn't help but marvel at their surprising length. they cascaded delicately, framing his forehead in a regal manner that evoked images of princesses gracing the grandest of pageants. these miniature strands possessed an ethereal quality, as if they held a secret whispered only to those who took the time to observe.

does miles have princess worthy baby hairs? you couldn't help but notice his long, beautiful lashes one day while cuddling. in a moment of hope, you jokingly asked to do his makeup and apply mascara, but he looked at you with a bewildered expression. he had been blessed with naturally striking features, and it made you feel a twinge of envy—even with him being a man. however, a mischievous idea suddenly popped into your head, and a wicked smile formed on your lips.

with a sense of accomplishment, you declare, "all done," as you delicately remove the clips, allowing the sections of detangled hair to cascade down, revealing his now liberated curls. your fingertips instinctively caress his tresses, relishing in their newfound freedom. "do you want two braids as always?" you inquired.

he feels the gentle touch of your fingers running through his hair, a comforting sensation that brings a wider smile to his lips. in response to your question, he nods, affirming his desire for the familiar twin braids.

"por supuesto, bebé. two braids, just like always," miles responds, settling his head comfortably on your lap, ready to surrender to your skilled hands.

the endearment he uses warms your chest, evoking a tender, fuzzy feeling that envelops you. "como tú quieras," you reply, honoring his request.

taking hold of a nearby comb, you flip it to its sharp end, aligning it with his forehead to ensure a symmetrical part. carefully choosing a starting point, you use the opposite side of the comb to create a clean divide, guiding it down the center of his head. to refine the symmetry, you rise slightly above him, positioning yourself on your knees, hovering with precision. with the comb, you deftly lift sections of hair from the part and sweep them to either side, harmonizing the flow of his locks.

once satisfied with the balance, you employ the original part to separate his hair into two equally thick halves. one side is gently draped over his shoulder, allowing you unobstructed access to work. with practiced fingers, you divide each braid-to-be into three distinct sections, intertwining them skillfully, creating a seamless braid that reflects your meticulous handiwork.

he closes his eyes, surrendering to the soothing rhythm of your braiding technique. a blissful sigh escapes his lips, the tension melting away as the sensation of your touch envelops him—he enjoys having you as his own personal hairstylist.

"gracias, mami," miles murmurs, his head turning slightly to meet your gaze, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

"you don't have to thank me," you assure him, focusing your attention on the other side of his hair now that one braid is complete. with practiced ease, your nimble fingers continue their dance, skillfully weaving each strand. "but... there is one way you can thank me."

intrigued, he maintains silence, his curiosity piqued by the mischievous tone in your voice. he remains seated, patiently awaiting the revelation, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the distant mirror. a sheepish smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he eagerly anticipates your next move.

"and what would that be?" miles questions, his tone curious.

rather than answering, you choose to maintain silence, your focus shifting to the final touches of his second braid. stepping away from the bed, you position yourself in front of him, cupping his face in your hands, your touch tender and affectionate.

“y’know miles, i never noticed what beautiful baby hairs you have…” you remark, a subtle segue into your true intentions, a rogue glint in your eyes.

his eyebrow began to slowly raise at how vague your demeanor was. “and? okay little red riding hood. ‘what big teeth you have, abuela’ head ass.”

you fixated your gaze on him, eyes widening in surprise at his comment, struggling to maintain a serious expression despite the humorous undertone. suppressing a laugh that threatened to escape, you attempted to project an air of seriousness.

"you think you're funny, huh?" you retort, your voice carrying a stern tone as you cross your arms over your chest, attempting to conceal any hint of amusement.

a low laugh escapes his lips, the sound resonating with a raspy quality. "oh, i'm hilarious," he corrects, his half-lidded eyes meeting yours, a mischievous smirk gracing his face. it was evident that he took delight in teasing and playfully testing your composure. it was more than a delight, he loved it.

you clench your teeth, a tinge of bitterness surfacing as you lick your lips, a subtle gesture of frustration mixed with a hint of intrigue. the playful banter between the two of you created a dance you both enjoyed, even in moments like these.

“it’s so funny you say that because i know a man with baby hairs longer than ella mais’ is not talking to me,” you yelled back as a rebuttal.

miles found himself at a loss for words, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you in astonishment. your bold response had caught him off guard, revealing a side of you with a sharp wit that he hadn't fully expected. he couldn't help but respect your ability to hold your ground. with curiosity etched on his face, he continued to observe, wondering where this playful exchange would lead. he knew you wanted to style his baby hairs, but the question lingered: just how far would you take it? could he trust you with something so personal? miles could only wait and see.

arms crossed, he maintained a composed stance as he awaited your response. "you've got some bite to you. what happened to being gentle?" he questioned, a hint of amusement lacing his words.

you sighed, understanding that you needed to convince him. taking his hands into your own, you cupped them lovingly, locking eyes with him. the intensity of your gaze was difficult to resist.

"miles, pretty pretty please, let me style your edges," you pleaded, your eyes employing the irresistible charm of puppy dog eyes. you knew he couldn't refuse such a request.

however, to your surprise, he did refuse.

"edges? nah, you trippin’," he repeated to himself, his shock at such an ask evident as his mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened. miles attempted to free his hand from your grasp, but you held on firmly.

at that moment, you realized there was no other choice but to resort to your final tactic. you brought his hands closer to your chest, leaning down to kiss him gently. the touch of your lips against his was tender, a moment of surprise that slowly transformed into shared synchronization.

as you pulled away, your eyes met his once again, filled with a pleading expression, silently asking permission to style his edges. "please?" you repeated.

the weight of your intimate kiss lingered in the air, leaving miles feeling captivated and unable to deny you any longer. the sensation of your lips meeting his had transported him to a realm of enchantment, where time seemed to stand still. as you leaned away, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, longing for more of the intimate connection you had just shared. however, your irresistible gaze and the allure in your eyes made it impossible for him to utter the word "no."

his eyes fixated on your hand, realizing that he had been defeated by your charm. his arms dropped limply to his sides as he simply stared at you, a mix of surrender and anticipation coursing through him.

"fine, you win," miles admitted, a sense of defeat in his voice.

a smile spread across your face as you jumped up, radiating joy. "you're the best boyfriend," you exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight hug before playfully springing off his lap. with determination, you rummaged through the cabinets of his cómoda, searching for the holy grail—his eco gel.

"yeah, yeah," miles mumbled, his smile concealed but unmistakably present. as your arms enveloped him in an embrace, he savored the warmth and comfort they provided.

knowing that he slicked his hair back, you were confident he had a brush somewhere. your persistence paid off as you soon discovered the gel amidst your exploration. as you gathered all the necessary items in front of you—the gel, the 3-in-1 edge brush, and your trusty spray bottle.

a whisper escaped your lips, revealing your anticipation. "you don't know how long i've waited for this moment," you murmured, standing before him with the array of products, excitement emanating from every fiber of your being.

"go crazy,” miles added, giving you the green light. the gel in your hand held the power to transform his hair at your will, and he willingly surrendered himself to your creative freedom. his gaze remained fixed on you, as if he could anticipate your every move.

"bet," you confidently responded, reaching for the comb. your determination was evident, and he knew you were about to go all out. "you already know."

approaching him, you delicately used the comb to separate the baby hairs, skillfully tucking away any excess strands and seamlessly blending them into the braids. the edges received your attention next, as you meticulously brushed and styled them, lightly misting them with water to ensure they were dampened for the gel, all the while ensuring it wouldn't touch his forehead.

repeating the process on the other side of his head, you effortlessly extracted the baby hairs, leaving behind a clean and polished look, carefully arranging the longer strands that may have become entangled in the process.

now, the moment had arrived. with a glimmer of excitement in your eyes, you eagerly picked up the gel, locking eyes with miles.

as you finally held up the gel, his eyes widened, captivated yet nervous by your ecstatic expression. he had no inkling of your forthcoming plans, and his heart raced with anticipation of what was about to happen to him, caught in the enchanting gaze you shared once again.

"this feels like when sza finally dropped shirt," you playfully remarked, closing the distance between your faces. the anticipation in the air was palpable as you dipped the bristles of the edge styler brush into the gel, then pulled it out to reveal a perfect, medium-thick coating. "prepare to radiate fabulousness."

he couldn't believe the level of dedication you were putting into this moment. "i can't wait to see this myself," he responded, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "my edges gon’ be on fleek?"

you made a shushing sound with your mouth, drawing even closer to him. his hands instinctively found their way to your hips, slowly gliding up to your waist as your bodies now stood inches apart.

"what, can't hold onto your girl anymore?" miles teased, a sly smile playing on his lips. "consider it me supporting your...balance."

a natural grin spread across your face, despite your attempts to resist it, for he had that effect on you—the power to make you smile effortlessly, just by being himself.

you delicately applied the gel to his hair, savoring this moment as an image in your mind. the weight of the occasion was undeniable, as he rarely allowed you to partake in such intimate grooming rituals. as the gel made contact with his strands, you felt a cool and smooth sensation tingling against your fingertips, heightening the sensory experience.

with precise movements, you began pulling the hair out from his hairline, brushing it towards you, allowing the gel to guide and shape each strand. the rhythmic dance between your finger and his hair created a tactile symphony, showcasing your control and finesse. the subtle resistance of the hair against your touch provided feedback that you relished, further immersing you in the moment.

however, this endeavor was about more than just tending to his edges; it had to be extraordinary. you understood that this opportunity might never come again, so you were determined to make it truly memorable. a flicker of inspiration sparked within you, warming your heart and fueling your creativity. you decided to put your heart into it.

continuing the sweeping motion, your finger glided along the edges, seamlessly blending and smoothing the gel with each stroke. you repeated the process with meticulous care, moving from one hair to another, ensuring a harmonious flow. when you reached his temple, a decision took shape. you divided the hairs into two distinct sections, applying the gel as you normally would. however, instead of sweeping them to the side, you gently smoothed them down, guiding them to face each other with an overexaggerated curve. the sensation of the gel-coated strands conforming to your touch brought a sense of satisfaction that words couldn't capture.

"perfect," you whispered under your breath, affirming your accomplishment with a contented smile.

the same process awaited the other side of his face. swiftly, you dipped the tip of the brush back into the gel, ensuring a fresh and generous coat for the opposite side. with deftness, you brushed the gel-soaked bristles down to his hair, feeling the slick texture of the gel melding with the strands. carefully, you laid the hair against the side of his head, relishing the tactile connection between brush, gel, and hair.

you gracefully swooped down the last bit of hair, a sense of accomplishment washing over you. it felt surreal, almost dreamlike, to witness the transformation you had achieved. slowly, you took a step back, feeling the corners of your mouth ache from the tightness of your grin. you observed your work with a keen eye, much like a painter admiring their canvas.

"done," you declared, your voice soft yet filled with a triumphant undertone.

bending down, you retrieved your purse, unzipping it and retrieving your phone. the anticipation in miles' gaze was palpable, as he eagerly awaited your permission to glance at the mirror.

"can i see the results?" he asked impatiently, his curiosity getting the better of him.

emerging from the floor, you tilted your head and regarded him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "nah, you gotta wait. this photo i'm about to take of you comes first," you spoke, relishing the suspense.

miles' face transformed into a slight pout at your words, the anticipation clear in his expression. you swiped right on your phone, opening the camera app, and positioned the focus on miles' face. the act of preparing to capture the moment added to the unreal experience, as you adjusted the settings and framed the shot.

"well, hurry up then cus’ i'm tryna see this masterpiece," miles urged, attempting to rush you. though he tried to conceal it, his eagerness to see your handiwork was unmistakable.

you couldn't help but notice that, despite his efforts to hide it, miles genuinely appreciated the care you put into styling his hair, just as he enjoyed when you attended to his skincare and other personal grooming routines. he couldn't deny that it made him feel special, particularly when it was you who took the time and effort to do it.

you shot him a cold, sidelong glance, effectively silencing his complaints.

"smile," you commanded with authority, expecting compliance. miles obliged with a soft smirk, clearly relishing the attention. however, this response irked you.

"hey, don't make this look like those instagram reels where them lash techs make their clients cry with crushed red eyes from the weight of them five pound lashes," you warned, your irritation seeping into your words. "i did you good, so don't make me repeat myself when i say smile."

your firm tone conveyed your insistence on capturing a genuine smile, free from any depressed or forced expressions.

miles adjusted himself, fixing his posture up straight and doing a cute little smile only a facebook mom could get out of their son.

“que lindo,” you added as your thumb kept tapping the photo button repeatedly, capturing as many shots as you could. it was an opportunity you had to seize.

once satisfied, you decided it was time. “okay,” you spoke as you went up on your tippy toes to put your hands over his eyes, wanting to do a surprise reveal. “you can look now.”

miles leaned down a little, lowering his tall figure to your height to make it easier for you to cover his eyes. you moved forward while still covering his eyes, urging him to follow as you propped him in front of the mirror.

you smiled to yourself as you looked at him through the reflection before without warning moving your hands down and revealing his reflection.

his mouth was agape as his eyes widened slightly. there were his edges, laid to perfection. you did them just as most looked, with graceful swoops to the side that perfectly blended to his braids. but there was a subtle difference at his temples, one that you did specifically for him. you felt a warm sensation in your abdomen as the butterflies fluttered against your stomach as you watched his lips curl into a knowing smirk followed by a chuckle. it was the hearts that got him. symmetrical to each side you had given him little hearts made from his baby hairs with the eco gel.

miles couldn't help but admire his reflection, marveling at the artistry and care that went into his edges. he ran his fingers gently over the intricate hearts, his embarrassment giving way to a sense of warmth and appreciation for your thoughtfulness.

"they actually… don’t look half bad," he finally managed to say, surprise and delight in his voice. "i’m almost mad that i kinda like it, lowkey."

you grinned, ignoring his “lowkey” comment and feeling a sense of pride in your handiwork. "i'm glad you like it even tho’ you had no other choice but to," you replied with a little giggle, unable to hide the satisfaction in your tone. "i wanted to do it a lil’ special for you."

as if on cue, the two of you instinctively reached for your phones, ready to capture the moment. you held up your phone and asked, "can we take a pic’ together?"

miles hesitated for a moment, a playful blush creeping onto his cheeks knowing you wanted to take another one of your pinterest worthy relationship goals photos to add to the album of you two. "well, i don't mind taking the photo, as long as you don’t go posting me as always," he said sheepishly. "i'm not tryna get clowned in the locker room because my girl wanna be funny."

you nodded understandingly, respecting his wishes. "c’mon, miles. i wouldn’t even do nothing like that," you assured him, wanting to make him feel comfortable.

with wide smiles and playful poses, the two of you snapped several adorable mirror selfies, capturing the joy and affection radiating between you. miles couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness, grateful to have someone like you in his life to always keep it interesting and be there for him.

in his mind, he had acknowledged countless times that it was these moments, born out of the mundane and unexpected, that truly illuminated his love for you as his girlfriend. in those instances, he couldn't fathom the strangeness of a life without you by his side.

hours later, as you scrolled through your friends' instagram stories, you couldn't help but chuckle mischievously. miles had no idea what was coming. without thinking, you swiped left to make a post on your story and went to your camera. scrolling through the recents of your photos you found your favorited of the photos you and miles took. selecting a song of your choice, ranging from partynextdoor to had posted one of the mirror selfies, showcasing his impeccably styled edges and the sweet hearts adorning his temples.

it didn't take long for miles to notice. his phone buzzed with notifications, and curiosity piqued, he opened your story. his eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the photo, his cheeks flushing with a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and a hint of affectionate annoyance.

"yo," he exclaimed, a playful protest in his voice. "you said you wouldn't post it!"

you turned to him, a mischievous grin on your face. "who would i be if i didn’t flex our relationship goals on the story every now and then? crazy you even thought i was being for real about not posting," you replied, unable to hide your amusement. "don’t press me when we both look cute, especially you. everyone loved it anyway and the swipe ups are even better."

miles shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. deep down, he appreciated how you flaunted your relationship, knowing that it came from a place of love and admiration—knowing that if you could, you would show him to all of new york.

as the notifications continued to flood in, miles found himself instinctively snuggling up to your side, finding comfort in the warmth of your presence as you busily responded to all the messages you received. despite his stubborn facade, you knew deep down that miles wasn't upset in the slightest. in fact, you couldn't help but hope that this playful incident might soften him up, eventually granting you the opportunity to work your magic on his lashes next time.

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. ALL WRITING IS @PRIMAVIVA.

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madhatterbri · 7 months ago

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Acquainted | D.P.

Summary: Damian likes that he is acquainted with a dancer.

Author's Note: Y/N works in a dance club in this. Don't like it? Don't read it.

Happy Monday Night RAW, babes. ❤️

Damian Priest Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @theworldofotps @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @miss-kuki-nz @terrortwinunicorn @hotwheels1108

He opened the front door. The moonlight shined on Y/N. Her high heels clicked against the cobblestone steps to his home. A skin-tight dress clung to her body. Hair and makeup were done as if she were on the red carpet.

Damian remembered the first time he saw Y/N. He was at a club with a couple of his boys. They just needed a night out. Newly single, he wasn't looking for love. He certainly didn't expect it at this place.

Smoke fogged up the place. Men and women sat at the tables and watched the women. They were pretty entertaining until his eyes landed on her. When their eyes locked on each other, it was game over for him. He had to know more.

Car lights poked through his living room window. Thoughts of meeting Y/N left his mind. A smile crept on his face. The night they met was no longer important. She was here. He was going to be in for one hell of a night.

"You came," he pointed out. The wrestler bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't believe he said something so obvious.

She hummed in response. Her hand grabbed his cheeks. His chocolate brown eyes stared into hers. A smile poked through on her normally serious demeanor. Their lips met for a kiss. While their lips touched, she spoke. "You going to let me in?"

Damian nodded briefly. He opened the door for Y/N. The dancer walked into the house. The streets were void of any life. He couldn't imagine the rumors that would start if anyone found out she came in.

Not far behind her, he locked the door behind him. Y/N walked towards his bedroom. The Boricua followed closely behind her. He stopped the moment she did.

Her back pressed against the wall, and her fingers grabbed the collar of his shirt. Damian placed a hand on the wall. Their lips locked. She pulled his bottom lip with her teeth.

He gasped in the kiss. Her hands unbuckled his belt. His jeans and underwear slid down his legs. As his clothes went south, so did she.

Short moans echoed down the hallway. Her tongue licked from the base of his dick to the head. She kissed the tip of him. Her tongue worked its way around the head.

Damian cursed and sucked his teeth. His brown eyes watched in awe as his cock disappeared into her mouth. His hand on the wall turned into a fist.

Y/N bobbed her head on him. Short thrusts from his hips pushed him deeper. She reached out and grabbed the hand by his side. His hand found its way into her hair. He gripped her hair and controlled the motion. Damian felt her throat relax to take more of him.

"I'm close,"

The words hung in the air. He half expected her to move, yet she continued to swallow him. When his pants quickened, she stilled as he came down her throat. His orgasm washed over him. He hadn't felt this refreshed in a long time.

His pants and underwear were forgotten in the hallway. Her fist bunched up on his shirt. She entered his room first. Her fingers brushed his tanned abs and chest. He brought up his hands for his shirt to go.

When they made it to his bed, Y/N continued to take the lead. Her dress left in a pool on the floor. She performed the lap dance routine he gave him back at the club. Her lips kissed every part of his now naked body. All the blood rushed to his groin. In no time at all, she had him ready for round two.

She pushed his chest for him to lay down. He happily laid on his back. Straddling his waist while on her knees, she slowly slid down on him. Over stimulated, she brought her head back. Eyes fluttered as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

He hissed the moment her nails dug into his chest. She rolled her hips. Sounds of pleasure filled the room. His hands gripped her hips. He bounced her up and down on his cock.

His second orgasm came crashing down on him. Hers followed not long after. They remained still while they caught their breath. Y/N removed herself from on top of him. No other words were spoken between them as she left.

Damian stared at the ceiling above him. A smirk appeared on his face. He was happy they were acquainted.

#Spotify #fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #damian priest #damian priest x y/n #damian priest x reader #damian priest x female reader

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libra-stellium · 15 days ago

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Astrocartography after visiting San Juan, Puerto Rico 🇵🇷🎉

I have my Sun/DS line going through it and for aspects I have Sun square MC and Pluto trine/sextile my Ascendant

The main thing that happened in relation to being in the public eye and socially integrating is that I visited the same coffee shop every morning of my trip bc the coffee was so good! (787 Coffee Co if you’re visiting) one of the days they literally asked me if they could take my picture for their socials lol I said yeah sure! One of the baristas knew me by name after just a couple days and that made me really happy! Also the guy selling umbrellas at the beach remembered me and the exact spot my umbrella was in two days prior lol shocked to be recognized bc that doesn’t happen at all when I’m home. I feel like I was also way chattier with strangers like asking them questions to keep the conversation going when usually I wouldn’t lol

Searching for a partner consciously AND unconsciously bc I was like damn maybe my husband could be Boricua 🤤 and I also had two dreams! One of them was about me getting added to a group chat with two other girls and one of them was basically saying how she created this chat so we can get together to help one of my exes that was also their ex 😭 I don’t actually know what was wrong with him lol either forgot or woke up before finding out. The second dream was more like affectionate? Just the abstract feeling of love and holding hands and kisses on my cheek stuff like that but it was cute lol

If all my encounters mirror my self then I would say I’m doing pretty good lol everyone I came across was friendly and generous and inviting!

Not sure I was there long enough to experience this? When I came back I was a little bit annoyed bc I was asked to draft a section for a filing and to find new cases to use in my argument just to come back and see that they decided to go with the cases we already had and none of the new ones I found lol wasted time on research! But that’s not the first time that’s happened at this job.

Was I more forceful? Lmao idk I think I was chilling but I did succeed in making my bestie try foods other than chicken tenders and fries lol I think the waitress looking sad and telling me to please make sure she tries mofongo before leaving helped 😂

#astro #astrology #astro tumblr #learn astrology #astro community #astrocartography #sun/ds line #sun square mc line #Pluto trine ascendant line #Pluto sextile ascendant line

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bigbootyjbby23 · 2 years ago

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“Your contagious, touch me baby give me what you got”

“Sexy lady, drive me crazy drive me wild” 😍😍😍🥰😩💯😶‍🌫️😘😘

#high asf #love #isley brothers #straight hair #beautiful #smile #all black #boricua #diamond necklace #brown eyes #brown hair #tan #nose ring

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howdoesagrapewrites · 2 years ago

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𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙂. 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙭 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙖!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

warnings: none, sfw, fem!reader, earth 42 Miles barely appeared so I'm not sure if there's such thing as ooc?

Notes: this is very self indulgent and reader is shamelessly based off of me

Part two (1610 Miles)

>He's glad he doesn't have to instruct you when you meet his family

>and speaking of that, is more likely that he'll be quicker to introduce you to them

>I will push the "he calls his girlfriend mami" agenda

>Loves to cook with you<3

>Specially if you aren't boricua, because that means he gets to teach you things about his culture, and you get to teach him about yours

>"si es una niña tan linda, o la cuidas o la cuidas, mijo" -Rio, wondering why did you picked his son out of everyone

>He's got so much more confidence and is so shameless while flirting, unlike his earth 1610 counterpart

>bro was literally rizzing himself up

>does the "you looking fine" whistle (not when his mom's around though)

>He probably had his eye on you for some time

>Miles "donde pongo el ojo pongo el bicho" Morales

>loves to touch you, and is not ashamed to be possessive

>a hand firm on your waist, an arm around your shoulder, intertwining fingers

>Those forms of PDA are his way of telling you that you mean the world to him, even if he has a hard time expressing and processing his emotions after his dad's passing

>He's a puertorrican man who's father died and left him "the head of the home" at a young age, of fucking course his love language is providing for you

>You gotta tell him you can get things for yourself and you don't need his money constantly (specially because it's not like he's rich) but he accuses you of not loving him, deadass 💀

>He probably picks up words and expressions from your dialect

>Talks shit to you about other people in spanish

>Really, really, really likes when you call him pet names

>wants you to call him papi

>I don't think he has enough spice tolerance for some mexican food, but he can handle jalapeños and valentina

>no, he does not dance, don't even ask

>ok, he may dance with you when you're alone, but in a sensual setting, not in a party

>Your family is a bit weary of him at first (he's so serious!) But they see how much he cares for you and how dedicated he is

>you two definitely yell at each other in spanish from one corner of the house to the other and everyone think you're arguing

>what happened: "You bought the rice I asked for?", "Yeah I got it on sale so we have 5 packages", "thanks, cielo"

#miles morales x reader #Miles 42 x reader #Miles G Morales x reader #the prowler x reader #Miles Morales x fem reader #Miles the prowler #across the spiderverse x reader #Miles Morales atsv #atsv x reader

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julietasgf · 11 months ago

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Sejarcus — Modern AU headcanons

a collection of modern au sejarcus headcanons just because :)) completely based on my opinions and own silly hcs:

marcus is the son of cuban parents, sejanus is boricua. they constantly gossip in spanish so no one around can understand them (and good for them!!).

they met as little kids because they lived in the same neighbourhood. sejanus didn't know english at the time he moved with his parents and marcus was a kid that went to the same school as him. marcus felt bad for him and started hanging out with him + visiting sejanus' house to help him learn the language.

marcus didn't really intend to be friends with sejanus, but that was a lonely and stubborn kid with big brown eyes that kept following him up and down, and in the end he just got attached.

they were childhood best friends !! type of always sticking around to each other and doing everything together. sejanus crushed on marcus, but he didn't really knew it was a crush, just that he felt nice when marcus held his hand.

marcus loves ma plinth's baked goods, but he's not saying it aloud shhhhh (still, sejanus is bringing it to him every single day at school).

marcus is really, really good at volleyball, and sejanus usually likes watching him play (marcus tried to teach him a bit but it ended not good 😭)

sejanus knows how to bake, he learned with his ma when he was a pre-teen and he himself starts to bring baked things to marcus.

marcus is a big nerd and is into nerdy things, like high fantasy and science fiction. he's lowkey embarassed of it, but sejanus is giving him keychains and little gifts about the stuff he enjoys.

they started to date around 14 and were highschool sweethearts (probably they broke up and got back more than once, but that's because they are two idiots who struggle to communicate)

sejanus got into pre-med in college, and had to leave for another state. still, they keep a long-distance relationship.

they are gossipers. they gossip together. it's their favorite couple activity.

this is random, but sejanus still got a lot of plushies, so that's how it looks when marcus goes to sleep in his house:

#tbosas #tbosas movie #sejanus plinth #marcus tbosas #au #modern au #headcanons #sejarcus #my silly little posts #these are not much but I wanted to sum up some of my thoughts so bad

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pinkslipxox · 7 months ago

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Hola nena 🩷

Can i request Miko with a sassy afro-latina (boricua) reader? Basically personality like Maddy Perez, but not toxic 🤣

Hola mi amor! Hope you excuse me but I’m not familiar with Maddy Perez but I hope you like this one regardless 🥰❤️

——————————-————————————————

In the heart is downtown, the air was electric with the rhythm of life. You leaned against the hood of your car, eyes sparkling with mischief as you waited for your girlfriend, Miko. Tonight was going to be full of adventure, and you could hardly wait.

Miko arrived, the engine of her ride growling as she stepped out, looking effortlessly cool in a colorful oversized jacket and statement sneakers. You couldn’t help but smirk at the way she was looking at you. You were clad in a fitted top and high-waisted jeans that hugged your curves just right, radiating the confidence that could be seen within a mile.

“Diablo, mami,” Miko murmured with a smirk, her voice smooth like honey. "You’re out here serving looks."

Y/N arched an eyebrow playfully, crossing her arms. “Honey, please. I was waiting for you to show up in something more than just your usual drip.”

Miko laughed, the sound rich and infectious. “You know me better than that. Guapísima like you, I had to step up my game!” She walked closer, her swagger undeniable, and wrapped her arms around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace.

“See, now that’s what I’m talking about,” you teased, leaning in and stealing a quick kiss. “But don’t let that go through your head.”

Miko smirked, brushing a finger along your cheek. “Oh, I love that fiery spirit of yours. It’s why I fell for you in the first place.”

“Fell hard, huh?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sass as you playfully flicked Miko’s cap. “I don’t blame you. I’m a whole mood.”

“You’re more than a mood; you’re a whole-ass vibe, babe,” Miko corrected, laughing.

“Duh! Now enough chatter, vámonos a comer!” you declared with a wink and Miko shook her head fondly at you.

“Carajo… cuanto te adoro, Y/N,” Miko murmured as she intertwined her fingers with yours as she began to lead you down the street towards the restaurant.

Behind you two, the sun began to set, casting a warm glow around them, a perfect backdrop for you two. With every playful banter and shared laugh, you felt the world fade away, leaving the two of together, bounded by love and a shared spirit that was undeniably vibrant. Nothing could ever kill your vibe, not on your watch, or Miko’s.

#young miko #young miko x fem!reader #young miko x y/n #young miko blurb #young miko x reader #young miko fic #young miko imagine #young miko x you #young miko fanfiction #young miko fluff

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silent-raven13 · 2 years ago

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P FKN R!!! 🇵🇷 (Warning Harsh Language!)

Miles is always proud of his Puerto Rican side. Hell, he's the first one in Spider Society to burst out his Boricua music out loud. He wears his flag on his back when there's any Puerto Rican holidays or parades. Hell, he made a special suit with the Puerto Rican flag on it when he felt like showing off his culture, his Pride!

Yet today a racist asshole test him! Miles flew in the air using his venom strike, absorbing energy to give him a boost to do a flip before launching his webs to swing! The 19 year old wore his black, and red suit with the Puerto Rican flag on his chest to his torso.

Miles blasting Bad Bunny song "P FKN R" as he sings out loud as he swings from building to building: Si no sabes de dónde soy, no me ronquen, no -getting pump as he fight a rodder trying to steal from an elderly woman- Si no sabes de dónde soy, eh-eh, (ey) eh-eh, (ey, ey, ey)! -he beats up the robber as he give the purse back to the older woman before going up in the air to look for more crimes-

He sings along to his music: Yo soy de P fuckin' R (hoo)! -bangs his head as he swings- WHOA! Bad Bunny, you know me so well! -he chuckles as he went on a building keeping watch on the City's mainstream. The roads were closed off for Puerto Rican Day parade, he knew he needs to be home early to celebrate with his family. His mom took the day off for this occasion. Little Billie is probably wearing a cute dress with the Puerto Rican flag and her hair with ribbons matching the flag's colors- I should get a closer look to see if everything is good! -he saw the parade is about to start, so he should make sure no hate crimes were gonna be committed-

A familiar voice: Luv, what are you wearing? -Miles turns around to find Hobie standing behind him-

Miles happily smiles underneath his mask to find his boyfriend: OH hey, bae! -he went to hold his partner's hand- I'm glad you came! I thought you would miss today!

Hobie arched his eyebrow being masked: I never missed anything you invited me to. Now, what is this? -he eyes on the flag- A bit too Patriotic?

Miles chuckles giving him a kiss on the cheek with his mask on: Mi amor, it's my Puerto Rican pride.

Hobie: Isn't it a bit much?

Miles pouts: No! I think it's cool! -sounding a bit upset- You don't like it?

Hobie quickly change his statement: I meant, to be devoted to a country... the government, I meant. You know, how I feel about it. -he looks down at the parade seeing massive crowds- Isn't America's way to manipulate Puerto Ricans to appreciate being part of America? When they colonize your country and set up a military base! -he did a quick research on his partner's country and it's history-

Miles understood what he meant: Well, that may be true, but! -he hugs his partner's arm- Look, mi amor! You see how everyone is excited to celebrate being Puerto Rican! It runs in our blood, our pride, our culture is who we are! We may lost too much, hell Puerto Rico never had independence, but we're still here. Still Boricua! Still proud of our flag! It's who we are, and we throw the craziest parties, baby.

Hobie hears the loud music and many families gathering around to celebrate: I guess so.. you know how I am.

Miles: Hey, you're here so you're gonna get the full effect! Come on, let's check around. I know, you may judge America for their crazy ass colonization, but remember, you love protecting POC! There might be racists trying to commit hate crime!

Hobie became alert: Oh! I have no problem beating up a racist! -he grins under his mask, he follows his partner. As they got lower to the parade. The crowds cheers as they saw their Spiderman swinging by-

A random woman: Look! Mira! Mira! Es Spiderman! Boricua Spiderman!

The crowd in the parade cheers playing louder music and getting hype: Spiderman! Spiderman! Te amo!

One guy shouted: He's Puerto Rican?

Miles laughs: Por supuesto que soy puertorriqueño! -as he got low taking a balloon to give a little boy being carried by his mother-

Hobie saw the crowd wearing their flags in outfits, makeup, all sorts to show their pride. He follows Miles through the parade seeing no crime, yet. The music plays outlaid from the parade: Yo soy de P fuckin' R (P fuckin' R) Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh (ah)!

Miles turns around swinging backwards to look at his partner while singing along: Los maliante' con la' R! Prr-prr-prr-prr-prr -he chuckles- Come on, bae! Mejor que la boca cierre, ey Ah-ah-ah-ah

Some of the crowd started to sing or dance getting hype for their parade: Antes que los mío' te entierren (oye) Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh (yeh)

Hobie chuckles: You know what, I get it.

Miles smiles under his mask: I'm glad. You know, my mom made a lot of food so you can try.

Hobie: Yum, I didn't eat just to be prepare. -The two swing side by side-

Miles laughs: She made a lot of food! So you better eat like five plates! Also everyone is coming by for the roof top party! Isn't it exciting! -The loud Bomba music plays as they watch the parade starting having the female dancers following the rhythm of the music. Everyone enjoying the large floats, organizations, and other groups walking as they wave their flags.- Wow, it's bigger than last time!

Hobie saw a small group of men looking a bit suspicious: Aye, luv. Looks like we found a couple of muppets...

Miles looks over seeing them holding up microphones: Huh oh! Let's check it out! -being quick to get over the group-

The hate group had a leader preaching out about God and shouting at the Puerto Ricans: GO back to your countries! This a hate on America! You don't belong here -causing the crowd around to get upset-

A woman speaking in Spanish: No tienes derecho a estar aquí! ¡Estás arruinando el desfile! Déjanos en paz, Puñetas! Pendejos! Mama a tu culos! -some of the other crowd tried to held her back seeing they didn't want the cops to come in or worst stop the parade-

Miles flew down seeing the group of men: Hey fellas, what's going on here?

The hate group scowls at Spiderman's outfit with disgust. The leader had his microphone on: You are an American! You are disrespecting our country's belief! USA! USA!

Miles could only scowl under his mask: Hey man, people are allowed to celebrate where they come from!

The leader kept over talking Spiderman: Your just Spiderman 2! You're not even the real Spiderman! WE WANT SPIDERMAN!

Hobie crosses his arms getting super pissed off. Miles stops him: I got this. -he turns to the group- I kinda suggest you all to leave! Your ruining-

The leader of the hate group: FUCK YOU! GO BACK TO MEXICO! -the crowd behind Miles started to get super mad, almost riling up with anger. The racist insult was enough to cause them to shout back. MEXICO? Miles got mad too. This group is testing him- You and all your Mexican, pals should go back to your country! USA! USA! -the hate group chanted wearing their American flags-

Miles: I'm giving you one chance to apologize to me and my people! Before-

The leader over talks him: Or WHAT? You're gonna hit me? I'm using my first amendment! FREEDOM OF SPEECH, BUDDY! YOUR NOT EVEN A REAL SPIDERMAN WITH THAT TACKY FLAG YOU HAVE ON! -The older leader grins widely to pissed off Spiderman-

Hobie took out his guitar: That's it. I'ma beat this bloke! -the crowd behind him agrees-

Miles push him back: NO! We are better than them! -He turns to the group- you left me no choice!

The leader said: Oh yeah! You're nothing but a dirty sp- -Miles quickly uses his webs to shut up the leader then quickly uses his webs to tied the group, then he swing them high on the building-

Miles smiling happily: Ah-ah-Ah! Tsk. Tsk. I give you a chance to apologize and to go home, but since you want to harass me and everyone here. I think I have the right to shut you up! -the crowd cheers out loud as they saw the hate group being web against the building up high. Some took photos and laugh out loud-

Hobie grins widely seeing one of the dumbass racist pissing himself crying about his fear of heights: Wonderful, luv! -He slouches on Miles being a bit handsy with him-

The leader of the group shouted spotting the two Spidermen being a bit too close for his liking: UGH! YOUR NOTHING BUT A FUCKING FAGGOT! UGH, DISGUSTING! YOUR GOING TO HELL TOO!

Miles arched his eyebrow under his mask: Oh yeah? Well -He lift Hobie's mask to reveal his lips, then he lift his own mask to show his lips. A bit of his nose showing his pierced Septum. Then his lips pressed against Hobie's without a care who was watching. When he pulled his lips away then to hide his lower mouth- I RATHER BE A FAGGOT THAN A FUCKING RACIST!

Hobie froze being too in shock by his partner's action, he felt Miles' hand pulling down his mask to hide his mouth. He could've never love any more than he already did- No, he's falling in love with Miles all over again! Miles grab the Pride flag from one of the civilians having to tie it around his neck, flaunting it. Hobie could only awe at his boyfriend.

The crowd cheers having mix reactions from being shock to joy about the scene. Hell, most of their reactions were positive. The hate group were making loud taunts, until Hobie shut their mouths up with his webbing. Then he got close to the leader: Aye, mate. You're lucky if it wasn't me! I would've throw you in the Hudson River and let you all drown! -his voice low and menacing- I'll left you off with a warning, mate. Start another racist shit, and I will fucking kill you myself, huh? -the men looked horrified.- So you will stop this crap and not bother my darling, do you hear? -they all nodded- Good! -he harshly patted the leader's cheek almost slapping him-

Miles shouted: Come on, we gotta patrol some more, bae! -he launched his web shooter causing the to swing as he wave at the crowd-

Hobie follows him seeing the crowd being so happy, they can have a peaceful parade. The hate group being stuck on the building to be made an example of. As they made their rounds, the two got up on a building to watch one last time. Miles being happy by the parade, then he heard Hobie being breathless: I love you, Miles.

Miles being surprised: Huh, what made you say that? -he giggles being so bashful-

Hobie pulls Miles close to him for a close hug: You were amazing! No Spiderman would've done what you did!

Miles: Hahaha are you implying not even you would've stop them racist assholes?

Hobie shook his head: You know, what I mean. You kissing me in front of the crowd? Heh, New York City is gonna go crazy for you being bisexual, Sunflower.

Miles snorted: Pfft, good! Let them know that this bisexual boy issuing their asses! AND HE'S PUERTO RICAN! DOUBLE PUNCHES! -he chuckles- I love you, too Hobie.

Hobie: Can I get another kiss, Brooklyn?

Miles chuckles: Do you have to ask?

Hobie holding his love: Consent is important, luv.

Miles smiles widely: Sure, baby! -The two lift their mask to reveal their lips to kiss again. This time Hobie holds Miles like his special gem, being oh so gentle. The parade being loud and proud as the crowd celebrates their Puerto Rican Day while Yo Soy Boricua, Pa'Que Tu Lo Sepas by Taino plays in the background.-

(Sorry for the harsh language! Was listening to Bad Bunny and saw a post that made me inspired @babyhellboy post and comic photo also another comic post of Hobie Brown saying he rather be a F-word than a Fascist. Hehe, you know his Sunflower is heavily inspired by him😉.)

#punkflower #flowerpunk #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #spider-verse #spider verse #across the spider verse

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mjonthetrack · 12 days ago

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bell book II

Chapter Twenty-Nine “Finito.”

Tiffany barely finished unbuckling her seatbelt before Luis had the trunk popped and was hauling bags out like he livedthere.

“Who told you to—?” she started, stepping out her SUV, but he was already at her front door, juggling half her groceries like he did this every damn week.

She slammed the door behind her and stormed up the porch, heels of her sandals clapping across the wood.

“Martinez—Luis—Luis!” she called, unlocking the door as he waited behind her, arms full. He stepped right past her when it swung open like he owned a key, dropping bags onto her kitchen counter.

She stood at the doorway, glaring at the back of his head like it had said something slick.

“You deaf or disrespectful?” she snapped under her breath.

Luis turned just enough to look over his shoulder, smiling casually, dimples deep. “You say somethin’, princesa?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “I said don’t be bringin’ your ass in here like we married or something. Grocery carryin’ don’t get you no husband points.”

“Wasn’t tryna score no points,” he said, opening her fridge like it was his, sliding her oat milk onto the shelf. “I’m just raised right. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ a woman like you haul bags on them pretty hands. Especially not after I rearranged your guts twice in a week.”

Her jaw dropped.

Her lips floundered like they were tryna shape words, and nothing came out but air and rage.

She grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it at his back. “I hate you!”

Luis ducked it easily and caught it when it bounced. “No, you don’t.”

“I really do.”

“Sure.”

Tiffany folded her arms, standing in her kitchen with steam nearly coming out her damn ears. He was just moving around, organizing her stuff like he belonged there, like this wasn’t supposed to be a one-time, okay maybe two-time situation.

The thing was—nobody had ever done this.

Not a damn one of the men she’d dealt with before. Brothers too busy flexin’. Poly boys who tried to out-alpha each other. Not a single one had picked up bags, stocked her fridge, washed his hands, and turned to her like he was ready to cook in her kitchen.

She wasn’t ready.

And she definitely wasn’t prepared for what she didn’t know until now:

Boricua men were built different.

When they picked you? That was it.

No tug-of-war. No half-steppin’. No “see where it goes.” Nah.

It was done. Over. Finito.

And if the way Luis leaned across her counter now—arms folded, biceps straining his black shirt, head tilted, eyes tracking her like he already knew her moods—was any indication?

Tiffany was already claimed.

She huffed and walked away like she didn’t feel that heat in her chest, in her stomach, in the back of her neck.

She disappeared down the hall, mumbling just loud enough for him to hear:

“Hard-headed ass… always doin’ the most…”

Luis smiled to himself.

He was just getting started.

Chapter Thirty “It was fun or whatever.”

Tiffany padded back into the living room in a slate-gray two-piece lounge set that hugged every curve. Crop top, matching shorts that clung to her hips, her damp curls piled on her head in a loose pineapple. Her gold anklet glinted as she crossed the floor, bare feet quiet but energy loud.

Luis was leaned back on her couch, one arm draped over the backrest, watching her with that smug-ass look that had her already regretting every decision since that first damn drink.

She folded her arms, tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes.

“Aight now,” she started, voice syrupy sweet with just enough bite to it. “It was fun or whatever—but it’s time to go, papi. Thanks for carrying my stuff in.”

Luis didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

He just looked her over, slow and steady, like he was memorizing the slope of her hips in those shorts, the curve of her thighs, the soft roundness of her belly she didn’t care to hide in her own damn house.

“You always kick out the man who feeds you and stocks your fridge?” he asked, voice low, laced with that Bronx drawl and a little something smoother—dangerous.

“I always kick out the men who don’t listen,” she shot back.

“Good thing I heard you loud and clear.”

“So what’s the issue?” she asked, gesturing to the door. “You lost the ability to walk, Martinez? You need me to call you a Lyft or…?”

He chuckled, that deep chesty sound that made her spine want to act up.

“You think I carried all those bags and rearranged your shelves just to bounce after a sandwich and some lemonade?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, and she swore to God she felt that eye contact in her soul.

“I told you once,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “One night with you was enough to have me thinkin’ about you every damn day. You think I’m lettin’ that slide again? Nah, mami. Not this time.”

She squinted, jaw tightening. “You don’t listen.”

“I do. You just ain’t saying what you really mean.”

“Oh, you a mind reader now?”

“Nah,” he said, rising to his feet slow. She hated how tall he was. Hated how her breath hitched when he stepped toward her. “But I read body language pretty fuckin’ well. And your body? Ain’t been actin’ like it’s tryna say goodbye.”

Tiffany took a small step back and hated herself for it.

Luis only grinned wider.

“Don’t worry,” he said, brushing past her toward the door—but pausing right beside her. His voice dropped low as he whispered near her ear, “I’ll be back. You might be stubborn, but I’m patient, princesa.”

She stood frozen as the door clicked behind him.

She looked around her kitchen—fridge stocked, lemons still on the counter from the lemonade, and the soft scent of his cologne still lingering.

Tiffany muttered under her breath as she stomped back toward her bedroom.

“Fuckin’ Boricua men…”

But she didn’t tell him not to come back.

Chapter Thirty-One “Get a truck out here!”

The station was quiet for once. Luis was leaned back in one of the worn leather chairs near the comms desk, sipping on cold coffee and watching one of the rookies try to mop without smearing the dirt around. The usual hum of a calm shift.

Then the radio cracked.

“Dispatch to Station Twelve, we got a call incoming—civilian responder already on scene. Sounds like a vehicular collision, possibly DUI. Sending coordinates.”

He sat up straighter, posture shifting into alert.

The dispatcher’s voice buzzed through again—this time, the line picked up to the caller’s voice.

“Heavy ass… motherfucker!” The shout hit the speakers loud and raw. “FUCK! Aye—somebody get a truck out here! I was on my way to my shift—some dude drove into another car out by the big bridge, muthafucka drunk as a skunk! The other family’s fine! Their cars are lighting up like a blunt on Juneteenth! FUCK—his ass stink of alcohol—I’m tryna drag this big muthafucka out—”

Luis’s eyes widened, and he stood up fast.

“Yo—that’s Tiffany,” he said, already shrugging into his turnout gear. The other guys blinked, confused, but the senior captain didn’t waste time. He nodded.

“Let’s move. Get the truck. Send coordinates to the GPS—double-time!”

Luis was already halfway out the door before the siren kicked in, his heart pounding not just from the call—but from her voice. The edge in it. The chaos, the fury, the stubbornness. She sounded breathless and pissed and so vividly her he could already see her, curls a mess, lipgloss gone, probably in her scrubs and crocs, trying to wrestle some big drunk asshole out of a flaming car like she was Wonder Woman’s mean-ass cousin.

As the truck sped down the highway, lights spinning and siren screaming, Luis sat shotgun, jaw tight.

“She better not be hurt,” he muttered under his breath. “She better just be yelling ‘cause she likes yelling—crazy-ass woman…”

The truck skidded into the scene minutes later.

Smoke billowed from the busted-up sedan and the other crumpled car. The scent of gasoline hung thick in the air. One paramedic was already directing traffic. A crying family was huddled on the side of the road—but all Luis saw was a flash of purple scrubs and wild curls in the distance.

And her voice again—closer this time:

“If your heavy ass don’t get OUT this damn seat I’m leavin’ you to marinate in your own dumbass decisions!”

Luis jumped down before the truck fully stopped and sprinted.

There she was—sweating, fierce, her hands gripping a barely-conscious, very-large man by the armpits, trying to drag him out of the car. There was a dark smear on her cheek—ash or dirt or something—but her eyes were locked on the task, sharp and blazing.

“Tiffany!” he shouted.

She didn’t look up at first, still wrestling with the weight of the man.

Then she heard him.

“Oh, now you wanna show up,” she snapped without missing a beat. “Get yo’ ass over here and grab this big dumb bastard before I throw my back out!”

Luis grinned, even as adrenaline and urgency surged through him.

“On it, princesa.”

Because goddamn it—only she could make a near-tragic accident feel like foreplay.

Chapter Thirty-Two “Snatched my tiddy like a prize at the carnival.”

The scene was under control now—cops had cuffed the drunk, paramedics were tending to the family, and fire crews were finishing containment on the smoking engine. Luis didn’t give a single shit about any of that.

His hands were already on her arms, eyes sweeping over her like he had X-ray vision.

“You good?” he asked, breath coming fast, jaw tight.

Tiffany was bent over, hands braced on her knees, curly bun frizzed out like she’d wrestled a thunderstorm. She was catching her breath, soaked in sweat and road dust, her purple scrubs clinging to her like second skin.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, waving him off. “I ain’t break nothin’. I’m just tryna keep my shoe from falling in this ditch while I regulate my damn breathing.”

Luis didn’t budge. He stepped closer, pressing a palm to her back gently, eyes scanning. That’s when he saw it—just above the neckline of her scrub top, an angry red welt blooming over the upper swell of her left breast, already bruising.

“Aye, mami,” he snapped, voice low and heated. “What the fuck is that?”

Tiffany straightened and winced, huffing like she was pissed he noticed.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Really, Martínez?”

She looked down at the bruise, then rolled her eyes like she could wave it off with attitude alone.

“This stupid-ass bruh,” she said through gritted teeth, “snatched my tiddy like a prize at the damn carnival. Asked me what type of mixed I was—like that was gon’ get him an answer—while I was tryna snatch his heavy drunk ass out that death trap before it sautéed him.”

Luis froze, his nostrils flared. “He what?”

“I said he grabbed my titty,” she said louder, lifting her hand like she might go in for a reenactment. “Like this. Like I was a Build-A-Bitch.”

Luis’s hands clenched into fists.

“I’ll kill that motherfucker,” he growled, chest rising. “Right here. I’ll pull the damn truck around and run him over myself.”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes. “You gonna get in line behind me or what? I already slapped his ass with my stethoscope.”

Luis exhaled, sharp and heavy, trying to keep from exploding.

But then she laughed—tired, but real. The kind of laugh that cut through tension like butter. “I’m fine, papi. I’ve had worse from frat boys in LA on tequila night.”

“That don’t mean it’s okay,” he said low, his hand gently resting over the spot, eyes flicking up to hers. “You ain’t just anybody to be manhandled, Tiff. Not by me. Not by nobody.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything.

Just blinked at him, breathing slowing, like maybe something in his voice had slipped under her skin.

Then, of course, her mouth twisted.

“You gettin’ soft on me again, Martínez?”

Luis cracked a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was still running hot. “You don’t want me soft, princesa. You want me mad enough to make sure no man touches what’s mine.”

Her eyes darted down to where his hand still hovered—close, but respectful.

She snorted. “Mmm. Look at you talkin’ spicy in the middle of trauma.”

He leaned in close, breath skating over her jaw as he spoke. “You’re the one makin’ me lose focus, ma. I came here to save people. Now I’m tryna stop myself from throwin’ hands over your titty.”

She let out a short laugh, but there was a blush creeping up her cheeks, and she ducked her head like it irritated her.

“God, you dramatic.”

“You love it.”

“Shut up and help me find my damn penlight. I dropped it somewhere next to your hurt feelings.”

He bit back a grin.

Yeah.

She was fine.

For now.

But Luis Martinez knew one thing for certain.

The next time anybody laid a hand on her the wrong way, they wouldn’t need to call him—he’d already be there.

Chapter Thirty-Three “See ya around, Luis.”

Tiffany straightened with a sharp breath, rolling her shoulder back like the pain wasn’t sitting right on her collarbone. She didn’t give Luis another chance to speak, barely looked him in the eye as she moved toward her BMW.

“Well,” she said, grabbing her bag from where it had been tossed onto the grass during the chaos. “Gotta go clock in. Bout to be a rough twelve.”

Luis took a step forward. “Tiff—”

“Uh uh,” she cut him off with a little finger wave and a voice that was all nurse-on-duty energy. “No time for your soft-hearted papi routine right now. I still smell like the inside of that drunk’s car and I’m two seconds from being late.”

Her curls bounced as she jogged the last couple feet to the driver’s side, her lilac scrubs rumpled, her crocs stained with gravel dust.

Luis watched, jaw tight.

She opened the door, looked over the roof of the car at him one last time, her lips curling into a too-sweet smile.

“See ya around, Luis.”

And then she was in the driver’s seat, engine humming. She didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t glance back in the rearview mirror. She just peeled off like nothing happened, like the bruise across her chest wasn’t still hot and rising.

Luis stood there a beat too long, hands on his hips, helmet under one arm, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the call.

“See ya around,” he muttered to himself.

He knew what that meant.

Tiffany Fatu had just tried to ghost him again in broad daylight.

And this time?

Yeah. Nah. He wasn’t letting that ride.

Chapter Thirty-Four “I need more hands—move!”

The hallway lights blurred in a white tunnel as Tiffany straddled the patient on the gurney, her purple scrubs soaked down the front with blood that wasn’t hers. Her curls had slipped loose from the bun at the base of her neck, sweat clinging to her brow as she pumped compressions into the chest of a teenage gunshot victim.

“E.T.A. to the OR?” she shouted.

“Two minutes!” someone barked back.

“Page cardio and trauma again—now! Tell ‘em I’m not losin’ this one!”

Her fists didn’t stop moving. She was yelling out vitals, knees locked on either side of the boy’s hips, leaning into every compression with rhythm, determination, and no fear. The patient had flatlined on arrival. Two bullets—chest and abdomen. He was barely seventeen.

Blood had smeared on her neck, across her forearm, and soaked into her scrubs like it had claimed her for battle.

She didn't care.

She didn’t even notice the figure coming down the opposite side of the corridor. Luis had just walked in, gear still half-on from his dinner break. He was coming to see her—maybe give her hell for the stunt she pulled earlier.

But all that vanished the second he saw her.

This ain’t the Tiffany that told him to “see ya around.”

This was someone else entirely. This was the healer. The soldier. The woman who dragged men out of burning cars, who fought for the dying like it was personal.

“Clear!” she called out as they crashed through the OR doors, shocking the patient again.

Luis caught one last glimpse of her before they disappeared into the operating room.

Her eyes—fierce. Her jaw—set like steel. And her chest—rising and falling like she’d just given him another reason to chase her.

Luis stood still in the middle of the hallway, ignoring the stares, ignoring the splatter of blood that trailed behind her.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, half under his breath.

“Damn, princesa.”

And just like that… he was even more gone.

Chapter Thirty-Five “Twenty minutes later.”

The break room door swung open with a slam that echoed against metal and tile.

Tiffany didn’t even see him.

She stormed in with blood still on her scrubs and her curls half-fallen down her back, dried at the ends, damp at the roots. Her face was blank—but her eyes were a storm brewing.

Luis had been sitting in the corner, arms folded, still in his uniform. He had a box of food beside him, something hot and comforting, something he’d hoped would make her smile. But it froze in his hands when he saw her.

She kicked the locker. Hard.

“FUCK!” Another kick. Then another.

He stayed still, completely silent, like a wild animal might spook if he moved too fast. She didn’t even clock him, her fury too thick, too loud. Angry tears clung to her lashes, heavy and fast, rolling down her cheeks with no effort to stop them.

She slid down the lockers with a strangled breath, the metal groaning behind her. Her arms folded over her head, head tipped back, eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck—” she whispered, choking on her own breath. “Fuck, I did everything—I fucking did everything—”

Luis’s heart dropped to his stomach.

She wasn’t the hardass now. Not the mouthy little thing in crocs. Not the girl who cussed him out for flowers or played hard to get in a sundress.

This— This was a woman in grief.

He stood slowly, barely making a sound as he crossed the space and crouched beside her. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch her yet. Just sank down beside her, knees bent, close enough that his heat could find her, but not too close to crowd.

Tiffany’s body shuddered with the tears she never let herself have. Her fists were clenched in her lap. Her voice broke like it betrayed her.

“He was seventeen, Luis,” she said, hoarse and broken. “He was a kid. I had him—I had a rhythm, I had him, and then his heart just… stopped.”

Silence.

A heavy beat.

Then his voice—soft, deep, real. “That ain’t on you, princesa.”

She turned her head slowly, eyes glassy and red. “Don’t—” she croaked. “Don’t call me that right now.”

So he didn’t. Instead, he reached out carefully, his hand landing on her knee, thumb rubbing slow circles through her scrubs.

“I saw you,” he murmured. “In that hallway. I never seen someone fight like that, Tiff. You went to war for that boy.”

She looked down at his hand. Then up at his eyes. Something cracked deeper in her.

Luis sat fully beside her now, shoulder to shoulder. She leaned, slowly, just enough to let her head rest on his bicep.

And for the first time since she moved out here, Tiffany Fatu didn’t feel like she had to be tough.

Not for him.

Not tonight.

Chapter Thirty-Six “I gotta get the fuck out of here.”

Tiffany stood suddenly, too fast, too hard—her knee bumped the bench and her scrubs tugged where the dried blood had already started to flake. But she didn’t care. Her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms.

“I got that boy’s blood on me,” she seethed, her voice sharper now, louder. “On my arms, under my nails. I still feel his ribs from compressions—and now his mama gotta pick out a fucking headstone.”

Her voice cracked again, and Luis stood too, calm but firm, steady as hell in the eye of her storm.

“Tiffany—”

“Nah,” she cut him off, eyes glassy but hard. “I can’t fucking breathe in here. The walls feel like they closing in and if I smell antiseptic one more time, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

She snatched open the locker, grabbing her hoodie with fast, angry hands, then stopped—eyes locking on her reflection in the metal.

Blood on her scrubs. Sweat stuck to her hairline. Her lips pressed tight like she could hold the flood back with just grit.

Luis stepped closer but still gave her space.

“I’ll take you outta here,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer. Just yanked the hoodie over her head, tugging it down until her curls puffed around her shoulders and her body was swallowed in it. She didn’t care how she looked. Not tonight.

Her voice was tight and low now, the fury simmering just beneath the surface.

“You ever feel like you did everything right?” she asked bitterly. “Like textbook, like muscle memory, like second nature—and they still fuckin’ die?”

Luis didn’t speak at first. Then he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

She finally turned to him then, some of that red-hot anger cooled to a dull, hopeless ache.

“I need air,” she whispered.

“I’m right behind you,” he said.

Tiffany walked out the break room first, not even looking at the other nurses who glanced up from their coffee or charting. She didn’t owe them her grief.

Luis followed, steady and silent, like a shadow she didn’t have to fight against.

Out through the sliding ER doors, into the sticky Mississippi afternoon air, where the sun made the blood on her sleeves look darker, almost rust colored. She stood on the concrete in her cracked purple crocs and stared at the sky like maybe it would answer something.

But it didn’t.

So instead, she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear—

“I just wanted to save him.”

Luis didn’t say anything this time. He just stepped beside her, hand finding hers, and held it.

Not tight. Not possessive.

Just there.

And for the first time since the ER doors slammed shut behind her, Tiffany didn’t feel like she was drowning alone.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Taking her home

Luis drove in silence, the truck’s low rumble the only sound between them. Tiffany’s fingers were clenched tight in her lap, nails biting into her palms as the memories swirled fresh in her mind. He glanced over at her—really looked—and didn’t say anything just yet.

When they pulled up to the compound, Luis was already moving with an easy confidence, like this was his territory too. He opened her door and helped her out, steadying her without fuss.

“Come on, mami,” he said softly, guiding her inside like he’d lived here a hundred times. The quiet house felt safe, like a shield against the world.

Without waiting for an invitation, he led her to the bathroom, flicking on the shower and adjusting the water to a perfect warmth.

“Take you a hot shower, mami,” he said, voice low and steady. “Food’ll be ready when you’re out.”

Tiffany eyed him warily, the weight of exhaustion and anger still heavy in her chest. But there was something in the way he looked at her—no judgment, just... presence.

Without a word, she peeled off her scrubs, dropping them in the trash bin, and stormed toward her room, letting the door close behind her.

Luis stood by the bathroom, waiting, knowing she needed space but wanting to be there when she was ready.

Chapter Thirty-Eight In the shower

Luis waited, counting the minutes. When Tiffany stayed in the bathroom longer than expected, a knot twisted tighter in his chest. Quiet sobs seeped through the closed door, soft but unmistakable.

Without hesitation, he moved. Gently easing the door open, he slipped out of his uniform shirt and pants, the cool air brushing his skin before stepping into the warm spray. The steam curled around him as he reached for her.

When he found Tiffany, trembling and crying against the tile wall, he wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her close, grounding her with the steady beat of his heart.

She cried against his chest, shoulders shaking with the weight of everything she’d carried in the ER and beyond. And something in the way she clung to him—like her guard was down for the first time—broke something inside him.

He didn’t say a word. He just held her.

In that moment, beneath the warm water, they found a fragile strength—one forged not by fighting alone, but by leaning into each other.

Chapter Thirty-Nine After the shower

Tiffany sat at the small kitchen table, her eyes swollen and puffy from crying. She barely touched the food Luis had prepared, picking at it nervously, the taste lost on her.

Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, barely above a whisper, “Don’t go… not tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Luis paused, fork halfway to his mouth. He looked at her—really looked—and nodded without hesitation.

He moved closer, sliding a chair beside her and reaching out to gently cover her trembling hand with his. No words were needed.

For the first time in days, Tiffany let herself lean into the quiet comfort of someone who wasn’t trying to fix her—but was simply there to hold space for her pain.

#damian priest fanfic #damian priest x oc #romance #x black oc #mature fic

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