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strniohoeee · 6 months

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Healer

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N has her period, and calls Matt over to keep her company. Matt being the sweet boyfriend he is helps her out🥹

Warnings⚠️: None this is just so cutesy🤭 I need boyfriend Matt in my life 😔

Song for the imagine: Good Day- SZA

I was currently laying in my bed in agony. I hated my period, and I hated day 2…it was the worst. The cramps, the nausea, the back pain. Just the overall icky ness I felt ruined my day.

I just felt gross, and I wanted nothing more than to lay in bed and sleep my life away. I was supposed to film with the triplets today, but I texted Matt telling him I wasn’t feeling good. I felt bad, but I just could not do it today

However I was really missing my boyfriend, and he gives the best back rubs and cuddles, and he just really made me realize why I loved him so much. I sat in my bed getting emotional over Matt and him not being here

I kept thinking about his smile, and the way his eyes closed when he smiled, and how he was so sweet and kind and listened to me all the time, and how he was so soft spoken and so sweet…..fuck I was getting sad

Then I started to think about how he always texted or called me saying “i'm sorry to bother you”….like you’re not bothering me you’re my boyfriend I love you so much keep talking

Suddenly I felt tears fall from my eyes…this god damn period always makes me an emotional wreck. I kept crying and sniffling, so I decided to call Matt. On the second ring he picked up

“Hi baby” he said

“Hi my love” I said sniffling

“What’s wrong?” He asked concerned

“Nothing, I have my period, and I was thinking of you, and I just got so emotional, and started crying” I said laughing a little bit

“Aww baby don’t cry. I’ll come over if it’s not a bother” he said

“Never a bother Matt, please come over” I said to him

“Okay, I’ll be there in 20” he said back

“Okay, be safe I’ll see you soon” I said

“I will” he responded, and with that he hung up the phone

I decided to shower while I waited for Matt. Once I was done I hopped back in my bed and turned the TV on. I decided on watching Coco. As soon as I pressed play I heard Matt come through my front door

“I’m in my room” I said

I heard him walk over, and come in

“My beautiful girl” he said walking in and coming over to me kissing me

“I’m so glad you’re here” I said smiling up at him

“Always baby” he said kicking his shoes off

“I brought some snacks” he said lifting up a bag

“Ouuu you know me too good” I said smiling at him

“Well duhhh you’re my girlfriend” he said getting on the bed and laying beside me

“Whatcha watching” he asked

“Coco” I said digging in the bag for my drink and snack

“Oh never seen it” he said grabbing his snack

“Me neither” I said opening my bag of chips

Matt and I were watching coco, and eating our snacks. After we finished our snacks we decided to lay down. I was laying flat on my back to try and ease the pain, and Matt was laying on his side

“Want me to rub your stomach?” He asked looking up at me

“If you want” I said giggling

Matt snuggled in closer, and started to rub my lower stomach softly to help the cramps

“This okay?” He asked looking at me

“It’s perfect” I said kissing his cheek

We were nearing the end of Coco, and right when Miguel started to sing to Mama Coco I started crying hysterically

“Oh my god…..” I weeped, and Matt looked up at me

“Are you okay?” He said looking worried

“This is so fucking sad like oh my god who wrote this” I said ugly crying

“Baby it’s okay” He said petting my hair and pulling me in closer

He helped me calm down, and I realized how silly I looked crying

“Oh god I’m so dumb” I said wiping my eyes

“You are not, this is sad” he said laughing

“My period got me crying at a Disney movie” I said laughing

“Don’t worry cry all you want I got you baby” he said kissing my forehead

We got to the end of the film and Mama Coco died. My eyes immediately watering, the tear flows starting

“FUCKKKK why is this so sad” I said crying and wiping my eyes

I looked over at Matt who had glossy eyes too

“Damn mama coco got your ass too” I said laughing

“That shit was sad, fuck” he said blinking and wiping his eyes

“Disney knows how to make a bitch sad” I said sitting up and turning the movie off

“They really do, I almost let a tear shed” he said sitting up too

I turned to look at him but winced

“You okay” he asked

“Yeah my lower backs just hurting so much” I said trying to stretch my back

“Let me massage it” he said

“You don’t have to though” I said looking at him

“Nooo I want to please??” He asked

“Sure” I said nodding

“Okay umm remove your shirt and bra and lay chest down” he said

“Ouuu Matt’s getting frisky” I said winking at him

“Stop it” he said blushing and rolling his eyes

“I’m only teasing” I said laughing

I removed my shirt and bra and laid down on my chest

“Wait, do you have lotion or baby oil?” He asked

“Matt you’re really trying to get freaky in this bitch” I said laughing

“Enough! I’m trying to use lotion so it’s not a dry massage” he said rolling his eyes

“You wanna lube me up, got it! In my bathroom under the sink there should be lotion” I said laughing

He rolled his eyes again, and went to the bathroom returning with lotion

“Alright in the least creepy way possible spread your legs so I can sit in between them” Matt said giggling

“You’re begging for it at this point” I said, and then opened my legs so he could sit in between them

Matt put some lotion on my back and began to rub out all the knots

“God damn Matt how are you so good with your hands” I said melting into his touch

“What can I say….i'm a ladies man” he said

“Watch it back there” I said looking over my shoulder

He laughed and continued to massage going lower, and really pressing the knots out

I let out a sigh of relief

“Feeling good?” He asked

“Very thank you baby” I said

He massaged my back for another ten minutes before I told him I felt better. I got back up putting just my shirt back on

“You’re so good to me” I said kissing him

“You know I got you baby” He said pulling away

“Want to watch Cars?” I asked

“Yes please” he said laying back on the bed and waving me over

I laid down on him, and we watched Cars eventually dozing off together.

The End

Hope you guys enjoyed this one🥹🖤🖤. Im thinking of opening my requests up again idk tho LMKKKK🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #Spotify

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moondirti · 9 months

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9. INTROSPECTION

CHAPTER NINE OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter eight / chapter ten ⇀

summary: both you and miguel are given some food for thought following your tryst at the gym

mature | 5.4k words warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, talks of consent, miguel o'hara is kind of nice (?), hobie is a real one as per usual, self-hatred, violent imagery, no use of y/n notes: sorry for the long wait, have a whole scene in miguel's pov as an apology. these chapters are getting longer as our feelings get more complicated (and more dialogue heavy) so bear with me and pls let me know what y'all think!

It feels like a dream.

As tricky as a handful of sand, scooped up into your fist. For as much as you tighten your clutch around it, it evades you, trickling out from between the imperfect gaps of your fingers. You scramble to catch it, to cross your legs so it piles onto your lap, but you’re not as quick or sticky as it requires you to be. It joins the shore, and you’re left piecing it together, one grain at a time.

Your foolishness. His reciprocation. The sheer debauchery of it all.

Time, too, works against you. It gorges on the bank, like a gluttonous ocean. Every passing hour, the reality of what happened wears thinner and thinner. The details are lost amidst the foam.

It feels like a dream, and you can’t rationalise it for all you try.

You’ve had your fair share of regretful hookups; tough mornings after parties, waking up by a person you hardly remember chatting up, your phone clogged with messages from the date you abandoned. The memories are piled up somewhere, tamping the shame that occasionally spiles at their mention. When ratioed against your life as of late, however, they surmount to nothing. Small blips in judgement made by the woman you no longer are.

What happened with Miguel was no blip.

You’re ruined. The one avenue towards redemption now soiled with spit.

Because sure, it was entirely consensual. You can’t deny the heat that had transpired between you, disgorging the pent up aggression into something unanticipated. He’d been on top, straddling your chest, pinching the breath from collapsing lungs – and maybe the hypoxia had contributed to your delirium, but you’d taken him in just the same. With a fervour; filthily, drunk off the scent seemingly woven into his flesh. You stopped him from moving away, your hand caressing a thick thigh. You directed him into an ever-pliant mouth.

(What’s worse, you’re still halfway there; stuck between your lust and rationale.

Left high and dry, as one might say.)

Regardless, it doesn’t change what you’ve done, nor the consequences it’ll inevitably source. That’s how it is with him – difficult, a meandering path away from the most immediate answer, leading into a compromise that only ever complicates things. That’s how you imagine it going, anyway, towards either of two conclusions:

This stops. Everything – not just the boundary broaching, but your training too. Chances are he rues his misdemeanour far more than you do, prized discipline shattered across a gym floor. And, if it means as much to him as you guess it does, then he’ll take every measure to ensure your temptation is as far away as possible. You’ll be pulled by the scruff – a naughty kitten caught knocking cups off a table – and sent back home by dawn.

Or–

You suppress the shiver that slithers up your spine.

He glazes over it, keeps you around. You’ll bump into him eventually – when your guard lowers enough for his presence to creep up on you – and he’ll call you out for lacking commitment. The lecture already congeals in your imagination, taking on the same stern tone he reserves for your worst, unaffected by your mutual transgression. It would imply he does this often, or is otherwise desensitised to your salacity – which registers as plausible, if only for the ways he’s ignored it in the past.

In any case, you can’t be normal about it.

Dawn’s pink fingers press you flush against your mattress, cocooned in sheets that have adapted to your warmth overnight. You stretch, working the muscles that have compressed in your sleep, before quickly settling back in again, your face buried in a feather soft pillow. You feel like a cat, lounging in a patch of latticed sunlight, drunk off pure sloth. The indulgence is good for once. Your overthinking tends to be loud, an overstimulating confluence of doubt that leaves you reeling, like you’ve been dipped in static. Here, cozied up somewhere comfortable, it slows to a healthier pace. Contemplative almost, floating beside the dust motes bobbing mid-air.

He’d reciprocated.

You won’t forget it. Won’t let yourself heal the bruises on the roof of your mouth, or the soreness of your tonsils. He’d cradled your jaw and sought release down your throat, in spite of all the mess staining your relationship’s history. The Miguel who’d tracked you to that quarry wouldn’t have succumbed, nor would he have done so in that storelot, patting you down for your day pass. In much the same fashion that he wouldn’t have remedied his use of that cursed name – Wraith – before you’d told him how much it irked you.

You knew that something shifted following your confession, cramped between bone-dry rubble. You’d flayed yourself out, a frog killed for dissection, and let him examine the innermost, vilest parts of you. You thought it might’ve been resignation – that tired look in his eyes – the fallout in realising you were beyond reason. But then he’d granted you room and board, this sheltered haven much more favourable than the intermittent state of an apocalyptic world. You’re fed, and clothed, and are physically separated from the criminal anomalies in laser cells. He met you in that gym, ready to push you to the potential he must’ve spotted in order for all the above to be viable.

You hesitate to say it, but perhaps this is the purgatory you’ve been looking for.

(Had you failed your first test, by tempting an otherwise moral man to spill himself into you?

Or was it the only one; like Eve in Eden, grazing her teeth along the skin of a damned apple?

You don’t want to fall.)

Your belly rumbles with the intensity of coins rolling down a cobblestone path. It lurches and chatters and draws awareness to the fact that you haven’t eaten in a while, running purely off your will to avoid any human interaction. You’d taken a shower last night after spending the whole day marked with dry cum, heaving within closed quarters in panic. It’s ebbed to a distant hum now, not as prevalent in the backwash of prolonged rest and a cleanse. Your skin feels soft, scrubbed raw with generic-scented soap, and you know that some filling food will bolster you back onto your feet again.

Only then will you think about where to go from here. Only then will you be able to, sated with everything you can lose if you don’t traverse carefully.

The henley you slip on is cool against your sleep-soaked flesh, wrinkled in places but snug enough for you not to mind. Already, by wearing civilian clothes, you stand out – a speck of normality amidst the bustling crowd of spider-heroes in spandex. Add it to your reputation for being the bane of Miguel O’Hara’s existence, and you already have a picture not worth changing anytime soon.

Your joggers follow soon after, loose and sitting low on your hips. You remind yourself to thank Hobie, should you cross paths with him.

Spider Headquarters must have been built to confound you – or any outsider, for that matter.

Yesterday, you’d carefully mapped your way to the cafeteria, taking note of every sudden turn and the shifting distinctions between up and down. It’d been rudimentary enough, an eventuality if you kept one hand glued to a wall and kept walking straight. But today, the layout has capsized into another labyrinthe entirely. You duck around corners, keeping note of the inverted pathways bridging over your head, only to end up exactly where you started.

Your stomach continues to clench furiously, revolting at your inattention. Perhaps it would be easier if you attempt one of the alternate routes – the upside down lanes designed for spider-people who can defy gravity – but you aren’t exactly assured in your abilities to stick to upended surfaces. Which you are capable of, just as much as the next, but the blood rush and internal effects are hardly negligible. Your last bid had found you dizzy with chronic vertigo, swallowing the sick threatening to expel from your gut.

Of course, if you could control your more unique powers, then none of this would be necessary. You’d walk through walls until happening across your destination, like a spectre haunting the wings of a manor refurbished to a point it is not used to.

Biting your cheek, you turn into an entryway leading to a larger common area. A few strangers hang around, donning masks with upturned eyes and absent mouths. You can’t tell whether they notice your ingress; whether the searing holes along your back are their stares or your own, phantom construction of it. You’ve never been anxious around unfamiliar crowds, but since coming here, your nerves constantly crackle like they do at the end of a bad joke. You feel skinned, exposed to the elements and whatever judgements these heroes might have of you.

(You wonder whether they can see how rotten you are. Are there senses honed to detect criminals, carnage-destined girls who ruin everything in their wake?

You’re afraid that, if they do, it’ll confirm all the worst things you feel about yourself.)

Steering out of the room, you step into the monumental embrace of the lobby. It’s busier here – you seek both reassurance and fault in that. You’re less likely to be noticed. If you are, though, it would mean hundreds of eyes on you. You hug your torso and walk faster, faced directly to where you believe the cafeteria is.

You wish you had a suit of your own; a mask to hide you from the outside world. To occupy yourself from the anxiety torrenting through you, you imagine what it would look like. Surely, you’d take inspiration from the thousands of pre-existing ones. An insignia on the chest, between the clefts of your breasts. Skin-tight, with dual colours in bold shapes. You ponder on whether the scalp should be left open, to allow space for your hair, or if you favour a more streamlined look.

And the eyes. You filter through the trends you’ve seen thus far. Those cat-like, upturned pits. Jess Drew and her goggles, though those remind you too much of your previous ones. Miguel’s mirrored contours – you’ve always thought his could be likened to a skull’s silhouette, so you vow off the pattern entirely.

Isn’t it tradition, though, to pull inspiration from your mentor’s design? You assume so, but the notion sits on your brain, unable to dissolve into anything real. After everything that’s happened, besides the shitshow at the gym, he doesn’t feel like a mentor at all. He isn’t the type to coax you on as you carefully tread up a wall, combatting the innate fear keeping from doing so, or to give you the secret recipe for web-fluid. He didn’t even seem occupied in helping you control your power – in fact, it would probably be in his best interests if you kept on living without them.

But when you’d asked to be taught in the ways of a hero, you’d been under the impression that his tutelage would pertain to all of those things. You’d never been given the chance to learn them for yourself – your home-world a wasteland with limited resources – but Spider-HQ fosters the perfect place for it. Its leader, on the other hand, seems to be more focused on the philosophical, which you’ve no room for. You already grapple too much with your existence as it is.

By the time you reach the cafeteria, you’ve worked yourself into another frenzy. It doesn’t help that, when you order your burger, it comes out blue and adorned with Spiderman 2099 embellishments.

Jesus Christ.

“Bit egomaniacal, innit?” A deep voice sounds from your right. You nearly jolt out of your skin, clutching the edge of the bar to keep you from falling off your raised chair.

“Hobie,” You squeak, blinking rapidly to dispel the shock from your expression. He gives you a lopsided smile, wiggling his fingers to signal he means no harm.

“He insists it wasn’t his idea, but I know the truth.” His wicks bounce to obscure his forehead as he nods to the plate. You have to bite your knuckle to hide your pleased smile, delighted at having someone who shares your exasperation. The air balances on the imagery of Miguel going through themed food proposals, amusement imbued while the punk finds a seat next to you. “I heard what happened.” He adds, stretching a long leg to touch the floor, his guitar placed on the table. “With the deal ‘n’ that.”

It doesn’t feel as serious as it ought to be. Had it been anyone else, you would’ve been pushed back into your troubled stupor. Hobie brings a levity to it though, his broaching of the topic bordering on casual, as if anomalies being allowed to stay by the boss that hates them is nothing remarkable.

“Is it common knowledge?” You ask.

“Nah.” He grabs a fry. You push the plate towards him. “‘Course that’s just how he wants it.”

“Miguel?” The prod is unnecessary. You can imagine a few reasons as to why he’d require your situation to be kept confidential. None of them appear to be that big of a deal, not with the man you know, but Hobie’s suggestion points to something larger. He doesn’t address it any further, however. You appreciate it, the trust – he’s given you the idea to consider and doesn’t shove it down your throat. It’s a novelty, a bout of crisp air after being compressed in a claustrophobic blind spot for months.

“Why stick around? You don’t need all this.” He capers on to his next concern. You mark it amongst the others to return to later.

“I’m starting to think that maybe I do.” You reply, candidly. The truth floods from you before you can do anything to stop it, consequence to the quickly alleviating weight on your chest. You guess that it’s the way he listens and inputs his own opinion. It isn’t in patronising riddles, the manner in which everyone else addresses you lately. He lays it down, clear as sea water, to help you find your own reflection on it all. “I don’t know the first thing about being a hero.”

“Hero, eh? Self-mythologizing term, if you ask me. Case in point,” He points to the burger. A laugh bubbles up your chest. “Everyone here, they’ve lost the plot. Whole point of being a spider-person is your independence.”

(Look where that’s gotten you.)

“That hasn’t done very well for me in the past.” You tell him, because despite the perspicuous advice, you don’t have the advantage of hope on your side. You can’t leg it and define your own path like he might do – God knows you’ve tried. You’re condemned to this game, this realm of waiting on salvation.

(You can’t help but imagine it, though.

Incredulity will accompany you in everything you do. The last time you put your faith in purgatory, it didn’t end so well.)

“Hey. Don’t let me tell you what to do.” Hobie relents. He eyes you like he can plainly read your demurral, tattooed across your cheek. And, when his voice lowers to a whisper, your appetite broils into an anticipatory angst. “But don’t let him do, either.”

The warning seeps into you, nesting a home within your marrow.

He finds you on a rooftop, hugging your knees to your chest.

The night had come quicker than the last, like a knife lowering over Nueva York’s pale throat. It’s in preparation for the incoming winter, he knows, the sky bruising to the colour of captured blood, skipping over the blooming orange of a sunset entirely. Regardless, Miguel hardly had time to complete his afternoon patrol when the cloudless dark distended over him, plunging the city into its favoured state for illicit activities. He’d only come back to grab a quick meal before venturing out again – the work of a spider-man, never done.

But he spots you on his way to his penthouse room, and the blur of flaming adrenaline that sears his lungs is enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

It’s unjustified, really. Even at first glance, you look thoroughly innocent. You’re slouched in a relaxed – almost foetal-like – position, definitely not one that alludes to your potential self-harm. Nor are you dressed for escape, encompassed in a striped sweater with way too many makeshift mends to offer any real warmth. Your chin is tipped towards the stars, or the train that leads up to them, and he’s got a whole host of spiders on call should you try anything he can’t predict from sight alone.

He has no reason to suspect you of anything at all. No reason to pause on it.

Though his instincts blear with panic, ribs compressing to crowd his organs until they scream for respite. It echoes a defunct alarm, from back when spotting you meant catching you and his hatred made all the sense in the world. He’s still so fine tuned for that reality, adapted to the cat and mouse chase of the past year, that its alteration alone is enough to throw him off course. His steps stutter on the ledge of a nearby balcony, neon web dissolving as he retracts it from the wall.

Part of it too is the memory your frame evokes. It blinks into his mind’s eye so rapidly that it might as well be playing out right in front of him, a lewd illustration of what happened on that gym floor. Your face, framed by his thighs, doing your best to take him in for all his brute thrusts. He swallows the sharp guilt that knots his throat. No lust sparks at the recollection.

The past week he’s forced himself to revisit a more consistent routine, from back before you portalled your way onto his table. Send at least four anomalies home, then go on morning, afternoon, and night patrols, all the while staying on call. On the occasion that he is asked to assist in apprehending another threat to the multiverse, then he will do so with little effort. Those missions don’t last as long as yours had, and they don’t do much to disrupt his day. It’s painless, uninvolved.

He needs something difficult, though. A focus that will grind on his nerves, macerating them like pestle on mortar, reducing it to a bitter puree that masks the taste of penitence. He’s alway been better off challenged; the hero's life had found him and reshaped a purpose from frayed bits of arrogance. Then, it was the threat of multiversal collapse, solely levered to his shoulders. He sought for peace in Gabriella, with the life that wasn’t his, but even that had dissolved to make everything all the more punishing. He thinks he’s destined for it now, for a labour that adds to the calluses on his palm. Or – it is perhaps the only thing he deserves, an end for all the misdeeds on his ledger.

He tallies the tryst at the gym alongside them. It’s been six days since that ended so abruptly, and while the memory smoulders like a scabbing brand, his cynicism can’t heal. He knows he won’t stop doubting what happened – how recklessly he’d taken advantage of you – until he settles it verbally.

That’s grounds for what happens next, then. To revive something difficult. To settle it verbally.

He swings to the rooftop you’re slotted on. Although his landing is light, you sense his arrival, jaw tipping towards his presence but doing nothing to look directly at him. He takes it as consolation that you don’t immediately turn away.

Miguel realises how rare it is a sight, at least to him. In every encounter prior to this, you’ve been running or hiding. Ducking, evading. Fighting with your teeth bared like a cornered viper. You’ve been bloodied or bruised, drained as a hung fawn in a butcher’s shop, cowering from his advance that only threatened to exacerbate it all. There has never been a circumstance between the both of you that called for propriety, for anything other than venom to be exchanged.

Somehow, if it is possible, you look smaller when you are still.

Clean too, with gleaming skin that reflects the dim wash of the moon. There are the bandages peeking from beneath your sleeves, bound at your wrist, but it cannot take away from the remarkable chasm between the girl he sees now and the one that was trapped with him on Earth-15. Healthier, with diminished eyebags he remembers being ten degrees darker than your complexion, and a certain air to the way you stoop over your stomach, like it was just sated with a hearty meal. You lack any of the chaos he’s come to associate with you.

(Pretty.)

It occurs to him that a stable environment might’ve tamed the ferality in you, pinched your paws and declawed any remaining spunk. But, then again, he’s likely wrong about that too.

Ever since you slipped from his capture that very first time, he’s painted you out to be an opponent of able intensity. Everything you did seemed intentional; the worlds you destroyed, the moments of miraculous circumvention. When you’d phase out from between his arms, he’d curse your timed defence and feel none the more incompetent at having let you go. It only ever spurred him, for he believed that every second you spent roaming free, you were stewing over ways in which you could wreak more havoc. You grew and grew in his mind, transforming into a villain actually worth diverting all that effort to.

Parasite. A fucking parasite who just won’t quit.

He attributed malice to what had always just been rotten circumstance.

Perhaps there was never any spunk to begin with.

Because you’re not a villain. You’re hardly even a criminal. You proved as much, crowded underneath that collapsed building, spilling your secrets out onto his lap like a tapped maple tree. The accident with the antimatter, your post-apocalyptic providence. You can’t even control your powers, for goodness sake.

He feels foolish that his hostility towards you still lingers. There’s no reason for it to hold reign over his brain.

“Where does it go?”

He doesn’t have to follow your gaze to know what you’re asking about – the ninety-degree highway, with the train that pierces the sky.

“Up.”

You scoff, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. He takes a beat to assess the odd-looking cardigan. It glitches through an array of grunge textures, a peculiarity when paired with your basic joggers. Something bites at his gut when he realises why exactly that is, or who exactly it belongs to. Unease – he attributes the discomfort to – for the trouble you might cause should you develop a further friendship with the spider-punk.

“I can’t see its end.”

“It doesn’t have one. Not really.” He sighs, turning away from you and towards the glimmering beam at the centre of the city. “It leads up to the exosphere.”

You stay quiet. He glances at you in his peripheral. Your eyes are anything but. They’re wide, flicking through bright little calculations and questions you seem hesitant to speak.

“There’s a space station there.” He adds.

You shift, posture straightening. “Like the ISS?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

The conversation peters out, like a rock skipping over a lake, sinking into an awkward suspension. He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them to hook onto his waist. He wishes he could take the hard reality of things and observe it as a third party, as he does with his dimensional surveillance tablets. It would make it easier to sketch the perfect plan – a way to bend this conversation into something more productive than the topic at hand. He’d watch you for any indication of what you’re thinking – which he feels problematic for doing in real life – and pinpoint the exact moment where it’d be acceptable to bring up what had happened. He doesn’t want to stretch this longer than it needs to be.

Miguel’s about to throw caution into the wind, when you happen to do the same.

“A–”

“What’s the space station for?”

Irritation strings him thin, pulsing through the muscles that tense when he clenches his jaw. He counts his breaths, then grounds himself to the hollowness of his anger. When he’d been a father, it was a practice he’d utilised daily. Gabriella was so naturally curious, and his alternate self was a better man than him, raising her in an environment where questions were always encouraged. It took him a while to adapt to her constant quizzing, but he eventually understood how little she knew and how much she relied on him.

Patience came easier upon extending his regard.

The source to your current fascination doesn’t escape him, either. He remembers it clearly; the backstory that crystallises in his imagination every night before bed. The risks you took to touch the stars, how much it had all meant to you. He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring, before sitting adjacent to you, facing the city.

“That depends on who you ask.” He starts, slowly. “Originally built by Alchemex for their Mars colony project, it was their base of operations. Launch point too, for those rich enough to afford private space travel. But it was mainly scientists who worked there to maintain the artificial habitats and conduct experiments for further colonisation.”

“Space travel?” Subconsciously, you inch closer. Your voice climbs a higher pitch, and he can tell he’s piqued your interest.

“Nothing revolutionary. It’s fourteen months to Mars and back.”

“Thirty thousandth the speed of light…” Your nod is solemn, almost comically grim. He’s far from familiar with the scientific intricacies behind your statement, but he mirrors your gesture regardless. “Is Alchemax still investing in extraterrestrial colonisation?”

“No. They’re hardly anything anymore.” He doesn’t add that it’s to his credit, and the work he’s done to dismantle their oppressive grip on the country.

“So…”

“The space station is publicly funded now. To give a wider population of scientists access to astro-resources, as well as the opportunity to research them without relying on select, potentially corrupt parties.” He recites it like it’s scripture. You absorb it, though, every last syllable, letting it marinate before urging him to continue. “It’s called Second Base.”

“That’s…” You skip over the awe glazing your gullet, coughing into a snicker instead. “Almost as original as go-home machine. Did you come up with that?”

“Funny.” He counters, suppressing the smirk tickling his lips. “I might’ve pitched the winning vote.”

“They really need to stop listening to you.”

You don’t emphasise it. In fact, it’s the least conspicuous dig you’ve ever made. But it harks back to who you are – not a partner he can easily fall into a pattern with, this secure camaraderie where jibes are taken in equal measure. He can’t sit here until night dissolves to dawn, entertaining your precise fantasies, or worse yet, give you any hopes of sticking around.

You’re an anomaly, his responsibility and nothing more.

(He’s already toeing the line by not sending you back, breaking rules he’s established for everybody else. Despite any good reason for it – the longer you stay, the greater threat you pose to his authority and the society he’s built so meticulously.

‘They really need to stop listening to you.’

He’s afraid he’s manifesting that reality by talking to you beyond duty.)

“We shouldn’t have done what we did.” He says, because delaying it any longer brings a sick sort of dread. What he really means is I, not we – I shouldn’t have done that to you. But it’s easier to force the words when the blame in them is divided.

Your smile quivers, then drops. The reality of this hits you too. Your eyes harden from their previous, soft wonder.

“You’re telling me.” Your response lacks any hurt. Monotone, and he’s thankful for it.

“It was dangerous.”

“You weren’t the one suffocating.”

The seed of guilt in his stomach sprouts, branches tearing the tissue attempting to suppress it. The momentum dips as he takes a second to gulp it down. When he speaks again, his voice is weaker. Quieter.

“I di–”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I liked it for what it was.” You interrupt, shrugging. He takes the confession, bunching it up into a pill meant for swallowing. You liked it. You liked it. He loathes to admit that he did too, the issue of consent now aside. “I sucked your dick and you came down my throat. It’s hardly the most romantic thing ever, and I haven’t gotten that twisted. We’re adults. It’s fine.”

“Por Dios.” He rubs his forehead to dissuade the blush that arises at your explicit phrasing.

“It hasn’t changed my decision, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m still going to go home.”

“It’s not.”

“Then?”

“It… doesn’t have to change anything else. You’ve been hiding for the past week, your resolve along with you. Are you no longer interested in learning what you can?” Is it because of him, and his gross misuse of power as your mentor?

But then you look at him, for the first time all night. Your brows are furrowed like he’d just said the most nonsensical thing in the English language. Perhaps he did. He’s not being truthful with his words, this hurried confession strung together with clumsy sentiment. He can sense you trying to piece it all together.

“Of course I am.” You reply after much deliberation.

“To me, it seems like you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t, asshole.” He reels over the hiss, knocked off kilter. It’s only when he revisits his accusation does it hit him how insulting he must’ve sounded. “I was giving you your space. I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” He’s long forsworn his own proclivity. He’s not like the others. “I can’t send you back unless I’m certain you’re dedicated to the greater good. You said so yourself. I’ll continue so long as I can ensure that future.” You pick at your cuticles. He breaks his tone, so the next question doesn’t ring as interrogative. “Is that still what you want for yourself?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Miguel doesn’t speak in the following spell of silence. He waits for you to work together the explanation he hears forming on your tongue – a snowball of self-doubt and unsure superstitions, rolling, rumbling.

Eventually, you muster enough eloquence to spit it out.

“I’m scared to want for anything.” You draw in a shuddering inhale. “My ambition feels like a curse, or the plaque beneath my fingernails. Everything I touch with it turns to rot, festering beyond my control and contaminating everything within its vicinity. With my research, I condemned a whole world. With my running away, I replicated that onto many more. Just look at the repercussions of what happened with…” You gesture vaguely to his crotch. “The smallest things, the trivialest of desires. And perhaps it’s my own selfish inclination towards them, but in what world could they be anything but? I can’t… I can’t rely on my encouragement alone. I don’t trust myself enough.”

You could’ve stopped at the first sentence, and he would’ve still understood. It hits him almost scarily close to home, right where his heart is still tender and hurting over the fleeting family he once had.

He’d wanted for something once, too.

And he appreciates exactly what you need.

(He’s only seen you work so hard for one thing, and it was in that moment of arrested passion only six days prior – your eyes rolled to the back of your head, working him like a woman starved.

A temporary solution, then; one he has to watch over with hawk-like vigour so that it doesn’t moulder into something else. So long as you understand the boundaries – nothing romantic, only an addition to the encouragement you rely on. So long as he doesn’t lose the plot. So long as you agree, and go home by the end of all of it.

So long as the multiverse stays intact.)

“Tomorrow. Same gym.” He says, standing up. You blink up at him, and it’s only then does he notice the dry tears streaking your cheeks. He opts to ignore it. “Don’t be late.”

chapter ten

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jwonsociety · 9 months

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enha ✧ when they realized that they loved you

↳ gn!reader / est. relationship / fluff / 5.4k / no warnings!

a/n: sorry for being gone for so long!! i hope you all enjoy this little drabble 🫶 also riki's is def inspired by that one taylor swift lyric hehe

jungwon knew he loved you when...

...he stayed up the whole night talking with you. you and jungwon had fallen into the habit of talking on the phone before going to sleep every night. the two of you could talk about anything and everything. you told each other about your days, your friends, celebrity drama, the weather -- jungwon could chat about any topic as long as he got to hear your voice, your little laughs, your yawns, your soft sighs. that night after you'd been chatting for a while, he heard you gasp. "oh my god, it's 4am!" jungwon looked at his phone and he smiled to himself. he enjoyed talking to you so much that he completely lost track of time. with you, hours felt like mere minutes. that's why, as he wished you goodnight, he said "i love you" for the first time.

...more under the cut!

heeseung knew he loved you when...

...he saw you wearing his hoodie. in the few months since you started dating, you became a familiar presence in heeseung's apartment. it was early one morning, and heeseung slipped out of bed early while you were still asleep to get food. as he sat quietly in the kitchen eating his breakfast, he heard you walk into the room, your footsteps soft on the floor. when he looked up, he was met with the sight of you wearing one of his hoodies. he melted in an instant. it was adorably huge on you; the sleeves covered your hands and the bottom hem hung well past your waist. as he stared at you, his heart bursting at the fact that you were in his clothes, he knew you were the one.

jay knew he loved you when...

...you fell asleep on his shoulder. every so often, you insisted on dragging jay out of the house and spending hours shopping at the local mall. the two of you walked around the whole day, stopping at every shop, trying on everything, and getting snacks at the food court. when your adventure together finally drew to a close, you both took the subway home, taking seats next to each other. the gentle sway of the subway car seemed to slowly rock you to sleep. eventually, you rested your head on jay's shoulder, taking your boyfriend by surprise. he peered down at your sleeping face, your lips parted slightly as your breathing slowed. in that quiet, peaceful moment, jay realized he was irrevocably in love with you.

jake knew he loved you when...

...you cried while watching a kids' movie. movie marathons were a common activity on your and Jake's date nights. that night, you both settled on coco, snuggled together under the blankets. you always had a soft spot for disney movies, and the scene at the end when miguel sings to his grandmother always hits you right in the heart. you sniffled and the tears began to flow down your face. jake giggled softly, surprised that a kids' movie was making you so emotional. "it's so sad!" you said. "how are you not crying?" you buried your face in his chest and he combed his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. jake loved how big your heart was. jake loved how you felt every emotion so strongly and so genuinely. and most importantly, jake realized that he loved you.

sunghoon knew he loved you when...

...you communicated without speaking. it was saturday night and you were at a friend's party. the bass of the speakers thrummed and countless people filled the house, laughing and dancing and talking. sunghoon, forever an introvert, was beginning to reach the end of his social battery. he spotted you from across the room, chatting animatedly with a group of your mutual friends. you looked up, making eye contact with your boyfriend. you quickly excused yourself from the conversation and made your way over to him. "let's go home, i'm tired too," you said. "how'd you know i was tired?" he responded. you smiled. "your face said everything, hoon." sunghoon smiled back at you. right in front of him stood a person who understood him more than anyone, who he could speak to without saying a word. sunghoon was in love.

sunoo knew he loved you when...

...you beat him in MarioKart. the two of you had decided to spend the evening in, nestled together under a warm blanket on the couch with MarioKart on the TV. sunoo had beaten you in the previous four races and you were determined to secure a victory over your boyfriend. competitiveness was definitely a recurring theme in your relationship and MarioKart was essentially life or death. you and sunoo yelled at the screen, playfully shoving each other in an attempt to sabotage the other. as the final lap drew to a close, you finally surpassed him, ending in first place. when you leaped up from the couch, jumping and laughing in victory, sunoo took one look at your overjoyed smile and he immediately knew he was in love.

riki knew he loved you when...

...you two danced around the kitchen together. that night, everything in the world seemed to be silent except for the sound of your voices floating through the kitchen as you talked. music played softly from a speaker and riki had taken a seat at the counter, watching you fondly as you stood in front of him and divulged the events of your day. then, your favorite song came on shuffle and you grabbed his hand, pulling him in and twirling him around the room. the two of you danced together, your laughter mingling with the music. riki couldn't help but be starstruck by the sight of your smile illuminated by the glow of the refrigerator light. he knew in that moment that he wanted every night to be spent with you like this.

#enhypen #yang jungwon #kim sunoo #park sunghoon #lee heeseung #nishimura riki #park jongseong #sim jaeyun #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #fluff #gn!reader #enhypen fic

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pencopanko · 7 months

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IDK how common it is now in México compared to back before the 2000s, but Miguel ABSOLUTELY will get commissioned to sing Spanish versions of anime opening themes once he's older or he would ask Abel to sing in his place

#coco headcanon #coco headcanons #miguel rivera #coco pixar #abel rivera #did I fall into the rabbit hole of anime opening themes in spanish? yes #all because of an important confirmation of the existense of a spanish dub of gegege no kitaro that aired in méxico and chile from 1997 #catch him and abel and enrique or tío berto just shredding it at some karaoke place screaming along to dragon screamer

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fourbrickstall · 2 years

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Day of the Dead

When I got these mariachi minifigs, the first thing I thought of was the movie Coco.

There's no official minifig for Miguel but making one was easy enough from other LEGO minifig parts.

I added a fiber optic lamp behind for some festivity. Plus, sometimes I just like bokeh.

#coco #pixar #day of the dead #mariachi #custom minifigure #bokeh #lego #toy photography #toyphotography #lego photography #afol #legophoto

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teyammybeloved · 5 months

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JUST US

Miguel o’hara

summary; both oblivious to each others feelings, you both fuck around with other people to try and forget each other, but it never works.

warnings; mentions of sex but no smut? sexual references miscommunication, swearing, miguel and reader being oblivious, fem reader, angst w happy ending

it was difficult for miguel, watching you with that bright smile on your face, the way your whole face lit up as you danced around the room, hanging up christmas decorations, laughing at jokes others threw your way.

he wanted to be the one making you laugh.

he didn’t even notice the slight smile on his face as he stood in the doorway watching you, everyone else noticed though.

“miggy!” you say excitedly as you pause in front of him, “wanna decorate the christmas tree with me” you say, the cutest smile on your face, he feels his stomach knot.

it hurts him so much.

he pictures what it would be like for you and him to decorate your christmas in your very own home, drinking hot coco, watching christmas movies, cuddle on the couch. he wants to give you the world. he would do anything to have you in his arms, just once.

but he is a runner, these things scare him, and seeing how much control you have over him, scares him, and you have no idea. everytime you mention another guy, or going on a date with someone, miguel instantly assumes you’ve fucked them, and it kills.

he wants to be the one taking you out on dates, treating you as well as you deserve, giving you the world and more, everything, he wants to give you everything.

but if you were interested in miguel, you wouldve made a move by now.

you were so oblivious to his feelings for you, missing how he only smiled when you were around, how his tone got softer if you were in the room, making sure HQ had all your favourite things, and was fit to your standard

he never did that for anybody else, how could you miss it.

he assumed you just weren’t interested.

“sorry darling, i have a date” he said softly, wishing the date was with you, if you asked him once more he would cancel the date instantly, and spend all day decorating the damn tree with you.

he doesn’t even like christmas.

if he looked hard enough, he wouldve seen your face fall for a second, couldve noticed the million thoughts running through your head, but he missed it, and your smile remained.

“oh! thats okay miggy, have a good time” you say, hand now fidgeting with your necklace. he smiles at you.

you two were friends, best friends, ever since you came to the HQ miguel just had a soft spot for you, you were like an angel.

and then that soft spot turned into love.

miguel loved you, there was no doubt. he loved you so much it had begin to physically hurt him, he did have a date, that was true, but not a romantic sort of date. a quick fuck date, one where he hoped he would be distracted from all his thoughts of you, though it never worked, he would keep trying.

he wanted it to be you.

there was a sort of gut wrenching pain, hearing miguel call you darling then say he was going on a date with someone else, a million thoughts ran through your head, was this a new person or maybe an old one.

you new he fucked every girl he went on a date with, a new girl each week, you knew that because he always came back with different energies, and hickeys in different spots.

one girl covered him in them, he didn’t like that, the next left a few on his chest, he didn’t like that either, and the one after that left a few on his neck, and a few on his collarbone, he never seemed to like it.

but you had a conversation with him about hickey’s before, he said he liked them, he liked giving them and liked receiving them, maybe these girls just didn’t have the right placement.

you wanted to love miguel, you do love miguel. and you wouldve taken a chance and asked him out, if you didn’t know how every date went.

he would take them out, fancy restaurant, then fuck them, and ditch them.

and you loved miguel too much to just be used.

maybe he had a thing with commitment, a issue maybe, he was scared of it, or just couldn’t handle not being able to sleep with multiple women.

you refused to be used by miguel, not when you loved him with everything you have.

the next day, you saw a cute christmas sweater on your desk, with a smile you throw it on over your head, seeing others walking around with them on.

“i ordered them in, figured we could all match, but miguel doesn’t seem to think he wants to, can you talk to him?” lyla says, when she sees you, you frown, and nod. “yeah- yeah of course”

walking to miguels office scared you, you wondered where the hickeys would be placed today, if he liked them, you wondered if maybe this girl was different, maybe she was exactly what he wanted.

knocking on the door, you hear a grunt, then a come in, you walk in, plastering a smile on your face. “hi miggy” you say.

he smiles at the sight of you, the christmas sweater was a bit too big, handing down to your mid thigh. “hey darling,” he says, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“youre not matching with us?” you say, tilting your head as you sit on the other side of him, placing your elbows on the desk, holding your face.

“its not my kind of thing” he says. you pout, “come on miggy, its cute, match with me” you say, smiling.

he sighs, christmas always meant wearing whatever you pleased, miguel, obviously chose grey sweatpants and a black compression shirt, making you squeeze your thighs together, but you stayed quiet.

“yeah- okay” he says, turning around to pull off his shirt, you watch his back tense with a smile, as he pulls the christmas sweater over his head. “see miggy! its cute” you study him, unable to find any hickeys

“no hickeys today?” you say softly, “what happened” you asked, knowing it would probably leave you more hurt then you already are.

“i fucked up, and she left” miguel shrugged. he didn’t seem to bothered by it. you hate the fact it makes you happy. “what did you do?” you ask softly, tilting your head.

“said someone elses name” he runs a hand over his face, your jaw drops, as you laugh softly. but it wasn’t genuine, he was thinking of someone else.

“oh that would fucking suck” you say softly, with a smile, he shrugged, “its okay, hey are you coming to the christmas party tonight?” he asks, he hoped you were since he arranged it just for you.

you giggle, “of course i am”

“good ill see you there”

miguel was now clenching the drink in his hand, watching you talk to some guy, some guy that wasn’t him. he hated it. all he wanted was you, even if it was just for one night, he would happily be discarded by you if it meant having you at all.

you refused to be discarded by miguel, you didn’t want to be one of his one night stands, fuck then dumps, you wanted to love him.

miguel was standing outside on the balcony when you came out, “hi migs” you mutter, walking towards him. you looked gorgeous. perfect like always.

“hey baby” he says, cracking his neck softly, as he looks down at you, your stomach flipped at the name, but you assumed he was drunk.

this was unfair, on you and the girl he was thinking about, he thought about her enough to say her name while fucking somebody else, yet he was standing here calling you baby.

your smile dampens, and he notices. “hey hey whats up?” he says, grabbing your chin softly to make you look at him. “nothing, i think im just tired” you say.

miguel holds eye contact with you, heart pounding in his chest. “need me to take you home?” he asks softly, knowing you didn’t have a ride. you smile, “if thats okay- you don’t have to i don’t wanna ruin your night if your having a good time”

miguel shakes his head, “never, come on” he says grabbing your hand leading you to his car.

theres a lot of tension in the car, your not sure why, miguel keeps looking over at you, and you’re always looking at him. his hand is on your knee, this doesn’t feel like a just friends thing.

he reaches your house, and pauses looking at you. “you sure you’re alright?” he asks softly. you nod, looking into his eyes, theres a lot of tension, you don’t reply. “whos name did you say” you ask softly.

“what?”

“you said someone elses name, fucking that chick last night, whos name was it, whos name did you say miguel”

“it doesn’t matter” he says, shaking his head, looking down at you.

“it does”

“baby-“ you can’t help it, you lean over smashing your lips into his, he is shocked at first, wondering if this was real, or if it was all in his head, but he kisses back, seizing the opportunity, never knowing if it’ll happen again.

he can taste you, vanilla and cherries, so so so sweet against his lips, he wonders if he is in heaven.

he groans, pulling you over the centre console to sit on his lap, your hands are now in his hair as one of his is on your back, pulling you closer, the other on the back of your neck.

its messy, passionate but messy, you roll your hips against him, subconsciously, causing him to groan loudly against your lips.

“baby” he says softly, in between kissing you. “mm” you hum in response, caught in the moment, maybe being used by miguel would be okay.

“yours” he says, pulling away. “what?” you ask confused, “your name, i said your name.” he admits quietly. you pause, in shock.

“you said my name- you were thinking of me?” you ask. he scoffs, “of course i was all i ever do is think of you, all the time, everyday, its always you, i can’t get you out of my head” he says.

you pause. “i- i don’t want to be another girl you fuck then leave” you say, “i- i can’t do it, not when i love you so much” you say, pushing your hands to his chest as you open the car door, climbing out.

he is in shock by your confession, it jabs him in the heart — all the sleeping around he did to forget you, didn’t work, yet it scared you into the idea that you would just be a quick fuck to him.

“no- what no listen to me” he says undoing his seatbelt as he gets up to follow you. “miguel i think its best if you leave- i can’t do this, im sorry but i cant be used by you” you say.

“you aren’t!!” he said, grabbing ur hand pulling you to look at him. “you- fuck, i dont sleep with women to fuck and leave them- i mean thats what ive been doing but i do it to try and forget you, to try to forget the way my heart leaps out of my fucking chest everytime you touch me, to forget the sound of your voice, to forget your cute smile, and pretty hair, i do it all to try and forget how much i love you, and how everytime i am with these women, i want it to be you, i want to be the one to take you out on those cute dates, i want you to be the one i am seeing everyday, i want you to be the one giving me hickeys where everybody can see them, and i hate when other women do it, cause they try to mark me as theres, but im yours. im only yours i want to be yours”

by the end of his rant, miguel is out of breath, everything he had been holding in had come pouring out, standing in the street with nothing but the dim street lamp as a source of light, and how you looked so pretty standing under the yellow.

“i love you” he says, chest heaving, “i love you and i want to love you” he says, you squeeze his hand gently, he knew you were shocked, he knew how you would need a moment to process this, and he knew that you squeezing his hand was to tell him you heard it all, and you were listening, you just needed to process.

he knew you.

he loved you.

“i love you, miguel” you finally say, “i love you, and i want to show you i love you, i want to do all the stupid cringey couple things with you, i want everyone to know how much i love you, i want the yuck feeling in my stomach to go away everytime i hear you mention some other girl, i want to love you” you say, holding his hand to your chest as you hold eye contact with him.

“no one else, no other girls, just us, me and you, just us” he says.

“just us”

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yelenasdiary · 6 months

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For Flufftober 🤭

It's Kate's and Readers first Halloween together as a couple. The two spend the whole day at home handing out candy for the trick or treaters. Kate is the one who is handing out the candy while Reader bakes some cookies and other stuff for the Avengers Halloween party that they're going to at night. The two dress up in a couples costume (you can pick whichever one you want) before they head to the avengers compound.

-🌊 (I know it's not much but this is all I got 🙈)

Trick or Treat

Pairing: Kate Bishop x GN! Reader

Summary: You and Kate spend your first Halloween together.

Warnings: Smut implied? But other than that, none | 1.7K

AC: I hope you enjoy this! Thank you for requesting it, it was so fun to write! x

October Special Masterlist

Halloween, a spooky day for all small and tall. Kate, your girlfriend, had spent the night at your small townhouse home and of course she had brought Lucky. Kate turned your house into a nicely decorated house that screamed your name all over it into something that Claire from Modern Family would most definitely approve of. It was your first Halloween together and she had invited you to join her at the Avenger's compound later tonight for a Halloween party that Wanda and Nat had planned out, mostly Wanda of course.

Kate secretly loved that you lived in a family orientated neighborhood, given that her apartment was on top of a pizzeria, she doesn't get any excited children knocking on her door trick or treating. A large pumpkin shaped plastic bowl sat on the dresser by the front door, overflowing with candy and treat sized chocolate bars for Kate to hand out while you baked some Halloween themed cookies and cupcakes for the party later on.

"Look at you Lucky!" you smiled widely as he sat at your feet, tail wagging while wearing a horse saddle costume finished with a fake wig, Kate entered the kitchen in a red wig with a single plait hanging off her shoulder topped with a red cowgirl hat.

"Yodel-ay-hee-hoo!" Kate says with a put-on country accent while swirling a lasso, "You found Woody! Good job Bullseye!" she added. You couldn't help but chuckle at how adorable the cowgirl was, "I bet you've been waiting all month to say that" you replied.

"You bet ya!" Kate placed her lasso on the countertop and gently pulled you in for a kiss. Since Kate went a teeny bit overload with the Halloween decorations, she suggested that you, Lucky and her dress up a little more child friendly when she noticed just how many younger children lived in your neighborhood and who doesn't love Toy Story right?

With Lucky dressed as Bullseye, you as Woody and Kate as Jessie, it was almost criminal not to get as many photos together as possible. Kate didn't only have a great eye when it came to her archery but also when it came to her photography. She set up her digital camera in front of a blue back drop and set the timer for 10 seconds. The three of you posed for a few photos before Kate heard the doorbell ring, her first trick or treater for the day!

"Twick or Tweet!" A small child no older than 4 smiled with his candy bag open wide, he was dressed as Miguel from Disney's Coco. "Happy Halloween little dude!!" Kate smiled as she kindly put 3 pieces of candy into his little bag. "Thank you!" He waved before he turned to walk back towards his parents who waited protectively at the end of the walkway, they smiled at Kate before she closed the door.

"Looks like you've got the door covered, I'll get a start on the cookies" you gave Kate a little tilt of your cowboy hat before making your way to the kitchen.

Every few minutes the doorbell would ring through the house and Kate would answer it with Lucky sitting beside her feet. The kids said the iconic line before they noticed that Lucky was also dressed up, he got plenty of pats and Kate even showed them a trick that she had taught him recently. Lucky would carefully pick up 2 pieces of candy from the bowl and place it in the kids candy stash.

"Bishop! Get your fingers away from the icing mixture!" you scolded as you took the try of freshly baked gooey chocolate chip cookies, placing the on the countertop for cooling before putting a second tray into the oven.

"I didn't even do anything!" Kate lied, licking the tip of her index finger. You turned and shook your head at her, "you can help decorate them when their ready and after, you can eat the left-over icing" you offered before you made a start on making cupcake mixture.

Kate was just about to distract you by wrapping her arms around you from behind when the doorbell rang again, and she was out of the kitchen faster than you could blink. It wasn't long before she was back, hovering around you waiting for a spare moment to capture your lips in a kiss.

Once the cupcake mixture was made, you began to pour some into the cupcake cups. Kate grabbed a teaspoon as you did so and scraped some mixture out of the bowl before quickly dabbing some of it on the tip of your nose. She chuckled proudly before leaving the spoon clean of mixture while you shook your head playfully at her and placed the bowl on the countertop, "come here" you looked up at her. You dipped your finger into the mixture and waited for Kate to come closer before you wiped it on her left cheek.

"Don't waste it!!" Kate joked as she dipped her finger into the mix and wiped a strip of mixture from your forehead, over your nose and to your lips. "Says you!" you raised a brow only to be shushed by Kate kissing you deeply, "well" you smiled against her lips, "I guess if you do that again it'll make up for it" you added.

Kate didn't hesitate to kiss you once more, the taste of red valet cupcake mixture on her lips reminded you of the slight mess that she had just made on your face. Another ring of the doorbell broke your kiss but seeing the excitement on Kate's face every time the doorbell rang was enough to keep you from giving her a pout.

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"Baby, we're gonna be late!" you call out as you look at the time on your phone. The cookies and cupcakes were decorated and ready to take over to the compound in Tupperware. Kate and you had changed costumes, Kate called this one Murders Ken & Barbie. "I'm ready!" Kate walked out of your bedroom in a black suit with a pink undershirt paired with some black shoes, her hair tied back with some loose strands rounding her face, fake blood markings on her face and neck added to the murder look.

"Babe, you're drooling" Kate chuckled as you were stunned at how great your girlfriend looked. You wore Barbie's iconic pink and white gingham dress with a couple of steams of fake blood to add to the effect. "I'm sorry, but god damn it!" you replied. Kate pulled you closer to her, "Thank you Barbie, you look rather dashing yourself!" she spoke, softly smiling at you.

"Do we really have to do to this party?" you asked, your mind racing with other ideas. Kate caught on quickly to your train of thought and lightly bit her bottom lip, "and miss this chance to show you off? I don't think so" she replied before kissing you softly, "besides, you've got all night to get me out of this suit" she added with a wink.

#yelenasdiary asks #🌊 anon #fanfiction #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop #flufftober #hawkeye #marvel

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