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hecateslore · 4 months

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💌

hi childreennn mother had to jot this down while my brain was still going from earlier plz enjoy more supervisor!simon

Wednesday strolled in with ease. You and Simon avoided each other all day on tuesday. You knew you were really pissed when you thought of sending an anonymous complaint to HR.

It was lunchtime and you sat at your desk headphones in watching your comfort tv show and eating your lunch. Simon walked out of his with a thick stack of papers. He walked up to your desk, dropped the papers harshly, “Get these done when you’re finished.” he demanded. You looked up with a mouthful of food, “I’m on my break.” you snap back at him. “There’ll be no break after this ever, if these aren’t half finished by the end of the day.” he barked back only to earn looks from the others (we live in a sassy man apocalypse I fear😣.) You roll your eyes, “And if I see your headphones again, that’s another strike.” he finishes.

It all seemed like too much to behave this way for an office job. You were ready to flip your desk, kick a monitor and slap him in the back of the head. All of the sudden he just became this douche. Not once have you ever given him any problems, have you ever screwed up.

A part of you wanted to ask him what the problem was, so you threw your plate away and went to the bathroom and facetime your best friend.

“Please tell me you sent in a complaint.” Your bestie sighed over the phone. “No I'm scared, online it said your identity might have to be revealed.” You said as you watched your bestfriends face screw up, “Just put in your two weeks, we’re hiring over here,” she suggested , “I’ll see if I can get you a spot, my manager’s really cool.” She gives you a smile. You look at the time and see you have 5 minutes left to chat before you have to get back to work. “I gotta go, but let me know what your manager says.” you bite your cheek, “will do !” she says before hanging up. You let out an exasperated sigh and go back to your desk.

On Thursday you worked the front alone, you were kind of glad because you were out of Simon's sight and you didn’t have to see the problem look so damn good in slacks. You sat and answered calls while listening to some music. It was a pretty peaceful day, not too many people came in so you kind of just sat and waited, you did some crossword puzzles, played some games on your computer, ignoring the get back to work email from Simon. It was lunch time when you and Simon interacted for the first time in a couple of days. You were getting ready to walk to the grocery store in the plaza you worked at (do they have these outside of America? Like shopping malls, or like strip malls?? Plz let me know.).

“Heading out?” he asked, leaning against the wall near the exit. You rolled your eyes, praying he didn’t notice. “I got to go to the market also, maybe I can keep you company?” he offered.

“I don’t care.” you mumbled, obviously very bothered by his presence. You grabbed your bag, and headed towards the door, Simon following behind you closely. “What’re you gonna buy?” he asked, “food.” he let out a sigh, “food’s always good.” he said, swinging his arms back and forth.

Simon felt like a kid who disappointed his mother, he doesn’t know what he did, but it was something that made her angry. In this case, he knew you were angry but you couldn’t still be angry from Monday's quarrel.

When you entered the market you made sure to separate yourself from Simon, you head to the little deli in the back, and got a turkey sandwich (I love turkey sandwiches if anyone cares.)

Somehow Simon ended up finding you, you two stood next to each other silently watching the elder man thinly slice the meat and place it on the bun. “Looks delicious.” he says, and you say nothing. You prance around the store finding some snacks for your desk, picking up a snickers bar for Linda cause those are her favorites. Simon followed you around like a lost puppy , paying for his stuff after you. You walked out before him and sat at the exact table you sat at when he decided he wanted to be a dick for the first time.

Simon walked out of the store and found you sitting alone, eating alone, watching people walk around the shopping mall. “Lost ya.” he smiled, his one dimple showing. You looked at him with a blank face. Simon pursed his lips and sat and ate his lunch quickly.

“Saw you looking for jobs online.” he broke the silence. “Yup.” you hum, “You’re thinking of quitting?” Simon inquired. “I’m looking at jobs so?” you drawled out earning wide eyes from simon. “You know I can fire you for that.” he takes a sip from his water bottle, “you’d fire a wild bear for shitting in the woods if it worked for you.” You scoffed, in return Simon let out a cackle, and you almost smiled at his natural laugh. “I think I've found a job though. So I'll be out of your hair in no time” Simon smile drops, “who said I wanted you out of my hair?” his brows furrow.

You smack your lips together, “let’s not be obtuse.” you sigh.

“You want to quit because of me?” he asked, “If I say yeah, are you gonna speed up the process?” you ribbed. “You really want to quit because of me?” Simon was in disbelief, he seriously couldn’t believe it. Was he too harsh? But that’s how you two were, you’d taunt each other. At least that’s what he thought. “I’m going back.” you say while getting up and throwing your trash.

Simon sat by himself, “let’s not be obtuse.” kept replaying and replaying. Was it the headphone thing, it was just some dumb gag he did for fun. You even joked about it one time, you said you’d shove an air-pod up his nose. Was it the emails? Simon likes your attention, whether it be good or bad. He likes you, the way you look in your work outfits, he’s a grown man, he can appreciate when someone is good looking. Now he was really starting to tweak out.

Simon practically sprinted back to the office, you sat at one of the front desks, you looked up at him in the doorway. “Are you really quitting?” your eyes widen, “Simon hush!” you sputtered.

“Was it something I did,” he asks as he walks towards the desk, “Answer me truthfully.” he demands. “Oh jesus.” you put your head in your hands out of embarrassment. Simon's eyes are on you, you can feel them while you try and bury your head deeper into your palms. “I know you were pissed on monday-” he continues, “Simon leave it alone for fucks sake.” huffing you finally look at him. He nods and walks back into his office, shutting the door avoiding work all day, with you on his mind how could he not?

It’s Friday, you’re scheduled to be back at your desk. You walk into the office earlier as always, listening to your music, you notice Simon was sitting on your desk. Confused, you approach him and tap him on his shoulder, “Your ass is on my desk.” Simon hops off quickly, “Sorry.” you eye him suspiciously.

“I want to talk to you about yesterday.” you groan, “Simon leave it please. That’s all I ask.” you make praying hands pleading, “yesterday you said-”

“UGH Simon please.” you groan even louder than earlier, “you said “If you say yes would I make the process faster” so I am the reason you’re quitting?” you look at him with the most confused face ever. “Are you okay? Genuinely?”

“Are you quitting because of me?” Simon prodded, “I have to heat up my breakfast.” Soon as you went to walk to the break room, Simon grabbed your wrist softly, his brown eyes looking into yours,

“Answer me, is it my fault?”

(well, yes!)

#Supervisor!simon #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost simon riley #cod mw2 #task force 141 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #ghost fanfiction #simon my beloved #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader

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rosesaints · 11 months

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help wanted ! chapter three.

pairing: miguel o’hara / f!reader summary: your first week on the job. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: oral (f! receiving) series masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

There’s no comprehensive and all-encompassing instruction manual for parenting. You could make a point about the parenting books that you could easily snag off the bookshelves of your local library, but they’re not always effective.

Every child is unique, and what works for one child might not work for another. Parenting manuals often provide general advice and strategies, but they don’t always address the specific needs, temperament, or circumstances of an individual child or family. Parenting is also a deeply personal experience, and different parents have different philosophies, values, and parenting styles. What one parent finds effective or important may differ from another.

You took a quick glance from the comfort of your living room over to your next-door neighbor’s front yard and see that they’d progressed from soccer to softball and now… volleyball, it appeared, in the course of one Sunday morning. Little Gabi O’Hara seemed to have boundless energy and a penchant for the most active range of hobbies a five-year-old could possibly have, and it was only ten in the morning.

She was receiving, diving, and scrawling around the grass frantically, happy as can be, as Miguel set the ball to her side of the yard, steadfastly coaching and guiding her through the motions. Faintly, you overhear him yelling words of encouragement, and when Gabi saves a particularly difficult ball, you watch as he runs excitedly over to her to pick her up about his shoulders and whooping in glee. “¡Qué orgullosa estoy de mi hija!”

You fought the urge to celebrate along with them and tried to concentrate back on what you desperately needed to get done before Monday sneaks up on you. You’re not a parent, but if you were going to be in charge of watching, protecting, and caring for Miguel’s pride and joy, you had some reviewing to get done.

Miguel O’Hara probably didn’t need a manual or a guide to learn how to parent. It came naturally to him, took hold, and became second nature. It’s evident in the way Gabi hangs onto him like a lifeline.

Now, you know deep down that you wouldn’t be able to replicate what made him a good dad, wouldn’t even dare to try, but it was a good thing you only had one job: to babysit for a summer. And manuals and guides for babysitting happened to be a lot more useful and concise about what to expect in your new role.

Forty-five dollars later, you were signed up for an online Babysitting & Advanced Child Care Certification. You were well aware that this course was usually reserved and taken by eleven-year-olds, took it yourself almost ten years ago, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You didn’t take it half as seriously back then as you did now. (It was really not that deep.)

As four hours passed, you gradually checked off lessons in basic first aid and CPR (Stayin’ Alive by the Bee Gees was a very good point of reference ), developing age-appropriate activities (though you probably could’ve just looked out your window to see more of what Gabi was interested in), behavior management (she was also an avid fan of your mom’s blueberry muffins), and business and professionalism skills.

Now where do you even begin with your last lesson?

Your mother had done the brunt of negotiating this job for you, overselling you and your skills heavily, so you were covered in the marketing aspect of the “business.” Everything else in the lesson were skills you learned early on in college and through common sense, so you felt confident in that aspect. The real struggle was under the bullet point:

Professionalism.

The memory of him was still fresh; red marks just beginning to turn purple on the flesh of your skin as you replay the way he told you he would wait for his decision with a patient and composed tone, but his hands betrayed him, drifting down low to your thigh, the downright inappropriate way in which he looked down at you, intense brown eyes that seemed to intensify in a reddish hue.

Uncertainty bloomed in your chest reluctantly, concerns beginning to fester like wildfire.

Now, unfortunately, since the course was designed for pre-pubescent individuals, you were a little bit at a loss. What exactly was the proper etiquette for working with what was meant to be a one-night stand?

Googling “what to do if you slept with your boss/neighbor accidentally before you start the job,” ended up being fruitless since most of the searches came up with oversleeping and arriving late, attempting to salvage it with a quick, additional search through r/AITA: “what to do if job included taking care of one-night stand’s daughter,” and then frantically looking up: “how does someone become good at three different sports in one afternoon” in a panic-induced haze.

There was no right answer, it seemed, other than to wait it out and see. That last question was a long shot anyway.

You ended up passing your certification with flying colors with relative ease, sighing with relief as you finally shut your computer off for the day. By the time you finished, the sun had begun its descent, warm daylight receding quickly from the living room you had locked yourself into to try and get the exam done. At that point, Gabi and Miguel had concluded their front yard practice hours ago and you let your mind wander, thinking about how summer was going to go.

Last summer, you were barely home, too preoccupied with thoughts about your future and your engagement, and your internship. The world seemed impossibly vast, and everything was going so fast, way too fast for your liking but you made yourself push through it.

Sitting cross-legged in your living room, listening in on your parents bickering over the right seasoning proportions as you thumbed through a babysitting certificate, you found this was a lot better. Peaceful.

Sleep came easily and softly, this time with no dreams of your next-door neighbor.

When you knocked on the door of the O’Hara house for the second time that week, you felt a bit more prepared, but your fingers still fiddled with the hem of your dress. Your room currently looked like a warzone, having spent a good chunk of your morning deliberating on what to wear, and you had settled on a well-worn and familiar dress, but you were starting to have doubts.

It was early–cars were only just beginning to pull out of their driveways, rushing off to work and you could still feel the mist lingering in the air. Miguel had texted you the night before and told you to pop in around 8 AM before he headed off to work an hour later.

You considered knocking again before the door opened, and Miguel lit up at the sight of you. Compared to you, he looked relaxed, eyes crinkling softly around the edges as he invited you in. “Come on in, Gabi’s still asleep.”

Gingerly, you followed him through the house with padded footsteps, careful not to make any noise as he leads you into the living room. He gestured for you to sit as he walked back into the kitchen, and you were left to examine your surroundings. Once again, spotless—and was that a signed guitar by Llewyn Davis?

Miguel returned with two mugs of coffee and some cream and sugar, chuckling as he noticed what you were staring at. “I see you’ve noticed the infamous guitar. I don’t really play all that often anymore, because of work and Gabi, but it has good memories.”

“It’s gorgeous,” You sighed breathlessly. “How in the world did you get it signed?”

You spent a few minutes going back and forth with him about music, “you were in two punk bands in high school?,” to which he rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the small smile that lingered as he brought his mug of coffee back to his lips, “I had a lot of pent up tension back then.”

There were a few other things you went over with him, like Gabi’s bedtime (he usually tried to be home by the time she had to go to sleep but work sometimes prevented him the opportunity so he makes sure to stay until Gabi woke up in the morning), potential allergies or dietary restrictions, if she could go over to your house, visits with Abuela, and little lessons and habits that he had picked up in the five years as Gabi’s dad.

One thing you learned was that he was very thorough; there were phone numbers stuck to the fridge in the event that anything went wrong, emergency contacts a mile long being added to your phone, a list of preferred hospitals and clinics in the area, and maybe excessively, a list of soccer parents to avoid at grocery stores, playgrounds, and practices.

You had raised an eyebrow at that last point. “What, did you have an argument with a mom at Bed, Bath, and Beyond or something?”

“I might get a little too competitive when Gabi’s playing soccer.”

“Miguel,” You tried to resist the laughter bubbling up your throat at the mental image of Miguel going wild at a little league soccer game. “They’re five. How competitive do you have to be?”

When the hour was getting close to done, and after making more fun of Miguel to your delight, he looked down at his watch, eyes lowering slightly in disappointment. “It’s about time for me to head to work, and I wanna go wake up Gabi before I have to go,” Miguel stood up, and you couldn’t help but stare as he stretched, lean muscles rippling underneath the fabric of his button-up, shirt riding up just right as you caught a glimpse of tan, sunkissed skin—

Focus.

If he noticed you staring, he didn’t mention it, but you could see the small traces of a smug smile as he turned away from you to head to Gabi’s room. On the way, he pointed out other rooms, his office, where to go do laundry, and a guest bedroom if you ever needed it, though you reminded him that you did only live a good ten feet away from his house.

Before you went in, Miguel knocked softly, opening the door to a bright, blue bedroom. It’s a gorgeous room, filled with various posters of the sports and cartoons that Gabi loved, a bunch of toys that were still strung out on the floor, and there’s a picture of her and Miguel on the nightstand from Disneyland, with Gabi as a baby wearing lopsided Mickey ears as he beamed proudly at the camera.

He pushed in first, sitting down on Gabi’s bed then he leaned in closer, whispering a gentle “it’s time to wake up, Gabi.” The sound, barely audible, wafted through the room as she slowly stirred, warm honey-brown eyes still drowsy.

“Well, good morning,” Miguel greeted. “¿Lista para empezar el día?”

Gabi nodded as she sat up, still practically half-asleep, rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists. When she noticed you standing by the doorway, she smiled, waving softly, but still focused her attention on her dad. “¿Vas a trabajar?"

Miguel hummed in response, and then looked back at you. “Promise not to cause too much trouble to your babysitter today?”

“No promises,” Gabi grinned and you thought Miguel might as well explode on the spot with pride.

You and Gabi stood at the porch as Miguel pulled out of the driveway, Gabi on your hip as she waved frantically, blowing kisses to the outline of his car as you waved too, laughing as Miguel blew his own kisses back to the two of you.

There was no trouble with getting Gabi settled with breakfast, having decided on a generous helping of eggs and toast. You got her meal ready as she started setting a volleyball back and forth, hands still clumsy and slippery with inexperience, but she asked you a series of rapid-fire questions as you flipped over her eggs.

“Do you play sports?”

“I used to, a long time ago, but I’m afraid I’m nowhere near as good as you are. I can set some volleyballs over to you later if you want,” You replied as you set the egg down on her plate. At that, Gabi cheered and made her way over to you, little hands reaching for her food.

“Last week, my dad hit his toe on one of my legos and he accidentally said a mean word. I don’t think he knew I heard him. Can you tell him that’s not appropriate?”

“I’ll relay the message,” You tried your best to stifle a laugh from her innocent, mindless questions. You’ll definitely bring that up with Miguel later.

“Can your mom make some more blueberry muffins?”

“You know what,” Your eyes lit up as a light bulb flickered above your head. “Why don’t we just show you?”

Gabi absolutely adored your mom—those two had latched on to each other more than you thought in your disappearance, and she was hanging off every one of your mom’s words as she explained how to prepare the muffin batter, as you took little pictures to send over to Miguel with flour on the tip of her nose and fingertips sticky with batter she was caught sneaking bites from. The last part was gross, but still, admittedly cute.

You had a mental checklist prepared (courtesy of your little certificate) of things you should prioritize when babysitting. The first one was responsibility: Babysitters must prioritize the safety and well-being of the children in their care. They should be reliable and trustworthy.

Of course, you had to rein in a few of your mom’s liberties as she snuck some more bites of the batter to Gabi, sighing exasperatedly as you had to explain the risks of salmonella to your own mom. Not that it stopped you from taking small swipes at the batter either.

Your first day was a soaring success, the day well spent with baking and a trip to the park in the beautiful weather, letting Gabi run around and cause havoc for a few hours before the sun began to set. Lots of photos and updates were texted to Miguel, another bullet point in your checklist, namely communication: Effective communication with both children and parents is essential. Babysitters should be able to understand and engage with children, as well as provide clear updates and instructions to parents.

Miguel responded to each of them in kind with personalized messages, watching with bated breath as he saved the one of you and Gabi grabbing ice cream by an ice cream truck.

Gabi was knocked out and tucked in by the time Miguel got home from work, and you were waiting on the couch, watching intently as he walked through the door, loosening his tie with a relaxed sigh. He settled next to you on the couch, voice velvety and smooth as he greeted you. “Hey. Did you guys have fun?”

There was a natural ease to your conversation, and you took the opportunity to ask him more questions about music, and his work, and let him try the new muffins Gabi had made while he asked his own questions in kind, about what you liked to do, what made you decide to go back home.

You were both halfway through laughing and snortling as you had explained the one time you had attempted to sneak into your university library, to no avail as the near-hundred-year-old security guard had caught you almost immediately.

Miguel’s eyes softened, the edges of a laugh softly settling into a smile as he gazed at you, the room feeling smaller, lighter. “I’m really glad you went back.”

“Me too,” You smiled in return, head leaning into the crook of your arm. “I mean, who else is going to make fun of you for getting way too passionate about five-year-olds playing soccer? Like come on, you did not have to get her minivan towed just because her kid sidestepped Gabi in a game.”

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

The rest of your week passed in a whirlwind. Gabi was a really easy kid to watch, you really couldn’t take that much credit. She took every activity you threw at her with the easygoing nature of a five-year-old with not many qualms, and it made things so much easier, but of course, you didn’t want to just barely do your job. Case in point, creativity: Great babysitters often come up with fun and engaging activities to keep children entertained. They can think on their feet and find creative solutions to challenges that may arise.

On your second day, you spent the day with her running around the block, showing her various sights and spots you had frequented when you were a kid, answering her curious questions in stride, and ending your little adventure with some waffles at your hometown restaurant. You delighted in the way Gabi practically squealed at the amount of whipped cream.

Of course, your next priority was patience: Dealing with children requires patience, especially when they are upset. Babysitters remain calm and handle difficult situations with composure. Gabi had a sugar rush the moment the two of you left the restaurant, and you had to deal with the fallout.

“Oh my god, Gabi, look both ways before you cross the street!” You didn’t think you could handle a lawsuit from her father.

The next couple of days were a lot more relaxed; as rambunctious and active she was, sometimes she could just use a day of lounging around the couch, binging various movies and asking you your favorite parts about them, eyes twinkling in curiosity as you explained the mechanics of some of the animation in the cartoons you watched.

Miguel would occasionally come back for lunch or return with some takeout after work, and you were able to cycle through various restaurants that had opened up in your time away from college, eager to talk through a lot of them and give him your opinions.

The whole time, he remained warm and welcoming, innocent glances across the dining table, a far cry from the man you had hooked up with a week ago.

At one point, your hands gestured wildly and your mouth ran on fire as you tried some spicy pozole that Miguel and Gabi urged you to try. You hadn’t noticed the simultaneous way their heads had tilted to the side, flashing equally mischievous smiles.

Guzzling milk as you glared at the both of them (at Miguel, more than Gabi), as Miguel struggled to contain his laughs, breathlessly wheezing as he wiped some stray tears that had gathered in his eyes. “Did we not tell you there were some ghost peppers in there?”

“No!”

Friday came around much sooner than you expected, and at that point, you had settled into a routine.

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow through the windows as both of you plopped down on the couch. You were both exhausted from a day of running around and kicking a soccer ball in the front yard, and you had endured your fair share of kicking the ball and missing the goal by several feet for Gabi’s sake. With messy hair and rosy cheeks, you had tucked Gabi in under a cozy blanket, flipping through the channels until you eventually landed on something that you had started just a couple of days before.

Before long, Gabi had fallen asleep, and you had moved her to her bedroom without much fuss, ready to go settle in the living room and wait for Miguel to arrive. On your way down, you noticed his office door was slightly ajar, and you went to close it until something caught your eye.

Against your better judgment, you pushed your way in, surveying the state of the room. There were books scattered everywhere, old files and papers haphazardly set around his desk. A few articles of his old works were framed on the wall, and in photos, he seemed more constricted. Less free, more serious, dark brown piercing eyes judging you as you walked around his office.

What caught your eye, in particular, was a photo of Miguel with two other individuals, one of them you could only assume was his brother, due to their similar eyes and smile, and in between them was a woman with blue eyes and brown hair, a similar shade to Gabi’s.

Before you could ponder on the similarities further, you heard the door to the office crack open, and spinning around wildly to see Miguel standing at the doorway.

In your concentration, you missed the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and Miguel stood, blanketed by the light of the hallway, in sharp contrast to the dark that shrouded the room. You felt guilty, small like a child caught dipping their hand into a jar of cookies. To your surprise, Miguel merely flickered the light switch on, eyes carrying the weight of fatigue. “Is Gabi asleep?”

You sheepishly nodded, folding your hands behind your back as you struggled to come up with an explanation. “Listen—”

“Come with me,” Miguel’s voice was calm, carrying none of the backlash you were expecting. “Let’s talk.”

In the kitchen, Miguel poured a couple of glasses of wine, offering one to you as you accepted. He let out an exhausted sigh before composing himself, back to the easygoing and light smile you had begun getting accustomed to that week. “How was she today?”

And just like that, the tense air in the room lifted as easily as it came in, as you went through the motions of the day, watching as he gradually lost the slump in his shoulders and the lines on his face that told the story of a demanding day.

Whatever it was, you didn’t want to pry, especially after having been caught looking through his belongings.

“You’re a natural, you know that?” Miguel’s eyes shined with admiration. “She adores you, tells me all about your days when you’re gone.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t fight the smile that bloomed across your face, chest constricting at the praise. “Well, I really couldn’t take that much credit. She's a really easy kid to watch, she practically lost it when I took her to go get some waffles the other day.”

He smiles, full and unrestrained this time, and you share a few more stories about your week, ignoring the flush in your cheeks when he would quip in with his own stories from when Gabi was younger. Gabi was his whole life and he adored her wholeheartedly; in pictures, before she was born, you could tell that something was lacking, something missing when his smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes.

“So, what’s your secret?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow. “How’d you get the hang of it the way you did? It took a while for Gabi’s old babysitter to get used to how active she is. I’ve never seen her latch on to someone so quickly.”

“I… I did a babysitting certificate online that was meant for middle schoolers.” Thank you, Babysitting and Advanced Child Care Certification. Your laughter spilled on in bursts without even thinking about it, and you gasped for breath about the absurdity of learning more things by completing a small babysitting certificate over your college diploma. “If you need a better manual for parenting, look no further. Those eleven-year-olds have it cracked.”

“Is that so?” Your laughter was contagious, and before long, Miguel had joined in.

You nodded, still proud of your little achievement. “ Mhm. There’s four,” pausing to hold up four fingers. “Four key values.”

“Well, shoot, now I have to know. What are they?” Miguel leaned forward just slightly, and you ignored the way your heart swelled at the small motion, his proximity rapidly unthreading the small resolve you had left.

“There’s responsibility, then communication, creativity—that’s an underrated one—-and patience,” Listing them off felt a little bit silly, now that you looked back, but you continued. “It’s like, the four commandments of babysitting.”

“So which one do you think is the most important?” He looked down at you, and everything seemed heightened, more focused. Dark brown lashes fanned his cheekbones, skin warm and dusky against the contours of his face as he stared back at you. “Responsibility, communication, creativity, or… patience ?”

You knew the implications behind his words, this line that you were dangerously close to crossing over. “Patience.”

Miguel’s pupils dilated then, humming his approval at your words. At that point, the sun had fully set and you had lost track of the time. Without thinking, the words came tumbling out before you could even stop and consider the weight of them. Recklessly and impulsively, you took the leap. “Do you remember what happened a week ago?”

“Of course, I do. You think I’ve forgotten about you?” Miguel’s eyes darkened, voice dropping an octave as you suddenly felt very, very hot. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, cariño.”

He stood before you, all broad expanse of shoulders and muscle, and you’re reminded of the events of last week all over again, remembering how strong he felt underneath your fingertips. “What do you want?”

You didn’t need to answer, just leaned in and took his lips in yours, long wait finally over and you were falling apart like honey in his arms as you felt him push you against the cool marble of the counter, his warmth in sharp contrast to the cold pressing against your back. He tasted exactly the same, bergamot and crisp green leaves, patchouli, and vetiver. Fuck, you were addicted to it.

Your moans filled the quiet of the kitchen as his mouth moved lower, light and feathery kisses peppering the side of your neck, going over the bruises mapped on your skin left just a week before, sucking and kissing new ones in his wake.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” Miguel murmured, hot breaths fanning your neck as if in a trance. “Wanna watch you cum on my fingers again, wanna taste you.” All you could do was nod. Yes, yes, please—do whatever you want.

He returned to your lips, needy and unconstrained. You let your hands wander, disappearing into his neat, put-together curls just as Miguel bit down on your bottom lip, the sudden pain making you twist your fingers into his hair and tug. A low, rumbly sound vibrates against your mouth, his fingers pressing harder into your hips and then he’s hoisting you up on the counter.

One of his hands makes its way underneath your skirt, fingers skirting along the edges of your underwear as you whined, pleading for him to touch you where you needed him. You could feel his mouth nip at your skin and you clammed up like putty, as he pushes your complaints back down. “Patience,” he chastised, going even slower than before.

Minutes feel like hours as he held you there, hand cupping your face as if you were his salvation, proof that he wanted, no, needed this just as much as you did, had been crippled with thoughts of each other since the moment you had walked into his house. “Good girl. That’s it. You going to keep being good for me?”

Shaking your head yes, unable to formulate words at the way he gazed at you, definitive and ready to take the pleasure he had just begun if you stepped out of line.

Slowly, he knelt in front of you, slithering down your body and you feel exposed, goosebumps rousing in your skin as he kissed up the length of your thigh, grabbing onto your underwear and tugging it down with an easy confidence.

Miguel’s breathing adoration into your cunt and you felt like you were on fire, going crazy with his greedy back and forth, not quite reaching you where you needed him. His voice was clear and definitive, a stark difference to yours. "Tell me what you want."

You’re babbling, words merging and rolling off your lips with an uncontrolled force, and you’re not even sure if you’re making any sense, not entirely sure if you even cared. “Please. Please, Miguel, I’m begging you, do something—”

His thumb started to draw slow circles as he slowly stroked the lips surrounding your mound. You were sure that you were positively dripping, going slick around him as you keened under his touch. His mouth watered and Miguel decided quickly that using only his fingers simply will not do, nowhere near enough.

Something in your brain snapped as he pushed your skirt up, looking ravenous as he inspected you, still teasing, not quite playing with you just yet. And then, you felt his hot mouth exactly where you needed him, licking one strip, from base to top of your cunt, just to taste.

Oh my god.

You were leaning back on your shoulders, struggling to hold your body weight as he continued to explore you, and you just allowed yourself to feel it, really feel it, and let him do whatever he wanted to you with his tongue—letting him lazily slide it over your clit, tracing the soft skin of your inner thigh with his canines, occasionally allowing you the pleasure of letting it migrate inside your cunt, tasting, feeling, wandering around until you were dizzy and delirious.

The kitchen sounded absolutely filthy, filled with the sound of the slick of your pussy and the criminal way that he ate you out, moaning and groaning when he knew he found a spot that just wrecked you. Praises fell from him in short, Spanish increments, taken with the way you begged and leaned your cunt closer to his face as if you even had any remote say in his demonstrations.

His hands snaked around your hips, pressuring you to move even closer to him, leaving you with no room to escape, not that you would ever even want to, no. Not with the way he was fucking you on his tongue, not with the way the rough skin of his five o’clock shadow stimulated you further, forcing you to feel everything so much more.

There was nothing innocent about the way he growled into your cunt, then, “Cum for me, baby, please. I wanna taste you. ‘M starving. Just look at you.”

And then you were crooning, gasping as he went faster with his ministrations, wondering how in the world he had so much vigor, so much stamina, and then you gave him what he wanted, legs shaking and tightening around his face as he only held you harder, working you through it.

“Oh my god,” You let out another breath, head still spinning. “Miguel—”

His tongue was still hungry when it slipped back into your pussy, still desperate and needy for the taste of you as if you didn’t just cum mere seconds ago.

"I can't— I can't—"

Everything was so heightened, so close in such a short time to the pinnacle that he had you pinned under for what had felt like hours. This time, he was rougher, more impatient as he plunged two fingers inside of you. You resisted the urge to scream, biting down on your palm as tears well in your eyes, too taken with the pleasure he was lost in.

"You can't? Oh, I think you can. Give me another one, dulzura.”

And then you were rolling your hips, frantic as you sobbed, practically riding his face and you whimpered in ragged and staggered breaths. But once he pressed his rough thumb to your puffy clit, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came apart for the second time that night.

Slowly, you regained your bearings, pushing yourself up from the counter as you looked down to see Miguel still licking, cleaning you off. To your surprise, he was grinning, satisfied with only giving you a brief reprieve. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

This was not in your post-grad plan, but honestly? You were starting to warm up to it.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #oscar isaac #mdni #miguel o'hara smut

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astroboots · 11 months

Text

Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces.

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes.

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession.

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy.

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all.

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets. Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise.

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect.

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot.

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat.

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window.

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life.

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you.

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room.

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again. He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder.

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer.

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe.

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching.

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not.

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over.

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4?

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange.

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO.

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself.

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan.

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full.

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point.

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds.

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?”

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say.

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest.

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu.

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard.

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why.

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

“Why do you hate him so much?” You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention.

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it.

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.”

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated.

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck.

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward. It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says.

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both.

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright.

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat.

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that.

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat.

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile.

That was easy.

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played.

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower.

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book.

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–”

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing.

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you.

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore.

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does.

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world"

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours.

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure.

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time.

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now.

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses.

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon.

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you.

You sigh.

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money.

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away.

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down.

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life.

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb.

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had.

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel.

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists.

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse.

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck?

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop.

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection.

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time?

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer.

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it?

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!?

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you.

Maybe you need to give up too.

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death.

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face.

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing.

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.”

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing. He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body.

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you.

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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ashessonfire · 11 months

Note

im going livid over civilian wife with kaz!!! i would love to read more of soft and domestic life with kaz, it doesnt have to be anything big just fluff crumbs^^

'Sunrise' - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt : Kaz and his partner wish to take in the early morning sunrise at the local market. But can the pair escape the curiosity of the crows?

- Pairing :Kaz Brekker x Reader (gender neutral) - Warnings : Literally none just fluff, threatening Kaz? But he doesn't really mean it :))

A/N : Thank you for such a cute prompt! I hope I have done the idea justice, it took such a long time to put this together after months of studying and not writing at all... But I am so glad to be back and I am working through the requests I have right now! Please continue to send in requests, I love you all!! <333

click here for masterlist

click here for characters I write for

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A gentle breeze fluttered through the rippling curtains, parting them just enough to allow streams of early sunlight to illuminate your lover's features. Kaz's gentle breathing and almost peaceful expression sent a wave of warmth through your chest, directly into your heart. Who knew the deadliest criminal in Ketterdam could find solace in a cozy bed, surrounded by the melodies of bird song?

Shifting your gaze downwards, you noticed that during the night Kaz had intertwined your fingers with his own, holding them gentle prisoners within his hardened, calloused hands. Lightly brushing a stray ebony lock from his porcelain skin, your eyeline was drawn to the glittering colours now covering the walls of your shared bedroom. The sun was seemingly painting your pale home with hues of sunrise, leaving within you a deep sense of longing for more.

Tenderly brushing your free hand over Kaz's shoulder, you watched as his lashes began to flutter, before a pair of deep chestnut eyes caught your own. After many years of slowly lowering the walls that towered over his heart, you had watched the defence slip from him, with each day gradually healing the cracks.

After few moments of basking in eachother's presence, Kaz rose, gazing towards the sunrise you had previously been admiring. Taking in the sublime feeling the new day gave him, the fingers wrapped around your own tightened. "It's Sunday," a gravelly voice softly announced, "You must want to drag me to the market"

Smiling gingerly at his feigned annoyance, you placed a gentle kiss to his temple in reply, before slipping out of bed to ready yourself for the trip. Throughout most of Kaz's life, each day had brought new challenges, with the Barrel constantly presenting treacherous threats and difficulties, leaving little time for anything else but heightened apprehension.

Since meeting you however, Kaz had learned the importance of routine, as well as quiet. The ocean that usually drowned him with perilous swells transformed into a flow of gentle waves, lapping peacefully against a shore, rather than aiming to violently drag him under. Although hesitant at first, the bastard had learnt to adore your domestic routines, fetching fresh flowers for the vases on Monday's, having tea after a dreg meeting on Thursday's, and his discrete favourite of them all, the market every Sunday.

As you noted the list of items you were searching for, Kaz stood by the entrance to your home, gaze softening each time your brows furrowed as you attempted to decipher what you had missed off. Opening the door with a soft click, you grabbed onto his gloved hand as you practically dragged him out of the door, leaving Kaz with an amused but warm expression as he allowed you to sweep him away.

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"Where do you reckon he goes every week?" a voice mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes, barely audible as Nina continued to eat her breakfast. Collectively the crows shrugged and shared parallel voicings of uncertainty.

"What is there to do on a Sunday, I mean that's like the least exciting day of them all?" Jesper thought aloud, sprawling carelessly against the seat he and Wylan shared. After a short period of quiet discussion, a figure slid down the stairs, clutching a neatly folded note in one hand.

Emerging from the shadowed stairwell, Inej returned to the group, causing gasps and a dramatic jolt from Jesper, each one completely unaware that she had slipped away during their chatter. "Here," she announced, an amused tone evidently lacing her voice, with the mischievous twinkle in her eye not going unmissed by the group.

Snatching the note from Inej, Jesper hastily unfolded the paper, smoothing the creases with his slender fingers. The group watched in anticipation as Jesper's eyes scanned the words, visibly astounding the sharpshooter. As he concluded his reading, his eyes glimmered with the same playfulness as Inej, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk.

"Well?" Nina announced, shooting an expectant look at Jesper, "Are you going to tell the rest of us what's in there or not?"

Clearing his throat theatrically, Jesper tilted his head upwards, "It seems we know where our beloved boss disappears to every week," pausing to increase the apprehension.

"Hurry up," Wylan complained, trying desperately to peer into the note as Jesper clutched it to his chest. "Okay, okay! It turns out that Mr Brekker enjoys a spot of early morning shopping, and hopes to 'catch the rising sun' before he does so," the sharpshooter exclaims, quoting Kaz's letter, holding in his laughter.

"You're saying that Kaz Brekker spends his free time buying flowers and pastries, not scheming the deaths of everyone in Ketterdam?" Nina all but chokes out in shock, her breathing heavy as she fights the laughter that already wracks her shoulders.

Through a sheepish smile, Wylan softly adds, "How do we know that its true? I can't imagine Kaz ever doing, well, that."

"I mean, there's only one way to find out, right?" Jesper announces, rising to his feet with a mischievous grin plastered onto his features

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"Where would you like to go first?" Kaz's voice directed itself towards you, carrying over the bustle of the market, despite the orange hue still lingering over the city. "You know exactly where," you tease, tightening the grip on his little finger with your own, tethering you to him so neither of you were seperated

Leading you through the crowd with his towering frame, Kaz effortlessly guided you to the secluded section of the market, feet automatically taking him to your favourite fruit stall. "Morning Mr Brekker, the usual for you two?" called the welcoming voice of the owner, already selecting the ripest items for his most favoured customers.

The pair of you were beloved among the merchants, with your compassionate nature drawing everyone to you, and your boyfriend offering substantial tips to those you liked best. Although directly contrasting in character, you complemented each other's qualities deeply, creating a sincere connection between you.

Allowing the sea breeze to lightly brush his skin, he focused his entire attention on you, admiring the gentle flow of words that poured from your delicate lips. Kaz basked in the warmth you provided him, your mere presence grounding him, sheltering him from harm with your sentiment.

Your words transformed into a melody to his ears as your voice sung above the low noise of the market, directly into his chest, rendering him unable to look away from your angelic profile. You halted your steps as you looked out into the harbor, pretending to ignore the fact that Kaz could not take his admiring gaze from you.

In his eyes, you seemed ethereal in this moment, the sea-breeze wisping your hair around you, the sunrise's final pallete showering you in a rosy light, orange and pink dancing off of your features. Kaz ignored the thoughts that these observations were weak, or dangerous, instead reminding himself of your reassurance that he can remain the most deadly man in Ketterdam, as well as finding peace.

The edges of his mouth were just beginning to lightly tilt upwards, when a loud thump sounded behind them, seemingly a crate had just fallen. Returning to his content state, Kaz was just about to forget the sound until a familiar "Ow, that hurt!" whispered nearby.

Whipping his head round at an astounding rate, Kaz just caught the flash of an emerald jacket slipping behind a cluster of rotting oak barrels, the tip of a scuffed shoe protruding from the other end of the stack.

"Everything okay love," you inquired, resting your free hand on his arm as your gaze shifted to where Kaz's previously held. "I was just concerned that the bakers would run out of your favourite pastries, it's busy today," Kaz observed, his tone indicating his lie to you, however he gently began to tug you in the direction of the stall, and you gladly obliged.

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"Saints, that was a close one," Jesper breathed out, releasing the breath he had withheld since he knocked over the crate, directly onto Nina's foot. "He almost caught us thanks to you, we would all be dead by now if Inej hadn't pulled you back in time"

"Well, it seems as if the letter was right, Kaz really does spend his weekends shopping," Inej stated, amusement striking through her tone. "Have any of you ever seen him so calm? It's nice to know he has a human side to him too," Wylan pointed out, as they all began to discuss their findings.

"What do you think he would have done to us if he found us?" Jesper questioned, smirking proudly at the group's evasion of their leader, "It's Kaz so, I guess we would all be..."

"Dead," sounded a sharp voice from behind the group, a resounding thump following as hard metal struck the cobblestone street.

The group's hilarity quickly morphed into alarm, each crow swiftly turning to meet the unwavering threat in their boss' gaze. "It seems as if Inej is the only one of you with any sense," Kaz observed.

"What? She was the one who," Jesper began before sensing the absence of the Wraith beside him, not even the wind carrying a trace of her previous presence. Breathing out of a puff of exasperation, Jesper let out a defeated "Well then."

"Do any of you care to enlighten me as to why you are here? It seems as if you've been spying on me during my free time. I sincerely hope that I will stand corrected," Kaz demanded, a calm yet dangerous tone commanding his words.

Despite the thrum of conversation drifting through the market, a rigid silence settled between the group, each one glancing fearfully at each other in the hope that someone would get them out of this.

However unlikely that seemed.

"Well, I must be correct then," Kaz sliced through the growing tension, "I'm sure a detailed meeting this evening at the Crow Club is needed, however I will tell you this now," Kaz practically seethed, cane tightening beneath his grasp.

Taking a daunting stride towards them, his eyes narrowed, a snarl making its way to his features, a sight that was never usually reserved for his friends. However, the group highly doubted he would take this lightly.

"You are all going to go quietly, and immediately back to the slat. If I even sense you are still here, you will discover why so many people in this city are struck with terror at the thought of me. Understand?" Kaz warned, voice laced with threat, lowering with each syllable as he attempted to control his fury.

Hurried sounds of 'yes boss', 'of course', 'it won't happen again', overlapped with each other as the crows struggled to hastily comply with Kaz's command. They watched in complete stillness as their boss turned sharply, hastily limping back into the crowded streets, his black attire eventually lost to the waves of people.

Muffled laughter suddenly rang out behind the group, who turned in fright to find a rosy faced Inej, hand clasped tightly over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles escaping from her. "Did you," Inej began before more laughter interrupted her speech, "Did you see his face? He was blushing, I never thought I would see the day. He was mortified!" She finished, breathless as her bright amusement continued.

"Blushing? Are you joking Inej, he literally threatened to kill us!" Jesper started incredulously, "Nobody else saw this supposed blush did they?"

"He did look a little red..." Wylan began, voice trembling, with nerves or laughter, not even he himself could tell. "Well, I think that's enough to satisfy our curiosity for one day," Jesper states, "Come on then, lets go before he finds we're still here. I don't even want to begin to imagine..." he trailed off, giving off an exaggerated shiver before heading in the direction they came from.

"Uhm, hello? Are you guys coming?" Jesper questioned, turning back to find the group staring back out through the crates, completely ignoring the pleas of the sharpshooter to leave.

"Look," Wylan whispered, softly grabbing the edge of Jesper's sleeve and pulling him towards himself. Glancing through the crooked panel of a barrel, Jesper's gaze led him to realize what had ensnared the attention of the crows. Standing close to where they were originally spotted, Kaz had regained his lover's company, as you stood with baked goods piled high in your grasp.

The crows observed in shock as Kaz slowly leaned down, placing a delicate kiss to your lips, capturing them in his own for a brief few moments. The embarrassment of being caught in such vulnerability by his friends had slipped away, his mind captured once again by your aura, allowing your tender smile to bathe him in warmth.

"Are you sure you're alright love?" you utter, lashes fluttering as you take in his lighthearted expression, allowing him to slip a few of your bags onto his free arm, relieving the weight you had previously been hauling. "I'm fine," he states, again not completely truthful, however his demeanor didn't indicate any true discomfort.

"I think we should go to the florists, the one over that way," Kaz offered, nodding his head in the opposite direction of your usual path. Kaz prayed you would go along with his plan, knowing doubtlessly that his crows were still lurking somewhere amongst the crowds.

"Okay, lets go," you chirped, flashing a radiant smile towards him before linking your arm with his, uncaring that your bags swung against each other's due to the close proximity. Now, Kaz was the enthusiastic one, pulling you hastily through the crowds to evade the observing eyes of his friends.

As Kaz once again drowned out everything but your melodious voice, he began to feel grateful his crows had seen the pair of you together. You truly were his greatest achievement, and his embarrassment melted into pride, knowing deep down that he was deserving of your love and affection, and that was all that mattered.

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Kaz Brekker tag list : @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @swhisperer @sleepynightchild @atlasiiae @kaiinohh @sannunah28 @at-the-chateau @withbeautyandragendrage @animalistic00 @whos6claire @any-corrie @daisydark @shara-ne @xxinvisiblexx @ldhpeter @viperinferno @kozbtchx (please comment if you would like to be added to the Kaz Brekker taglist)

#kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader imagines #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone season 2 #ashessonfire #six of crows headcanons

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staytinyville · 7 months

Text

OUTLAW (30)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). UPDATES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. Due to me having ADHD and not being able to stick to one story until I finish (lol) Updates will now be on Monday and Thursday. It gives me time to catch up with the writings as well.

You hummed quietly to yourself as your eyes glanced over the produce that were on display. Wooyoung skipped at your side, picking up things himself to view them. You had gone out to the market with some of the boys to get supplies for the camp. Hongjoong had given you some coins that you would gladly use. You wanted to cook tonight–it was the least you could do for them. You wanted to feel useful, even if Seonghwa or Wooyoung would shove you out of the way.

“Do we have cabbage for kimchi?” Wooyoung asked you as he looked over the vegetable. “We need to make more.”

“Not that I remember.” You answered him. “I'll get the other ingredients.” You told him, moving along the stalls.

Wooyoung was quick to turn up at your side, humming at each food available. As you smiled in thanks at the merchant, you heard someone call out your name from behind you.

“(Y/N)?” Your sister called.

“(S/N).” You smiled at your littlest siblings as they made their way towards you. Your eldest brother was trying to break through the crowd, trying to keep up with your younger siblings.

“(Y/N)!” Your 6-year-old brother screamed, running into your legs.

It had been two days since you last saw them. You had spoken with your parents at the hotel the day before, who only told you that if the marriage was what you wanted, they would respect your choice. You hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with your siblings again, though.

“Hi, (B/N).” You giggled, softly petting the boy’s head. “How are you, hm?” You asked.

“I'm doing good!” The boy smiled up at you, a gap in his teeth on full show. “Where's Yeosang?” He asked, looking around. When his eyes landed on Wooyoung, who was wiggling his fingers in greeting, he tilted his head. “Who's that?”

“This is Wooyoung.” You smiled. “He's one of Yeosang's friends.”

“Hello.” Wooyoung greeted, crouching down to see your brother. “Aren't you just the handsomest.” He complimented him.

Your brother giggled, hiding behind your skirts from how shy he had gotten. You grinned, patting his head. “Wooyoung, these are my siblings.” You told him.

“Hello.” Your sister shyly greeted, nodding her head at the handsome boy.

“It's nice to meet all of you.” Wooyoung smiled. “(Y/N) talks about you all the time.” He added.

“What are you doing out?” Your 20-year-old brother only gave Wooyoung a glance, frowning when he noticed it was just the two of you. “Where's Yeosang?” He asked.

You took a deep breath, feeling annoyed with how your brother was talking with you. He was thinking like a man who needed to own their wife. “I'm just grocery shopping.” You rolled your eyes. “Wooyoung and San are accompanying me while Yeosang gets something done in our home.”

“Who's San?” Your brother frowned.

“That's me.” Your brother and sister’s eyes went wide when the wide shouldered man came from behind them, holding some bags full of groceries. “I got your things, Darling.” He spoke to you.

“Darling?” Your sister whispered to herself, looking at the two men suspiciously.

Her eyes squinted at how close they were standing near you. Wooyoung’s shoulder was touching yours and San’s chest was practically glued to your side. She pursed her lips to keep her brother from noticing it as well. He was a man, he didn’t see things the same way.

“You're living with Yeosang now?” Your brother asked.

“I guess so.” You shrugged. “He is going to be my husband.”

Your sister looked at you skeptically. The way you spoke so nonchalantly made her worried about why you were doing what you were doing. With how the two boys looked at you only made things worse.

“(B/N) can you take these home?” Your sister told your older brother, giving him the groceries she had. “I'll meet you all later.”

“What about you?” He asked your sister.

“We'll take care of her.” Wooyoung smiled at him. “She's Sweetheart's family, so she shall be under our protection.”

“Not to worry.” (S/N) smiled at your brother, hoping he would give up.

“I'll stay with her, (B/N)!” Your 6-year-old brother exclaimed, pulling on his older brother’s pants.

“Big man's got the right idea.” Wooyoung grinned, poking into (B/N)’s side. The boy giggled, starting a small poke fight with the older man.

“Alright.” Your brother sighed deeply. “Please be careful.” He looked at your sister, giving her a pointed look.

She nodded her head, giving a smile before moving to link her arm with your own. As your brother walked away from you all, Wooyoung took your other brother into his arms.

“Come on, (B/N). Let's go check out the river and see if we can get fish.” He pulled San along, allowing you and your sister to walk alone.

You smiled, thinking about how Wooyoung was able to see that your sister clearly wanted to speak to you. The two boys would have left you alone, but you found it nice to see how they were all for it to take care of (B/N).

“Be honest with me, (Y/N).” Your sister started. “Do you love Yeosang?”

“Of course. I wouldn't be marrying him-” You answered.

“(Y/N), I'm your sister.” She stopped you. “We might bribe and blackmail each other, but I've been with you longer than anyone else. We've shared rooms for my entire life.”

You watched as her eyebrows pulled together, her eyes full of worry as they looked at you. “Please be honest with me.” She stopped you both from walking forward. “Does he make you happy at least?”

Her question caught you off guard, but a smile was quick to make its way onto your lips. Yeosang was someone who didn’t enjoy partaking in violence unless threatened. He was someone who knew how to take care of himself as well as others. Even if he wasn’t at his best.

They would all go to the extreme if it meant protecting each other. It was what you admired about them. There was so much to look forward to with them, but the passion they put into everything was what made you notice them. They made you feel much more than happy.

“More than I would ever be able to find in Cromer.” You spoke absent mindlessly, smiling over at Wooyoung and San playing with your brother.

(S/N) took a glance at where you were looking, finding San holding your brother upside down as he laughed loudly. She felt a smile slip onto her face as she watched them. Looking back over at you, she was quick to see the sparkle in your eye.

She knew for a long while you were involved somehow with the cops. And when Seonghwa and Yeosang started working at the hotel, it was clear they had taken a fancy to you. She wasn’t going to judge you–you were her sister. She would trust everything you say and know that you didn’t do anything that went against your morals.

Your sister knew you and found something within those boys, and seeing you with Wooyoung and San, it was clear you found something more.

“I want to meet them.” Your sister said.

“Yeosang?” You tilted your head.

“The boys who make you happy.” She smiled. “You don't think I haven't noticed how happy you are when you talk to those boys who came into town months ago?”

“I know you aren't marrying Yeosang because you love him. You just want a way out from all this. If you trust them enough to do that, I want to meet them.”

Tears welled in your eyes at her announcement. You had always been close with her, even if she was years younger than you. But you took care of her when your mother couldn’t. You were there for all her firsts and watched as she grew up. It meant so much to hear that some of your family believed you.

“Okay.” You smiled softly at her.

So you took your sister and brother back to meet the rest of the boys. Wooyoung and San were more than willing to go along with you. Your brother rode with Wooyoung as San had let you and your sister ride on his horse. It wasn’t that long of a walk to get to the camp, seeing as the boys were back in town.

As you all came up to the camp, your brother gasped from seeing everything.

“Pretty girl!” Seonghwa exclaimed, skipping over to you. He gave your sister a greeting when he noticed her, bringing her into a side hug.

“Hello.” Yunho spoke up. “It's nice to meet you.” He told your sister.

Wooyoung brought your brother down from his horse, laughing as the boy quickly ran around the camp.

“You guys live in tents!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as they took in everything. He began to snoop, which made you frown, about to tell him something. However, San told you it was alright, Wooyoung watching over him.

“Look at what they have!” Your brother yelled, holding up some hourglass he found in a chest.

“Okay, let's put that down.” Hongjoong walked out quickly, taking the object from your brother's hand and setting it back down.

“You guys are super cool!” (B/N) yelled, running around once more.

“Who's this?” Hongjoong asked, giving your sister a polite smile.

“Captain, these are some of my siblings.” You spoke up. “Guys, this is Hongjoong–the captain.”

“Hello, it's nice to meet you.” Your sister spoke up, holding her hand out.

Hongjoong gave a bow of his head, shaking her hand.

“I'm Yunho.” The tall man took to introducing themselves.

“Jongho.”

“You guys are the cops at the hotel.” Your sister shook their hands, making the observation.

“Hello, I'm Mingi.” The boy spoke from behind your sister.

She quickly turned around, nodding up at him. Your brother ran up to the little group, bumping into Mingi’s legs. Mingi held onto the boy’s back to keep him from falling over. As your brother stared up at Mingi, he tilted his head.

“Hey, you look like that one guy on those wanted posters.” He pointed at Mingi.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the others. They, too, had worried expressions, hoping your sister wouldn’t say anything. But you already knew her–she was just as observant as you. So when you saw her look at you with raised eyebrows, you cleared your throat to avoid her stare.

“How unfortunate for me.” Mingi told your brother.

“It's a pleasure to meet you guys.” You were thankful your sister hadn’t asked more about Mingi.

The boys seemed to get along with your siblings just fine. You were happy to see them interact with each other. Your sister had laughed so hard, it was amazing she didn’t have an asthma attack. And your brother had so much fun playing with Wooyoung and San, who kept him entertained.

You had a smile on your face the whole time, laughing along with the boys and giggling when they would poke fun at you. It was clear how different you were when you were around them. You allowed yourself to feel emotions you hadn’t before. Your sister could see that as she watched you.

“Come on, we better get them home, (Y/N).” San told you, rubbing your lower back.

You hummed, moving along with him to get your siblings back home. They both said goodbye to the boys–your brother even giving them hugs. On the way home, though, you could see your sister had a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Everything okay?” You asked her.

“They all make you so happy.” She started. “I've never seen you smile so much. (Y/N), maybe you haven't thought about it yet, but I really believe you'll love one of them someday.”

Your lips pulled together as you thought about her words. It was clear she still only thought about you ending up with one of them. But at least she wasn’t going to say something about you marrying Yeosang but falling in love with one of the other boys.

You couldn’t think about choosing just one of them, and they knew that too. You were excited to go with them and find where you would turn up. They weren’t going to let you down if you were a part of their group. You were going to be someone they cared for, and you were happy about it.

“I can only hope to have that.” She added.

“You're still young, (S/N).” You told her. “You're a wonderful person and I'm sure you'll find a boy who will love you.”

“You found yours. And I'm so happy for you.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @araknoid , @starjoongi1117 , @chel-awingcherry , @puppyminnnie ,

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phoeebsbuffay · 8 months

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Imagine you work with Hayden Christensen and… you fall in love with him.

Warnings: fluffy, comfort/light reading, filled with old cliches.

***

You are in that moment of your life where daydreaming about men in general has long lost any sense; when flirting happens you sabotage it: when you just enjoy solitude, even though there is this small part of you that never really quit that romantic side.

Nevertheless, at long last you are working hard, so there is little time to think about those things. You work so hard, however, that family and friends warn you about your mental health. But you dismiss their concern. You just like occupying your mind, is all.

Hayden thinks likewise. After divorce, romance has long disappeared out of his sight and mind. Of course, he engages in casual flings every now and then, but even so it’s been… what? Two, three years since he actually got laid?

Not that he minds. His return to “Star Wars” saga, or rather his come back to acting in general, besides his daughter, have been the main reasons to let him busy enough to such nonsenses.

But it so appears that destiny holds something different, though… And so, dear reader, we are invited to investigate how this will roll.

Today is the first day of the filming of a movie that Hayden is starring after finishing his work at “Ahsoka”. So as he arrives and you too, such paths collide.

You, distracted, just tumbled when Hayden, who happens to be nearby, quickly comes to aid you, thus preventing a worse fall to occur.

“Whoa whoa, calm down, take it easy Miss”, so he says, concerned.

“Oh thank you, sir. Disastrous me, uh?”, you joke in response, getting a smile from your savior.

“Aren’t we all sometimes?”, he chuckles. “Glad I could be of help, otherwise that would be such a fall.”

“Indeed. Mondays are…Mondays. Suppose my body has been, well, getting used to the routine”, when you realize this handsome man is talking to you, actually engaging to a silly conversation like this, you start to ask yourself if being that far from the single market got you mental.

But this is not a thought shared by Hayden, who, however, does find you a beauty, quite taken with your y/c eyes and your smile.

“It happens to the best of us", he agrees. "Specially after vacations. I'm Hayden, by the way. What's your name? I'm afraid we have not been introduced."

You smile, somewhat shy mostly due to the embarrassment of the situation. Nevertheless, you offer your hand for him to shake. As he takes and shakes it, you speak:

"Nice to meet you, Hayden. I'm Y/N. Are you working with us on this project?"

"Yeah. I got the main role, in fact."

It's when you realize...

"Oh." You try to mask your shock, but Hayden sees it--and truthfully he finds your disconcert adorable. "Of course. Welcome, welcome. It is indeed not a most appropriate moment for us to meet".

"Allow me to disagree, Y/N. The timing could not be better."

One smiles to the other. This is where the fun begins indeed...

***

You should know by now that if a conversation was merely enough you wouldn't keep every single detail running in the back of your head. What are you, 18? But could you help yourself, though?

When you speak, he actually listens; he does pay attention, he is there. He is not asking nonsense questions or anything of the sort. Because Hayden is interested in what you have to say.

Despite finding himself a handsome man whose company often brings you delights, you don't dare to harbor any sort of feelings mostly because of your old scars.

Yet, there is one detail that keeps hammering your head, bringing you to reason so you don’t get yourself too dreamy about it: he is, for all effects, your coworker. Therefore, all he can be for you is a friend.

And you force yourself to content with that.

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you?”, he asks you one day. There is concern in his eyes, which leads you immediately to wonder it’s related to work, but the way he smiles at you at the same time makes your knees weak.

Oh, holy shit.

“Of course, what is it?”

“I would like to know what are your thoughts about these lines”, he shows you the script. “I’ve been considering changing some to this. Listen up.”

It’s difficult not to be captivated by his passionate speech. You don’t think you’ve met someone as interesting as him, or as intelligent. He loves what he’s doing and is always seeking to improve. You learn from these traits too, aware that you have always to be the best in what you do, but not in a competitive way: only in one where you overcome yourself by getting better daily.

Unbeknownst to you, Hayden appreciates that you do actually hear him, seeing him as who he really is and what he aims to be. You are sincere, kind and decent: qualities he appreciates in a woman.

But because you two are co-workers, all he can do is find excuses to speak to you because insofar he lacks the courage to ask you out. Specially because he’s still unsure how to get himself in a possible relationship after he got divorced—even though he’s been divorced for a long while now.

“I think you are doing a great job”, you tell him after you two share some ideas. “But I also think you are working too hard. I mean, so am I, it’s been crazy days. Do you like coffee?”

And just like that it comes out. You don’t even think twice, it blurts out naturally. Hayden doesn’t see it coming too, finding rather charming the panic that starts to rise in your eyes once you realize what you said.

So it’s reciprocal.

“I do, yes. This weekend my daughter is staying with her mother because it’s her grandparents’ wedding anniversary, which means I’m good with hanging out after work”, his smile spreads when seeing a blush coloring your cheeks. “Does it work for you?”

“Coffee on a Friday evening? 5pm?”

“Yeah.”

“It works just as fine”, you beam.

“Great. I’ll see you soon!”

***

It’s Friday. You try to act casually, giving double focus in your job. But whether you spot him acting or speaking to someone of the crew, your heart races and your body reacts in a teenage manner that makes you blush violently.

You struggle to be discreet but damn it, that owner of such a pair of blue eyes is too handsome. You sigh deep down and there you have it: the return of your romantic side.

“Hello, hello! Back to Earth, Y/N Y/LN”, you hear your boss teasingly calling you.

You don’t know, but there is already gossip between some of the ladies of the production part, because apparently you are not entirely discreet when it comes to Hayden. Naturally, however, no one is speaking it in front of you even if your boss is tempted to tease you about it.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a little out of…”

“…the radar? Yeah, I can tell. Is there something amiss?”

“Not at all”, you lie. “It’s been an intense week, is all.”

“You’ve been working hard indeed”, he agrees. “Keep going, you’ll go far, my dear”.

He pets your shoulder before leaving you to your thoughts: certainly you didn’t expect to hear such a thing. But what do bosses know?

You sigh. At least Friday is coming soon.

***

Hayden dresses fancifully for this day, even though the coffeeshop you are going is one like Starbucks. He does want to impress you, though. Curious is how he feels alive after a long time off the market for some silly reasons.

But today is the day. Once his filming ends, he comes after you, praying he’s not entirely antiquing in matters of dating. However, every doubt dies when seeing how big your smile is and how sparkly your eyes are. Clearly you don’t know how expressive you can be.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Your heart races when he addresses you. A smile comes naturally as a result.

“Hey, Hayden.”

“Let’s go?”

“Yeah.” As you two walk side by side, you start to wonder whether you are a grown woman or what, because this man makes you weak every time his eyes are set on you. “How was your day?”

As he side eyes discreetly at you, you cannot know that Hayden is thinking almost the same. Charmed by your presence, your enigmatic aura draws him to you, despite his fears of starting a new relationship—or perhaps is he misleading himself in desiring so?

“It was good, thank you for asking. Had fewer scenes today, but those were more intense per usual. I suppose you could tell that because I didn’t have the time to come to you as the rest of the days…”

He smirks at how adorable you look when going pink.

The coffeeshop is not so far, so it doesn’t take you a long time to reach it. Once you do, you and Hayden pick a discreet table that are not too much at the people’s sight.

It’s not until both of you order for black coffee and a piece of lemon cake that you engage in proper conversation.

“Indeed I’ve noticed you’ve been quite busy. That’s what you get for being the main star”, you smirk in tease, pleased for bringing him to laughters.

“What can I do? I try my best”, he responds in an amusing tone.

Does it feel like it’s going too fast? Neither could tell. You and Hayden speak as if you’ve been more than friends over years. Without your notice—or even his—, he takes your hand and gently locks fingers with you.

Between one exchange of glances here, some laughters there, you just know. It’s scary, it’s frightening for sure, but you know.

He is the one.

So what now? Well, you panic internally and opt not to tell anything. Just in case…

***

“You’ve been dating her for what, five weeks now?”, says Ewan when meeting Hayden for some heads up.

“Yeah, I have. She’s a really nice girl, I mean… I haven’t brought to laughters for a long time”, Hayden smiles as he remembers the last date you two had together. “She’s funny and her wit doubles her beauty, you know.”

He chuckles.

“Hayden, my friend”, Ewan places a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “Why are you wasting your time? Ask her to be your girlfriend. I am surprised she’s this patient, honestly.”

“Well me too”, he admits it. “But I wasn’t entirely sure…”

“It’s always appropriate to have some good sense and caution, but fear only holds back for living… Don’t sabotage yourself. Go for it.”

Hayden looks thoughtful, but in truth… Maybe it’s just time to be impulsive again. Or not so impulsive since he comes to discover he’s in love with you.

***

And here come your insecurities again. You start to question yourself whether you got yourself in this too fast, if there’s something wrong with you, or even if you haven’t learned with your previous experiences in failed relationships yet.

All of this because… you’ve been going on several dates with him and nothing gives you the certainty that he corresponds you. At the same time, if this was casual he’d drop you on the first weeks because you are openly against casual sex.

So today you decide to break things with him. You don’t like uncertainties and your heart is already pained with disappointment when Hayden surprises you by paying you a visit right after you had breakfast on a Saturday morning.

“Hey, Y/Nickname. May I come in?”

“Hayden!”, you cannot conceal your surprise and Hayden may have detected your suspicious, perhaps waiting for the worse. “I wasn’t expecting you coming this early! Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it is. I know this is unexpected but in truth there is something I wanted to talk to you.”

He hesitates, probably waiting for some reaction from you. As you say nothing, he proceeds:

“I know we’ve been hanging out more than a few weeks. I know it may seem I haven’t made my mind yet about us… The truth is always cliche, too predictable to be denied”, he hurries to short the distance between you two.

“Then tell me if it’s worth the waiting, Hayden”, you whisper, staring down to his eyes as he cups your face. “Or else I will leave…”

“No. I am not losing you, Y/N.” He murmurs firmly. “I love you.”

Your eyes go wide and your mind goes blank.

“You w-what? Are you sure? Are…”

He decides to give you an answer that will shush your doubts, doing so by kissing you fervently as he holds you in his arms.

From that day you both held the certainty in your hearts that you two are meant to be…

***

Epilogue: a year later.

Hayden watches as you take his daughter for a horseback ride, proud of how easily you bonded with her. The scene is precious before his eyes.

“Show me that trick again!��, she exclaims at you as you do some magic with a coin you had in the pocket of your jeans.

You are leading her over her mare in a green scenario, mixed with blue skies and different shades of colors that paint the walls of Hayden’s farm house. There, you live with him, occasionally joined by his daughter, precious Brie Rose, whom you get along just fine—and adore like she was your own.

And to spoil her a little more, you do as requested and she is brought to laughters. Not much later, Hayden joins you two.

“What are my favourite women in the world doing?”, he asks, hugging you from behind as he laces his daughter with a free arm, pressing a kiss on top of her head before doing the same to you.

“Riding a horse”, she tells him excitedly. “All by myself, see? Auntie Y/N taught me well.”

You cannot help at how she calls you and giggle softly. Hayden smiles brightly upon the affection she has developed to you.

“You know what, Brie? Do you think we could do this forever?”

When she turns her face to you two, you see a spark in her eyes.

“Of course! What do you think, auntie?”

You giggle quietly.

“That depends of your father, my darling.”

Hayden gently pulls you against him, a smile growing on his lips.

“Is that a yes?”

“When did I ever see refuse you anything, my love?”

And just like that a new beginning rises in the horizon for this family that you grew devoted to. One kiss and unspoken vows are sealed…

#sorry guys if this isn’t what y’all expected somewhere along the lines my muse left me #Hayden Christensen #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen fluff #Hayden Christensen x female reader #star wars #star wars imagine #imagine star wars

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honeybeefae · 8 months

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Eris Week 2023 Official Masterlist

Hey everyone! I am SO excited to participate in Eris Week and to get ahead of the game, I will post the names and summaries of the fics I'll be writing so that everyone can find them easily! (All things labeled with a * are smut!)

The things that are bolded and underlined in the picture above are the prompts I will be using that day and yes, some days there will be two fics because I couldn't just pick one! I hope you guys are as excited about this as I am <3

As always, thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, talking, and just anything that you all do to support my fics. This community is amazing and I love all of you.

(Also tagging @erisweek2023! I encourage all of you to participate in it!)

Sunday | Family

As you go into labor Eris is taken back to when his mother went into labor with Lucien, especially as the same problem seems to arise. When you reach out your hand for him to stay, will he take it or will he be just like his father?

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Monday | High Lord

The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and as you go to position, you realize he is missing. After calming everyone's panic you go off in search of him and realize just how nervous your soon-to-be High Lord truly is.

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Monday (pt. 2) | Heir*

A recent concoction has hit the fae market that is said to bring about your primal instincts in order to help fertility. When Eris first suggests it you laugh, thinking it is just another herb or supplement, until you both drink it and realize just how primal it reverts you to.

(Smut, Aphrodisiac, Knot, Primal Play, Alpha/Omega vibes)

(Eris x Reader fic) (POSTED)

Tuesday | Secrets*

Eris is visiting the Court of Nightmares to keep in touch with things now that he is officially High Lord of Autumn. As he mingles he is introduced to a lovely vixen who, despite Eris's resistance, takes no hints to his distaste. While Eris tries to search for a way out he catches the eye of a Shadowsinger who is none too pleased about the wandering hands touching what is his, even if in secret.

(Smut, Secret Relationship, Dom/Sub dynamic)

(Eris x Azriel) (POSTED)

Wednesday | Autumn Equinox

On the dawn of your mating ceremony to Eris, the same day as the Autumn Equinox, you are in a daze as you remember everything that has led you to this moment. And when you see Eris waiting for you at the end of the aisle, crown of leaves and thorns atop his head, you realize there is no one else for you.

(Eris x Reader fic)

Thursday | Dancing

It is the day you are meant to be introduced to court, to show yourself off to the countless suitors of the Autumn Court, but there is one problem. You cannot dance. Lucky for you, however, that a certain red-headed heir is willing to teach you despite his disdain for you. Or is it something else?

(Eris x Reader fic)

Friday | Arranged Marriage*

Against all odds of this arranged marriage between you and the future High Lord of Autumn, you had hoped that something could blossom between the two of you. You wanted that fairytale you had been sold on so when he refuses to meet your gaze, talk with you, and even go as far as flirting with other women in court, you are left with no other option but to engage your attention to other men. As it turns out, your husband can dish it but cannot take it when you enjoy the company of three mortal men.

(Smut, Arranged Marriage, Outdoor Sex, Jealousy)

(Eris x Reader Fic)

Friday (pt. 2) | Modern AU*

Despite being at the top of your class, popular, and having everything you ever wanted, there was a thorn in your side that you just couldn't get rid of named Eris Vanserra. You were academic rivals and although he seemed like a golden boy with his perfect hair and pressed clothes, you were about to see a whole different side as the two of you are paired up for a project that required meeting outside of school hours.

(Smut, Academic Rivals, Dom/Sub, College!AU, Spitting, Spanking, Daddy Kink)

(Eris x Reader fic)

Saturday | Free Day*

Eris had been uptight since you were children and finally, as you were now both adults, you decided to put your foot down and have him relax. And although your methods are unconventional, the two of you soon find yourselves basking in a room of hazy smoke and unspoken feelings that are about to come to light.

(Smut, Stoned Sex, Drugs, Intense, High Sex)

(Eris x Reader fic)

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jackoshadows · 2 years

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Shein: Fast-fashion workers paid 3p per garment for 18-hour days, undercover filming in China reveals

It is the biggest fast-fashion company in the world, making billions of pounds by unveiling thousands of new designs on its addictive website every day and selling them cheaper than anyone else. Now the first undercover investigation into factories supplying Shein, the Chinese retailer loved by millions of young women in the UK and around the globe, has exposed the disturbing experiences of workers making its clothes. Garment manufacturers in China are often working up to 18 hours a day, being paid as little as 3p per item, with no weekends and only one day off per month, a Channel 4 team has found.

This treatment of workers – who are fined two thirds of their daily wage if they make a single mistake – breaks not only Shein's code of conduct for suppliers but also Chinese labour laws. The company says it will investigate. A woman using the false name of Mei secretly filmed inside two factories where she took on jobs producing the kinds of tops that British shoppers can buy for as little as £1.49. The footage has been shared with i ahead of Untold: Inside the Shein Machine, streaming on All4 from Monday. Women in one factory are found to be washing their hair during their lunch breaks, as they have so little spare time outside of their long shifts. A man who started work at 8am, but is filmed sitting shirtless at his sewing machine after midnight, says he will not finish until 2am or 3am because he needs to complete his batch

Woods says Shein is "head and shoulders" above other fashion brands in the number of "dark patterns" it uses online. "These are behaviours on the website that force you into actions that you might not choose yourself," he explains. "Data is making marketing like a loaded weapon." Shein was contacted for comment by the documentary makers but did not respond on this matter. Data published on 6 April by The Business of Fashion showed that in the year to date, Shein had launched 314,877 separate designs in the US market, compared to 18,343 in the same period by Boohoo. This relentless onslaught suggests customers have more than 3,000 new styles to potentially view every day

The contact arranged for "Mei", one of the journalists in his network, to infiltrate the Shein supply chain in Guangzhou, a south-eastern city with a population of 14 million. Having seen what she discovered, he says: "I have been doing investigative stories in China for 15, 16 years – still [they] exploit workers like dogs. Basically it's worse than years ago."

#Shein #fashion #Labour exploitation #Capitalism #China #Slave Labor

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chronically-ghosted · 9 months

Text

the only thing we have to fuck is fear itself

rating: 18+

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 5309

summary: You get drunk at a happy hour and tell Max to his face you don’t find him scary at all. He takes that personally.

warnings/tags: drinking, like two seconds of scary vibes, smut, (secret) established relationship, work hard, play hard, have secret sex with your coworker even harder

a/n: I’m so sorry to FDR for butchering his quote for the sake of a title, but i like to think that horny bastard would have loved my smut.

🤍AO3 Link 🤍 Masterlist 🤍 Get notified when I post new works!

Despite working at a place that was quite literally soul-sucking, your coworkers could throw one hell of a happy-hour.

There wasn’t a bartender in a ten mile radius from the office who didn’t know you all by name, didn’t shout a greeting over the tightly-packed house the instant you walked in. Rarely was it just a single crew member at the bars – you often got accused of moving in a pack like a five-headed hydra that could drink double its own weight in liquor, beer, and frosés – and being only two-fifths human, the Monster Squad was an alcoholic force to be reckoned with.

Maybe because you actively promoted unity amongst the species, like poster children for positive and “non-toxic human-demon relationships” HR kept encouraging in their Monday-Funday email blasts, but your little group was something of a legend in the area. You thought any notoriety was more likely due more to your faces plastered all over the bars’ trivia night winner boards, but in the office, people tended to stare. Trish, a siren from Santa Barbara, loved the attention, said it was good for her skin – gave her a “dewy” look. Nita, the only other human in your group besides you, disagreed with Ken (a quarter leprechaun on his mother’s side) when Ken claimed the whispering came from the sheer volume of nonsense that started around 4PM in the office on Fridays and continued until you all left the office. Ken was of the belief that the notoriety was actually infamy – to which he was promptly booed and had to buy the next round.

And yet, to yourself, to the quiet conversations you had in the bathroom mirror after two long island ice teas and whatever was in what the centaur bartender at Lucky’s called an “Ass Whooping”, you suspected there might be another reason the Monster Squad even had a name at all. Within your own fields, each of you were respectable – Ken and Trish were both heads of marketing and Nita oversaw a considerable team of engineers, with you of course a department leader over in legal – one member of your group was, let’s say, more well-known.

Well-known because he was the flashiest, the loudest, and certainly the most demonic of you all: Max Phillips, VP of sales, money-maker extraordinaire, and a fan-favorite amongst your Overlords, the rest of the sales team, and anyone with working and interested sex organs in the near vicinity.

To your complete and utter annoyance.

You don’t quite remember how you all came together, who brought who into the group, and when it was unanimously decided that you’d stop snatching up office workers like limes at $5 margarita night after Trish, but it was Max who kept you together, who set up the group chat (somehow mysteriously gathering all of your phone numbers after a very late night), who bullied anyone who responded to his weekly “winner winner liquid dinner” texts every Friday morning with a tepid maybe into coming out that night. He already seemed to know half of the bartenders in the city, all of whom were happy to send over a free round of tequila shots as a “thank you to Max’s friends”. While you’d never look a gift vampire in the mouth, you were suspicious of his influence. Was that vampire hypnosis real? Did he have a pack of lesser, baby vamps to send out to tenderize the hunting grounds?

One thing’s for sure, he definitely didn’t scare them into it.

“Has Halloween, like, changed for anyone else?” Nita grouched over her second Sangria Spritzer two hours into another fantabulous happy hour at Heel Clicks. The four of you were huddled into your comically small booth up on the landing near the back bar – of course there were other seats available but this had the best view, the closest access to your favorite bartender, and at some point, the shoulder-to-shoulder proximity served as a way to counteract the tipsy swaying.

Trish leaned around Ken, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Nita shrugged hopelessly. “It used to be one of my favorite holidays when I was a kid. I loved the candy, the costumes – all of it. But I really liked being scared the most.”

Ken sorted into his old-fashioned. “Well, if you’re still scared of things you were as a kid, Nit, I think you’ve got a bigger problem than seasonal preference.”

She elbows him and he knocks into Trish.

“Not like that . . . but, like, monster movies aren’t really scary anymore? I mean, I used to watch Ginger Snaps religiously around Halloween, but, uh, now that I know an actual werewolf and he’s the nicest little old man in accounting, I dunno . . . it’s just not the same.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble on monsters,” Ken shrugged. “But I personally cannot relate. As a member of the Free Folk, my people have always been welcomed, seen as bringers of good will towards man.”

“You know there’s eight movies where a leprechaun murders literally dozens of teenagers, right?” You turned to Ken over Nita, your entire right buttcheek hanging off the edge of the booth.

“Oh, yeah, baby Jennifer Aniston,” Trish mused, thinking. “If that’s what your uncle looks like, Ken, then I posit Halloween is still fucking creepy.”

“Halloween is definitely creepy and it sucks.” Your ringleader has returned with electric-green jello shots. Max Phillips carried a tray with one hand, his immaculate blue jacket gone to display firm forearms underneath his white, rolled-back sleeves. “Bunch up, kiddies, Daddy’s back with treats.”

Half the group groaned, the other squealed in delight.

Max hip-bumped you, his ravenous cologne immediately making you think unwise thoughts, as he pushed his way onto the bench absolutely not made for this many people. He looked back at you as he passed out the drinks.

“Now why are we all in agreement that Halloween is a lame holiday?”

“Nita claims that because she personally knows a werewolf – Ned, right? – she’s not scared of monster movies anymore.”

Max scoffed. “Well, there’s your problem right there. Werewolves were never scary to begin with.”

“What monster movies have you been watching?” Nita gaped at him. “Maybe it’s bad representation, but all the movie werewolves can tear you to shreds!”

Ken nodded solemnly. “This is why affirmative action is so important.”

Trish smacked him over the back of the head.

“So, what?” Max continued, crunching up the jello in its plastic cup. “Now that you know me, a vampire, you think all Dracula movies give blood-suckers a bad rap?”

“No, being a human-sized mosquito with too much hair gel is doing that all on its own.” You smirked, dead-eyed, at him. Behind you, Ken and Trish snorted so hard they almost spilled their drinks.

Max narrowed his eyes at you, in a look he only gave you when you wouldn’t let him ease around legal loopholes “for the good of the business”. Only Nita seemed to be oblivious.

“That’s a good point, Max.” She thoughtfully stirred her jello with her pinky, unsticking it from the sides of her cup. “I mean, I guess I never watched that many vampire movies to begin with.”

Max broke his heated staring contest with you to look around at Nita, elbow pressing up into your chest as he leaned forward on the table. “I can promise you, doll face, vampires have been and always will be more terrifying and lethal than werewolves.”

“Not the argument I think you want to make, mate,” Ken murmured as you shifted yourself to face Max entirely.

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten us all –,”

“Nope,” Trish called down the row, “we’re taking this shot before you two get into it again.”

“To Ned!” Ken yelled.

“To Ned!”

Plastic crunched, tongues slurped, as jello ungracefully slipped into every open mouth down the bench. You licked your lip, tip of your tongue green. Max watched the movement out of the corner of his eye.

“So, enlighten us, Max, why should we be so afraid of you?”

Max grinned out the side of his mouth. “One, I’ve seen more bite out of a pomeranian than one of those Tribbles. And two, whatever-wolves can only get it up once a month. I’m all monster, all the time, baby.”

At this, everyone groaned.

“Dollar to the Dick Jar!” Trish smacked her hand on the table.

“Here, here!”

Max pouted as he took a dollar out of his wallet and slammed it into the center of the table, payment towards tips or the bill or whoever suffered the most due to The Dick.

“Face it, buzz,” you shrugged as he put his wallet away. “You’re just not scary any more, if you ever were.”

“Is that right?”

Fuck, you were in a lot of trouble. Beneath the table, his thigh soaked yours in heat.

“That’s right.”

“You know what is really scary?” Ken muttered, digging around in his crushed up for the last remnants of jello. “Kelpies.”

“Ah – yes! They’ve got sloppy fangs covered in algae!”

“Hey – that’s my cousin you’re talking about!”

Heel Clicks was hands down one of your favorite bars in the area. Devoted to the local music scene in the area, the vibe was a mix of old 70s rock bands, modern steel, and whatever justified lots of mounted horns and hairy cow-skin stools. The drinks were great, seasonal too, and there was always live music on the patio out back. In a twist that you found particularly cool, the old rum-runners tunnels had been converted to comfortably spacious bathrooms in the basement. Behind the solid oak door, the noises from the above bar are nearly entirely muffled, making the slow descent to the bathroom something of an out-of-body experience when you’ve had a few and the sudden silence is almost an echo.

Plus, these fucking stairs are a death trap.

You embarrassingly clutched at the railing, the wooden stairs at far too sharp an angle even if you were sober as a judge, much less at a Monster Squad happy hour.

Stupid Max and his stupid drinks and his –

What was that?

You stand up right on the third to last step, listening.

In the half darkness in front of you, there are three paths available. To the left, employee storage, the lights above the door flickering, the sign reading “do not enter” pulsating in and out of visibility. To your right, another door, maybe an exit. Always unmarked and always locked every time your drunken curiosity got the better of you.

And across from the stairs were the bathrooms, left women, right for men.

God, what year is it? Shouldn’t it all just be gender-neutral? You think to yourself, a tad bit more aggressive than you’d usually oppose the gender binary – primarily to wash out the rising concern at the back of your neck.

You are alone down here. It’s obvious. It’s not like there’s that many places for some dastardly villain to hide. Four shut doors and three hallways. Unless some maniac was curled up under the stairs, you are the only person in the basement.

At least, the only person you can see.

You don’t realize how sweaty your hands are until you try to continue your way down the stairs. You take a step and nearly slip, the eyes you know are on you somehow laughing.

One blinking light. No where for anything to hide, so why are you so nervous? You are an adult woman, for god’s sakes. You make it to the floor, the most likely candidate for your demise behind you and –

The stairs creaked.

The empty stairs that you just walked down creaked and you nearly leap across the hallway to put space between you. Heart in your throat, you make the monumentally stupid decision and call out, “hello? Is anyone there?”

As if the serial killer was just going to announce himself, give up the whole element of surprise.

Blinking through the bleary haze of too many drinks, you take out your phone and flip on the light. A white beam chases back the encroaching darkness, a frantic worried ghost peering through the gloom. And yet, like you consciously know, there’s nothing there. But the darkness feels heavier, the eerie distant noise from the bar above so quiet and removed the sound is more of a memory – the idea of what comfort and community should sound like. But it’s not. It’s too far gone – if anything were to happen, it’d be hours before they found you. If they did at all.

“Oh my god,” you scold yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. “Get a fucking grip and go pee and then go back up those fucking stairs and –,”

Okay, that was definitely breathing.

Breathing, right behind you. Ragged, hungry, disembodied breathing, in your ear and your heart ricochets into your chest. Your own breath turns short, choppy, panic swelling into your ears, over your fingers. You think you might drop your phone, your fingers are so numb from fear, so you clutch tighter, the trembling throwing white light across the paneled wood in a craze.

Be rational, this is crazy, there is nothing down here!

The stairs snarl again and you squeak, all but bolting for the women’s bathroom, desperate to put at least some space between you and those fucking stairs, put some boundaries between –

The door is locked. When the fuck is this door ever locked?

Panic recedes to overwhelming rage because fuck, fuck, fuck, now you’re trapped in here – you can’t go back to the stairs – you rattle the handle, shaking the door against its lock –

“Fucking let me in!”

The light above the exit door goes out. And then the other. You throw all of your weight against the bathroom door. You claw at the handle, begging it to give way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck – you can hear the darkness breathing –

No, speaking – it’s saying something, chanting, mocking, calling out – calling out your name –

The door suddenly unlocks and you stumble forward – into something solid –

Its hands grab you and like a fucking fool, you played right into its trap.

It turns you, throws you up against the tile wall, its claws around your shoulders, cold tile against your cheek and you whimper. Whimper when you feel the soft pin-prick of fangs against the back of your neck – fuck, this is how it ends?? – and –

“Got you.”

That voice.

That condescending, snide, bratty, little –

You elbow the solid body behind you and Max lets out a puff of air, staggering back. You whip around, nearly snarling in his smirking, beautiful face. The bathroom is dark, black tiled walls and floors with a faux-wooden sink and dim lights across the top of the mirror. In the flushed orange light, his eyelashes encourage thick shadows under his eyes and in the collar of his throat. If it wasn’t for that insufferable smile, he’d look painted from thin brush strokes and heavy scarlet paint.

Caravaggio, eat your heart out.

“Max, what the fuck was that?”

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the spot on his chest where you hit him, at the top of his ribcage. “Oh, c’mon, it was just some fun. Saw you sneak off after you got Nita’s drink and thought I’d mess with you just a bit.”

You sigh, willing your heart to slow down, throwing your gaze to the ceiling and dropping your head against the tile.

“God, you asshole, I thought I was gonna die.” You swallow and move your hair out of your face. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I what?”

“You scared –,”

That smile, the crack of fangs across his mouth, widens, the bottom of his lip rolling back over the cut of his teeth, those brown eyes melting into a warm, obscene black, as he meets you hip first against the wall.

His hands climb over your waist, as though daring you to hit him again, and your thigh muscles tighten. Your hands instinctively trace the exposed skin left by his opened collar at the dip of his throat when he comes closer, chest pressing up against yours, nose against your temple.

Fuck, it shouldn’t be this easy for him. You sigh through your nose, eyes rolling shut, when he nips at your cheek.

“I think you were supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am,” you groan. “I’m livid. I’m enraged. I’m –,”

His thumb brushes your ribs – not tickling, not entirely touching, but just reminding. Reminding of the force behind his touch, behind his teeth.

“Baby girl,” he chuckles softly, the sound running down your neck like rain, “you’re melting in my arms.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m scared of you.” You focus on the softness of his hair between your fingers, the heat of the back of his neck beneath the pads of your fingertips – resolutely ignoring the radiating scent of his cologne coming from up under his collar. More than once had he come across you in his apartment bathroom, sniffing that bottle like some dopey perv looking for a quick fix. Of course, instead of admonishing you, he bent you over his sink and fucked the daylights out of you, his wrists singing with the smell of that cologne. Now he wore it to work wherever he wanted something from you, particularly to overlook some pesky lines of legalise.

In the hallowed darkness of the bar’s bathroom, he drops a single kiss just below your jaw, inches beneath your ear. He grumbles when your pulse there quickens, and again his fangs find a curve of skin to press against – a reminder.

Always reminding, always lurking, a threat without a promise.

And he knows exactly what that does to you.

You release a full body shudder when his hands drop lower, guiding you back against the wall, fingers rounding around your thighs. Like interlocking pieces, your bodies slide together, your arms curling around his neck, the heat of his chest branding yours as it forces you against the wall. You’re breathing all wrong again, but for different reasons this time. You catch a flash of the ink-well darkness of his eyes when he nuzzles out of your neck to admire the mess he has made of your skirt.

“Can I fuck you in this or is this thing too tight?” He asks, like he specifically didn’t get on his hands and knees and beg you to wear that gray pencil skirt only twelve hours earlier.

You lean up, snagging his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him roughly and showing him he’s not the only one with a little bite. He groans softly, one hand curling into your hair at the base of your skull, and he licks you, from the front of your lips up to the valley of your mouth. He tastes like the sweetness of his whiskey n’ coke, his tongue rubbing the flexing muscle of yours, the sharpness of your molars. You could spend hours just sucking on his plush mouth.

Maybe he did scare you. Maybe he should have scared you more, the threat of anyone discovering your relationship a real danger to both of your careers. Maybe it should have scared you, how little you cared about any of that when he palmed your breast over your shirt.

You inhaled over his mouth, popping off his lips with a moan, his hand cupping you roughly as he dove in to suck marks on your neck. Every moment that passes, you feel your skin ratcheting up with heat, blood almost hot. He thumbs your perk nipple through your shirt and you arch your chest, his massive palm nearly cupping your ribs to your spine.

“Max, either you figure out how to fuck me in this skirt or you owe me a new one.”

“You want me to rip it off you?” He slurs, eyelids heavy, his thigh slides in between your knees, the fabric preventing him from going higher, to the place where you both need him. You groan in frustration and his hands squeeze your hips at the sound. “Tell me fast, baby, because I can’t–,”

“For the love of – just fucking lift it up–,” His hands fumble over yours as your fingers curl under the hem, his own want making that brilliant mind for numbers almost stupid. His warm fingers overwhelm your own as they push your skirt up your waist, and then dig around the line of your pantyhose.

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to Fort Knox me out of your pussy? Why are there so many layers?”

You hiss at him as you slide out of your heels and shove your nylons to the ground, hopping on one leg to take them off your feet. “It’s like you’ve never undressed me before.”

Freed of the chaos of your underthings, Max’s hands rush to his belt, the clinking of the metal sending shivers down your back and straight up your cunt. He doesn’t notice because he’s obsessively watching your thighs. “I’ve never undressed you with our coworkers a floor above us and probably becoming increasingly suspicious about where the fuck we are–,”

You take him by the back of the neck, hand clenching around the starch white of his shoulder. He comes to you, zipper digging into your hip bone as he pulls you up off your feet. For once that chatty mouth is quiet, open and wet with desire as he takes in your flushed face, the blood pumping under your tits. Max is nothing if not almost supernaturally consumed by the look, feel, texture, and taste of your tits.

The look on his face is one of those reasons you tend to throw caution to the wind, why your heart almost feels too big for your chest, whenever he’s around.

He hooks an arm around your low back, tilting your hips forward. You feel the heat of his cock somewhere below you and it takes all of your strength not to grind down.

“Max –,” he’s not even inside of you and you’re already begging. You bite down on his ear to stifle whatever was rising up your throat.

“Hang on, baby, I gotta make sure you . . .”

Using your shoulders as counterbalance, he holds himself up against the wet warmth of your cunt, breath stuttering as he rubs the head of his cock against your slick folds. That bratty aloofness is gone; he wants to sink so, so deep into you.

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t even get you ready – but you’re already so wet –,”

You don’t resist grinding down now and he knocks his shoulders forward, needing movement, but fighting against the urge to buck up into you, gasping from the feeling of your cunt.

“Please, Max, just –,”

“Yeah, I know, baby, okay, just, I gotta . . .”

He angles himself and you arch your back, unable to watch with the mess of your skirt around your waist, but he finds it, finds your opening, the place he loves to mark, and without any warning, thrusts his length up into you.

The stretch, the surprise, the ear-ringing split between being empty and then stuffed so full – you can’t help but moan so loudly, you sing to the ceiling. For a moment, your bodies hum with the stillness, the blood in your cunt pulsating around him, you claw at his broad shoulders, need him closer, needing that smell of him that haunts your empty bed as far inside of you as his cock is. His hips stutter and he presses one hand against the tile by your ribs, teeth clenched against the sensation.

“When I fuck you, every time feels like the first time. Every goddamn time.”

It’s not particularly the confession it could be, but you shake your head, clearing it of anything stupid like feelings for Max Phillips, your chin brushing his jaw, his nose against your ear.

“Then do it,” you whine. “Just fuck me, Max.”

With a groan that could be mistaken for a snarl, he lifts you both up right, pushing your hips down and spreading yourself over him. You lock your ankles around his back a second before he pulls out halfway, then to jerk back in with such force and precision your eyes roll to the back of your head. He sets a pace that has pleasure weaving a tight drum just under your stomach. Each sweaty thrust fires sparks up your spine. He really is so fucking good at this.

This is the release you need, you both need. Sure, it’s an after-effect of having a high-powered job, but it’s also more than that. Max fucking you is unfortunately very often the highlight of your day. He knows what you need, how you need it – how hard to drive his cock into you, it makes you tongue-tied and dizzy. The fast pump of his cock, how it feels to split you apart over and over again, the back zipper of your skirt digging into your back – it’s too fucking good.

“Don’t know where you get off giving me orders,” he grunts, the pounding of his hips into yours rapidly shoving you up your ascension. The slapping, wet noise in the empty room is obscene. “I’m a fucking VP, little girl, and I–,”

You tense your muscles around his cock and he fumbles, his knees buckling momentarily.

“Do not fucking bring up the org chart right now,” you hiss, your own edge yanked away when he stills. “I’m almost there–,”

Quicker than he’s been all night, Max lunges forward, mouth open and teeth bare. He bites your neck and then he bites you.

Fangs puncture your skin, not deep, but enough that your body is thrown into a messy coil of nerves and adrenaline. It knows you could die like this, even if you’ve only ever called the vampire a mosquito to his face, and triggering a self-preservation instinct, your body trembles from the sudden blast of sensation.

Your pupils dilate further than they were, your skin becomes overly aware of every drop of sweat, every flutter of hair, every rub of flesh – and your fucking nerve-endings feel like static, as if brushed by lightning.

Pleasure so-white hot it almost burns roars up your spine, slick coating his cock inside you, and you cry out. Wail in his ear. Begging him to make it better. To give you your release. The feel of his cock pounding up inside your now-overly ripe cunt brings tears to your eyes.

“Oh, fuck – fuck, fuck, fuck – Max, p-please –,”

“Can you handle it if I touch you?”

You shake your head. “Yes, yes, please, touch me.”

“You can’t keep screaming like that,” he scolds you breathlessly, the punch of his hips bouncing you against his cheek. For all his vampire stamina, the flush of exertion across his cheeks is truly staggering and a triumph for your ego. Flecks of blood dot his mouth. “Someone’s going to come looking.”

“I don’t care,” you groan, angling your hips to take more of him. His hand not on your back cups under your knee, tugging it higher up his torso. His pace is relentless, overwhelming – with his weight on top of you, and his cock up under you, inside you, you’re consumed by Max Phillips. “Whatever you do, d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“You scared I’m gonna?”

“Yes,” you whine. You can feel your heart pounding out its shape into your ribs.

“Good girl. And good girls get to fucking come.”

Balancing your increasingly limp body, he holds you up right, his hand snaking beneath your skirt, between the sweat of your thighs and his torso, and –

He thumbs that buzzing bundle of nerves, “come for me, baby”, and you do. You come screaming, the tension snapping, vision sparkling with stars, and you are shoved over the edge. You don’t know you’re wailing his name until he comes too, all concern for getting caught seemingly gone as he begs you to continue as he fills you up with his pearly, gooey cum:

“That’s right, say my name. Say my fucking name, sweetheart.”

His hips thrust weakly, some instinct choking him until he makes sure every drop of him stays in you. You’re going to be dripping for hours.

His skin is fire-hot beneath his starched white shirt. You’ll be thinking about that for days afterward when you see him in the hallways of the office.

This is what scares you the most. When you realize it's over and neither one of you want it to be.

Shaking from exertion, Max slowly sets you down, unwinding your legs from his waist, your ankles trembling against the cold tile. You couldn’t imagine putting your nylons back on, the thought of that pressure against the curve of your lower stomach while you are so full of his cum practically unbearable.

He lifts his head from your neck, eyes intentionally avoiding you as he inspects where he bit you, breath coming in ragged, long gasps. Sweat darkens the hair at his temple and that post-fuck blush is staggeringly gorgeous on him. He pricks his thumb on the sharp edge of his fangs and with a scarlet bead balanced on his thumb, he smears his blood against the puncture wounds, like someone would wipe dirt away from a loved one’s skin.

It doesn’t really hurt, but the effects leave your neck tingling. You’d never say this out loud, but you fucking loved when he did that.

He steps away without looking at you, giving you time to adjust your skirt, your hair in the mirror. You help him straighten his collar because it’s not like he can use the mirror to check himself.

He grins, the flush fading far too rapidly from his cheeks.

“What are you going to tell them?” You nod to the stairs on the other side of the wall. “This can’t look good for us.”

“You got attacked by a werewolf on the way to the bathroom. I saved you.”

“Thought you said werewolves weren’t scary.”

He shakes his head, smirking, then presses a kiss to your temple. “Just said I was the bigger monster between the two of us.”

“My hero.” You turn your head until his lips drink in yours.

It is dangerous, your feelings for him.

He taps you on the butt, pulling away. The lines around his eyes do an excellent job of masking the hurt in the brownness of his eyes.

“Gimme five, then you come up. Can’t have you looking so completely debauched.”

He kisses you again, betraying whatever amounted to “cool and collected” he attempted for, and without another word, he slides out the door.

His smell lingers in the air long after he does. The throbbing of your cunt also serves as a fantastically bitter reminder.

You go back to the mirror because yes, you could not have been more obvious if you were wearing a sign that said, “hi, yes, I did just get my back blown out.” You try to fold your hair around your ears at least a dozen times before pulling it back in what you hope to be a casual pony-tail. You toss your nylons into the trash can, pleading that the “oh, I tore them in the bathroom” excuse might hold an ounce of water.

You think about what’s waiting for you a floor up and your stomach clenches.

Fucking Max could upset the dynamics of your little group, your little Monster Squad. Whatever the stupid office bylines were, your happy-hour social group is one of the bright spots in your life, especially while working at a place run by those bastard Overlords.

And Max knew that. He didn’t want to risk your long-term happiness for his short-term.

Max didn’t scare you because he was a monster.

He scared you precisely because he wasn’t.

You open the bathroom door and return to the world.

#max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #bloodsucking bastards #max phillips smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters

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sacredthethreadgvf · 4 months

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Limelight |Jake Kiszka x Reader | Prologue

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm back at it..you know me, ideas pop into my head out of the blue and occasionally we go on a journey together. Please note that while this follows the band and Jake closely this is a fictional story. I currently do not have a posting schedule or a plan on how many parts this will be so bare with me !! As always, I appreciate alllll the feedback and love chatting about stories with you all ! I cannot wait to see where yet another enemies to lovers trope takes us! A very special shout out to @joshym for hyping me up over this story and being a beta reader for this upcoming series (I appreciate you so so much!!). This is just a little prologue to start us off on our journey. MINORS DNI this series !!! This will contain smut at one point!

Summary: Jake Kiszka is a pain in the ass to put it in simple terms. But you loved your job, you actually needed this job more than anything. However, shining shoes, refilling water, folding towels, applying eyeliner, etc. was not exactly on your agenda. Neither was falling in love with the type of man you usually steered far, far away from but yet here we are. Being Jake Kiszka's personal assistant has brought trials and tribulations beyond belief but maybe, just maybe, they were worth it all in the end.

Prologue Warnings: None. Unless you want to count swearing?

Limelight.

Between both aspiring artists and fans alike, the chase and the thrill of the limelight could not be beat.

You craved the limelight personally, more than the average fan of music. You wanted a taste of it for yourself ever since you were young but being the center of public attention? Well, scared the hell out of you. So you settled for a different type of “Limelight”. The type of limelight that brought along all of the green rooms, the thrills, the music so loud and close you wouldn’t be able to hear for days following the concert. You craved to just be close to your favorite musicians without having to pay a pretty penny. You craved the backstage limelight.

You had applied at ReverbPR for a simple assistant job to navigate your way through the music industry to make a name for yourself. You went to college to be a producer of music but found it hard as a young girl fresh out of college with little to no experience to have anyone take you seriously in Nashville. So you settled to be an executive assistant for frontmen, guitar and bass players and drummers alike in hopes to market yourself to these artists to then eventually work with them one on one with their new albums.

You were working away at your profile on LinkedIn in a little coffee shop early on a Monday morning when you got the call from your boss Brian.

“Pack your bags, I found a new client for you.”

Your heart raced from excitement. Things with your previous client did not work out well for you. You had been paired up with an up and coming rock band who’s misogynistic ways both on stage and off made it a very uncomfortable work situation for yourself that was taking a toll on you mentally. You had called Brian after a month and begged him to pair you with someone else. To your surprise he agreed and sent your replacement to the band and thankfully, that was the last you heard of them.

So when you heard from Brian you were now paired yet again with an up and coming rock band of young men, your heart sank and your blood pulsed in your ears. But Brian had assured you that this band was different and you wouldn’t be working with all of the band members, just one this time.

Higher following on social media and a good reputation.

So you agreed but had a mind to keep your guard up just in case.

That night, following a few glasses of wine, you lifted your roommate's cat off of your lap. You ignored the soft protests that sweet little Isabel made and reached out for your laptop sitting on the coffee table. You typed ‘GRETA VAN FLEET’ into your browser and fell into a deep dive on the quartet from Michigan and their rise to fame.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away from you, a young guitarist was preparing for a night of revelry.

“Why do you always have to be such a dick dude?!” Jake exasperated, shooting a glare across the room to his better half. Actually, lesser half in the eyes of Jake at this given moment.

Jake's arms were crossed against his chest and he was leaning against a table. His hands were preoccupied with a cup of wine and a little black eyeliner pencil that was about to go to waste.

“Because brother Jake,” Josh paused and closed his eyes as his assistant, Rose, spread silver glitter across his eyelids. “Beauty like mine takes time! My rhinestones aren’t even done yet.”

He closed his eyes again, avoiding the sharp glare from Jake.

“It's not going to take long to do two little black lines under my eyelids.” Jake threw a hand in the air.

He could tell Josh was getting irritated quickly as Jake was interfering with his “Quiet Time” pre stage ritual bullshit. “Exactly. You can do it yourself.”

“Josh,'' Rose protested softly. “It really won’t take me that long.” Josh’s eyes popped open in a warning his sweet assistant Rose then back to Jake as if to say ‘Get the fuck out of my dressing room’.

Jake rolled his eyes. “What fucking ever. I’ll get my own damn assistant then and you won’t be able to steal them.”

As he walked back to his own dressing room clad in his silver stage suit, the faint sounds of fans chanting “GRETA! GRETA! GRETA!” filled his ears. His senses were heightened. No matter how many times he’s been on stage. No matter how many pep talks he has given himself before, he will never shake the butterflies.

Now to add to the butterflies was pure rage. A sense of frustration with his twin and he didn’t even have time to do his goddamn eyeliner.

He made a plan in his head to talk to his manager about it tomorrow. It was time he had his own damn help around here.

#jake kiszka #jake kiszka enemies to lovers #jake gvf #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka smut #limelight

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milfjuulpod · 9 months

Text

Gifts Aplenty

req: yes

please write something about melissa going to a farmer’s market every weekend and buys things she doesn’t need because she is infatuated with reader, who has a table. just something fluffy and cute!!

A/N: thank you so much for sending this in! apologies for taking so long with it, i’ve been feeling a little meh about my writing lately, so i hope this turned out alright for ya 🖤

The sound of your doorbell was heard from your kitchen, and immediately nerves and excitement surged through you. Today Melissa was coming over for the first time. After mentioning a crafting project you were taking on, Melissa offered to help get you started. The two of you became close relatively quickly, a bit of a surprise to you (and everyone else). The second grade teacher was known for having a tough exterior and a bit of an edge, but that’s what you liked about her, and she liked something about you too.

You opened the door, and there she was. Melissa looked at you like she was surprised you were there, hands full of bags to help with the day. “Hi! Welcome to my humble abode,” you said, opening the door fully and taking a step back to let her in. Melissa walked to your living room and took her time taking everything in. “Humble indeed, where’s all your decorations, kid? Your desk at work is covered in little toys, I’m surprised the coffee table isn’t the same,” she said, sitting herself down on your couch. You crossed the room and sat down next to her, trying to ignore how happy it made you that she noticed your work desk and its many inhabitants. “Yeah, well, I haven’t had much time to get stuff for my house. Plus what do you put on a coffee table? I know nothing about interior design,” You replied, earning a chuckle from the redhead next to you. “We’ll work on it. But first, the actual work I came to do.”

The rest of the day was spent close to Melissa, working mostly in silence as the two of you attempted to figure out how to build a bookshelf. “Why didn’t you just buy one from Ikea? They come with instructions y’know,” Melissa teased. “I like things to be homemade, have a personality. I don’t know, personal preference I guess,” You found yourself being more honest and open with Melissa the longer she spent time in your home. Unbeknownst to you, what you just said would stick in her mind for weeks to come.

The following Monday was like any other, a quick drive to work, pick up coffee, meet everyone in the break room. Your coworkers were filing in one by one, surrounding the tv in the back to catch up on the news. Melissa was one of the last to come in, but when she did, you noticed the extra bags she was carrying. She smiled a hello to you and motioned for you to come closer to her. “Good morning, what’s all this?” You asked. “I went to the farmer’s market yesterday morning, figured I’d bring in some extra breakfast. You hungry?” Melissa answered your question with a question. Nodding, you took one of the pastries she brought in. There was another bag in the redhead’s hand, small, with what looked like a homemade logo on it. She was hiding it behind her leg, like a child giving someone a present.

“Hey, uh, come by my room during lunch, kid.” Melissa told you, and before you could question why, she was walking out the door to her own room. Shaking it off, you tried to tune in to the tv. Emphasis on try—the only thing going on inside your head was the older woman you just spoke to. Melissa often was on your mind as of lately, the way she talked to you, so soft like she was nervous. The way she jumped to take care of you, how beautiful she managed to be every single day, even at 7:30 in the morning. So naturally, you spent the next three periods a bit scatterbrained, only thinking of the woman you wanted to spend all day with.

When the lunch bell rang, you practically jumped from your chair and nearly ran your students to the cafeteria. Anxiously, you made your way to Melissa’s classroom. You knocked three times and heard a loud ‘come in!’ Melissa sat at her desk, glasses holding up her hair as she looked over papers from the morning. “Hi honey, come sit. I got you something,” She said. Honey, you thought. That was new, you’ve heard kid, and more recently hon, but honey was new, and it made your cheeks red and warm. From under her desk, she pulled out the bag from this morning, with the tiny logo on the front. She walked to the table you sat yourself at and placed the gift in front of you. As if she was trying to get a reaction from you, she sat herself down in the chair right next to you, knees brushing against each other.

Out of the bag, you pulled a candle holder, decorated like it was a small tree, covered in roots and leaves. It was the prettiest one you’ve ever seen. “You…This is for me? It’s so pretty Melissa, thank you…” You said, unable to pull your eyes away from your present from the redhead you were slowly falling in love with. “Yeah, I remember you said you didn’t have anything to decorate with, so I figured this would be a step in the right direction. Is it okay? Do you like it?” She asked, nerves evident in the way her voice shook. “Of course I do, it’s gorgeous. Thank you,” you turned to finally look at her, both of you sitting just inches apart, cheeks pink and palms sweaty. “Eh, it’s nothing,” Melissa replied.

The following Monday was the same. Arrive at work, get breakfast from Melissa, and go to her room at lunch for another present. And the Monday after that, and the Monday that followed. By the end of the month, your coffee table was full of trinkets from Melissa. You loved coming home and seeing the gifts she got for you, each one reminded you of the woman in a different way, and how special you were to her. You were aware of the feelings you had for the redhead, and with the past month of being showered in her affection, it grew each and every day.

So, you asked Melissa to come over for a movie and dinner Friday after work, to which, of course, she said yes. Looking at your phone, it said 6:28, right around the time you told her to stop by. As if you summoned her with your thoughts, you heard a knock at the door. Opening it, you were greeted with Melissa wearing a low cut top and leggings, so casual yet somehow it made your mouth water and your eyes go wide. “Are you gonna let me in?” She teased, and pushed her way beside you to come inside. “You put up the trinkets? All of them?” She asked, unable to pull her eyes from everything she bought you spread out with such care on your table. You closed the front door and followed Melissa to the living room, sitting down on the couch and motioning for her to do the same.

“Of course I did, Mel. They’re special to me,” You told her honestly. The redhead beside you opened her mouth to say something, but quickly decided against it and averted her gaze. “Why did you buy all of these for me?” You asked. Melissa looked shocked that you would ask such a thing, as if the answer was obvious. “I…I don’t know. You said you didn’t have much to decorate with so I just started picking stuff up that reminded me of you. Just like they’re special to you…” She trailed off. You gave her a look to continue and thankfully, she did. “You’re special to me. I don’t know what this feeling is, I just…” She stopped again. With a deep breath, you finished her thought. “You just…want to be with me all the time? And get me things? Cook for me? Help me inside and outside of work?”

She chuckled, cheeks turning pink out of embarrassment. You held her hand gently, hoping she would get the message. Just in case she didn’t, you continued. “You like me, don’t you?” Melissa finally brought her green eyes to meet yours again, and nodded slowly. “Good. Because I like you too, I don’t invite just anybody over multiple times and spend all my hours with them. Just you, Melissa.” You watched her eyes wander from your own to your lips, and back up again, asking a silent question. You smiled at the action, whether she meant to do it or not. The older woman took that as a yes, and cupped your cheek. You leaned into her touch, and leaned even farther into her, finally pressing your lips together after all this time. The two of you ran out of breath rather quickly, nerves high as ever. “I’m glad you came over tonight,” You told her, foreheads against each other. Melissa smiled and the pink came back to her cheeks again. “Yeah, me too hon.”

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #reader fic #wlw #abbott elementary fics #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #law posting #melissa hours

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