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teenidlegirl · 2 months

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❛ 𝓢𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓣𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒. ❜

ઇ ˚ ݂ ֹ ꒰ professor!miguel 𝓍 professor!reader ꒱ ! ۟ ׅ ♡

ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓢𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. it was just a stupid party. drink, flirt, and gossip. you weren’t expecting to have a one nightstand with a charming, mysterious man. you also weren’t expecting he is the newly hired professor at the same university you teach at.

ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. college!au, strangers to enemies (sorta) to lovers, tension, angst, smut, protected sex, fem oral, confessions, jealousy, swearing, pet names, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )

ׄ ׅ ྀ 𝓛𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄. i had lots of fun writing this, definitely another fav of mine. kudos to @lazyjellyfish300 for the wrist kissing scene because of her post. thanks for the inspo, queen! ♡

enjoy yourself tonight.

that’s what your friends told you.

despite your many objections, they dragged your ass to a party. a friend of a friend is throwing it. not wanting to be a complaining bitch, you suck it up and tag along. a basic mini dress and matching heels. nothing too extra, just simple.

the minute you arrive there, you want to leave. you don’t know anyone but you’re two friends, lyla and felicia. the best decision is to stick by their side. unfortunately, felicia is flirting with some tall light brunette skinny guy. he isn’t that attractive but everyone has their own taste. lyla, on the other hand, immediately heads over towards the food. she’s a big eater, already stuffing her mouth with appetizers.

a sigh escapes your lips. left all alone.

so much for enjoying yourself. your friends ditched you and you don’t know a single soul here so how the hell can you enjoy yourself tonight?

the only thing to enjoy is “double fantasy” by the weeknd playing through the speakers.

with nothing much else to do, you stumble towards the bar. you kindly ask the bartender for a modelo. the look he gives you says you picked an odd choice out of all options but shrugs it off and fetches your requested drink. you resist rolling your eyes.

fucking dick, you thought to yourself.

it’s been 10 minutes and you haven’t received your corona. your brows furrowed in confusion.

“excuse me?” you call out to the bartender, who’s dealing with other customers. of course the bastard didn’t hear you over the loud ass music. another sigh falls from your lips. “excuse me, sir?” you wave.

that finally got his attention but his slightly annoyed expression caught you off guard.

what’s this dude’s deal?

“you forgot my modelo.” you tell him, trying to be polite, maintaining your attitude.

he turns around and grabs it from the shelf.

it was there so easy to grab yet took him 10 minutes? he was just straight up ignoring you.

“sorry.” the bastard mutters without eye contact then walks away to tend other customers.

now you roll your eyes. “cabrón.” you mutter, grabbing the bottle and take a sip of the drink.

turning around, you scan the area. half talking on the sidelines and half on the dance floor. your eyes widen when you find felicia making out with that same guy. welp, at least she’s having a great time. you shrug it off with another sip of your modelo. glancing around, you begin feeling like an outcast. your fingers clench the glass bottle, holding it to your chest. standing there awkwardly as everyone else has fun.

instead of glancing around like a weirdo, you wander around the place. passing by all types of people you’re not familiar with. trying not to bump into someone, especially a drunk idiot.

with your social battery running low, or basically not in the mood to deal with people, you find a secluded space where not much people are. away from the dumb party. you stare out at the view, the gorgeous city of nueva york from a rooftop.

just a moment of solitude.

a delicious fresh breeze flows by, making you close your eyes to relish the refreshing air.

“escaping from the chaos?”

a baritone voice form behind makes your while around, startling you a bit.

a man, tall and broad. clad in all black. dress shirt, slacks, and oxfords. brown curls slicked back. a simple silver necklace dangling around his neck. a matching silver watch that was obviously expensive. his right hand holding a small glass.

utterly handsome, definitely your type. you only like brunettes. what caught your eye are those sharp cheekbones and strong jawline. so perfect and sharp, slide your finger along them and you’ll get a paper cut. firm, masculine facial features.

“parties aren’t really my forte.” the lack of enthusiasm in your voice says it all.

“you’re not alone.” he walks forward, walking up beside you. “they aren’t mine either.” he stares out at the view, taking a sip of his beverage.

you observe him with curious eyes. turning around so you’re facing the view again. only this time you have company. strangely enough, you don’t mind. you get a good whiff of his cologne. damn, he smells good.

you also realize exactly how tall this man is. way over a foot taller than you. perhaps two feet taller.

“suppose we’re the outsiders.” you joke.

“like the book?” he muses.

you quirk a brow, intrigued by his reference. “i guess so, classic book and movie.”

“agree.” the man hums.

a beat passed by before he speaks again. however, his next few words surprises you.

“i have to confess, i noticed you earlier.” he admits. “you caught my eye. i just had the urge to talk to you, as strangely as it sounds. which i apologize for.” he quickly adds that last phrase.

you gaze up at him. intrigued by his interest in you. it was foreign to you since you’ve only been on a few dates but never led to anything serious. or a man confessing wholeheartedly of their interest.

you notice his slight tensed expression when you don’t respond. the air got tensed as well.

“miguel o’hara.” he quickly introduces himself, extending his free hand for you to shake.

you finally respond with your name as you gently shake his hand. taking mental note of his engulfs yours completely. damn, they’re really huge. you make sure to not ogle at them.

“so what brings you here?” you decide to initiate a proper conversation. your interest in this man slowly grows. his mysterious aura is so alluring.

“mutual friend of the party owner. didn’t want to come but was forced to anyways.”

your brows raised in surprise. “in the same boat. i was dragged here then left like getting dropped off at daycare.” you take a sip of your drink.

that earns you a light snort from the tall man. “doesn’t seem like true friends.”

you shrug. “they’re great, just spending time with things they love. men and food.”

miguel’s head tilts a little, one thick brow quirk up. “what do you love?”

the question caught you off, definitely wasn’t expecting nor know how to answer. what do you love? it’s complicated, despite how simple it sounds.

“solitude. being alone is comforting.” your gaze returns to the view, away from his for a moment.

“i guess i ruined that comfort.”

you lightly shake your head. “you didn’t. surprisingly enough, your presence is actually the only one that doesn’t bother me tonight.” you look back at him.

it’s true. his alluring presence doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable or annoyed. intrigued and captivated instead. perhaps he is another outsider like you.

“well, i’m glad to know that.” the corners of his very plump lips twitch upward, a brief smile.

surprising, that makes your heart flutter a little. you’ve only met the man and already has an affect you. no other man has done that before.

you and miguel carry on your conversation, getting to know one another. you two retreated to the kitchen inside, sitting on the barstools at the kitchen island. sipping on your drinks. his fingers would linger beside your bare calf. his touch igniting sparks in your body. your expression remains a neutral as you talk, but internally screaming. damn this man really has an affect on you. perhaps the only good thing that came out from this stupid party.

“seems like it’s getting more intense. do you want leave? someplace less crowded where we can hear each other better.” a light chuckle left his lips.

a little smile graces your lips. “sure, besides i don’t wanna deal with more drunk idiots.”

that earns you another chuckle from him, making your heart flutter once again.

you try finding felicia and lyla to let them know you’re leaving but there’s too much people it’ll be possible to find them. you’ll just send them a text.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃

miguel takes you a small pub which was much less crowded. you have dinner there since both of you didn’t eat at the party. this was much better, in a quieter atmosphere, no chaos, and having a sincere conversation with someone who’s considerate.

“can i kiss you?”

his husky, seductive tone makes your heart swoop.

you then remember this could lead to a one nightstand and nothing else. although, there is this spark between you two, obviously sexual tension. miguel may be a nice guy, just don’t fall too deeply. it’s be a one time thing. it’s also probably be the last time you’ll ever him since you two never talked about your personal life like jobs, if either of you live close by. you prefer to keep personal information private, miguel respected and understood that.

you nod with a tiny smirk. “polite, i like it.”

miguel grins as he leans closer. his breath fanning yours. his lips gently pressed against yours. a gentle, soft kiss. damn his lips feel good, all plumped and nice. yours, though, are addictively sweet. he can taste your lip gloss but doesn’t care if some get on his. you never thought you’d kiss in a pub, let alone in public but with miguel, you feel comfortable.

he takes you back to his apartment. on the drive there, his hand gently massaged your thigh while driving with the other. your body tingled in excitement at the sensation. the same hand never left your lower back as you entered his home.

instead of rushing to the bedroom, you two talk a little more. miguel reassured you if you wish to leave, if you’re not comfortable with this because he doesn’t want you to think he’s only looking for sex. he truly enjoyed his conversations with you. you told him it’s fine and want to stay with him.

truthfully, you’re excited for what’s coming but of course you keep that to yourself. you’ve been wet since the moment his fingers were on your calf back at the party. his touches are just something else.

gently taking your hand in his, miguel guides you to the bedroom. he turns around and gingerly cups your face with both hands then kisses you. your hand rest on his abs, feeling the muscles through his dress shirt. you fight the urge to unbuckle his belt, you don’t want to seem desperate.

the kiss grows more passionate. shivers go down your spine as his hands slowly trail down your back. shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, then at your hips right above your ass. you can sense his hesitation so you decide to apply some pressure into the kiss and roam your hands over his broad shoulders to tigger his tendencies.

it worked since he gently palms it through your dress, eliciting a soft moan from you. now that did trigger his urges. bending down, miguel grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you in his arms. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his slightly pinched waist as he walks towards the bed. very carefully, miguel placed you down the mattress, hovering over you, yours lips never detach. your fingers dig into his brown curls as your passionate makeout season continues.

you softly sigh as his lips brush along your jawline then your delicate neck. fingers playing with his curls, making miguel’s mind hazy.

he leaves a few more butterfly kisses on your neck before lifting up. miguel glances at your chest then your eyes. “puedo?”

you nod with smirk, hiding your excitement.

his fingers grip on the zipper on the front of your dress and slowly pulls it down. miguel bites back a moan as peeks of your cleavage are revealed to his lustful eyes. a glimpse of your black lacy bra hugging your breasts perfectly like a gift.

you inhale sharply as his large palms gently cup them. he gives them a gentle squeeze, eliciting a soft gasp from you. board palms playing with the soft squishy fat, kneading it with expertise. the lacy fabric of your bra on his fingertips. the addicting sensation makes you arch your back, chest leaning into his touch. miguel buries his face in your cleavage, kissing and licking the soft skin. a moan falls from your lips when his hands push them together, stuffing his face more with your soft tits.

one hand trails down to the hem of your dress. “is this okay?” he lifts his head to meet your gaze.

you hum with a nod.

miguel slowly pulls your dress off your body over your head then tosses it on the floor. his breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of your exposed body. eyes roaming over each curve.

his admiring gaze makes you a little nervous. it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with someone. last time was a one nightstand with some asshole, in the beginning he didn’t seem like one, and he only went straight for pound town, not silently worshiping like the mysterious man above is.

you also don’t want to be the only one almost naked. your fingers grip on his belt. “your turn, guapo.”

a low chuckle falls from his lips. “impatient.”

you help him unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned chest. decorated with chest hair. the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your body tingle in excitement, specifically down to your throbbing core.

your eyes widen in awe at his muscular form. chest hair, delicious abs, and mouthwatering happy trail. they widen more as you notice the large bulge in his boxers. you expected him to be big due to his large frame but the outline makes it look like a monster.

“lift up your hips for me.” he said.

you obliged, lifting your hips. miguel slides a pillow underneath, giving you some support.

he bends down towards your legs. grabbing one leg, his lips brush against your calf. miguel slowly trails up your leg, reaching towards your inner thigh. your heart raced in anticipation. your breath hitched as you feel his lips sucking your inner thigh. your core throbs terribly, desperate for him.

he grins against your skin as he feels your legs twitch. “impatient for me, huh gatita?” he slowly moves towards your clothed cunt. miguel’s grin widens as he hears a small whine from above.

“no te procupes, gaitia. i’ll make sure you scream my name.” his seductive words makes sends shivers down your spine. gripping the edges of your panties, miguel slowly drags them down your legs.

those crimson eyes never leave your exposed pussy as he tosses your panties on the floor. grabbing your thighs and placing them on his bulky shoulders, miguel dives in and licks a stripe up your throbbing core. making you shudder and let out a soft moan. he switches between licking you up and sucking your sweet bundle of nerves. those sweet noises you’re making encouraged him to continue.

“dios… you taste amazing, gatita.” he moans against you, sending vibrations through you. “my dessert tonight.” he says in between licking and sucking.

his lips suck bit more aggressively on your clit, causing you to moan loudly. instinctively, you dig your fingers in his hair once again. each lick and suck makes you grip on his hair tighter, earning a muffled groan from the brunette man.

“miguel!~” you moan, arching your back off the bed as he starts penetrating you with his tongue.

the tip of the wet muscle penetrating you perfectly. causing your back to arch like waves. instinctively, you grind against his face. endless moans spilling from your lips. you definitely weren’t expecting him to be such a munch. each flick of his tongue, lips sucking your clit contain with such expertise.

after more flicks of his tongue, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his tongue with your sweetness. a shiver runs down his spine at how beautifully you sang his name. miguel drinks you up feverishly as if he found an oasis.

finally, he moves away from your now sensitive pussy. “delicious, gatita. best dessert ever.” miguel seductively runs his tongue over lips, collecting the leftover of your sweetness. the sight makes your pussy flutter. he caught that and smirks.

grabbing a condom packet from the nightstand, miguel swiftly takes off his boxers. his cock bouncing out from its confinements. your eyes blown out by the size of it. holy shit he’s really fucking huge. there is no way that will fit inside you. your pussy, however, throbs for it, despite its size.

he sensed your apprehension. “i’ll be careful. lo prometo, gatita.” miguel climbs back on the bed, hovering your smaller figure.

“do you trust me?” he asks softly. “if we need to stop, tell me.” sincerity in his tone.

you nod. “i trust you.”

gripping his cock with a hand and the other on your thigh, miguel aligned himself with your entrance. a shared moan mingles in the steamy air as he slowly slides through your tight fluttering walls.

“fuck- so tight, gatita. gotta let me in a little more, por fav.” miguel groans.

you try by spreading your legs as much as you can, giving him the space he needs. a soft whimper falls from your lips as you feel his bulbous tip settled against your sweet spot. as soon as he bottoms out and you give him the green light, he does a slow thrust. eliciting a soft moan from you.

gingerly taking both your wrists with one hand, miguel’s gaze is locked with yours as he slowly kisses them then pins them above your head on the pillow.

“gonna make you feel good, hermosa.” he whispers huskily before capturing your lips with his, slowly thrusting into your tight cunt.

your moans and whimpers are muffled, sallowed by miguel’s lips. his cock slowly dragging out before plunging it back inside your fluttering walls with a deep slow thrust, allowing you to feel every inch of him. even with the condom on, you feel all of him.

miguel is in awe of your blissful expression. fluttering lashes, brows furrowed, gorgeous eyes rolled back, pretty sounds falling from your lips, back arched. a sense of pride flowing through his veins, knowing he is causing those movements of ecstasy.

“hermosa… taking me so well.” he softly pants, face leaning closer towards yours. his panting gently hitting your face as he admires you.

“oh miguel~” you moan as a big deep thrust hits your sweet spot. back arched for the hundredth time.

he lets out a groan as he feel yours walls clenching his cock. going insane at the sensation, motivating him to slowly pick up the pace of his hips.

obscure sounds mingles in the hot air of sex. your moans and his groans in unison. his hips snaps against yours at a faster pace. with his free hand, it travels down to where you’re connected and flicks your clit with his middle finger. causing you to moan loudly which makes him smile, back arched off the bedsheets at the sudden intense sensation. your hands balled into fists, nails digging into your palms.

“no other man has fucked you like this, huh gatita?” he pants above you. a grin on his face that grows wider when you shake your head followed by a whine.

the bed rocked due to miguel’s slight harsh thrust. the headboard repeatedly hitting the wall. he’ll get complaints from his neighbors but doesn’t give a shit. this intimate moment with you is more important than worrying about disturbing his dumbass neighbors’ slumber.

a few more rough flicks to your puffy clit and thrusts against that sensitive spot, you come with a wail of his name. gushing over his concealed cock, miguel wishing he could truly feel it but accepts it and is too mesmerized by your angelic expression as you reach the pinnacle of pleasure so beautifully.

as soon as he gently releases your wrists, you use all your strength and flip positions. miguel’s eyes go wide as he’s suddenly laying on his back, impressed by your sudden take of control but oh so loves the view above him. resting your hands on his abs, you ride his cock after feeling desperate to do so. another loud moan escapes your lips. you feel him deeper in this position. all the way in your guts.

large palms grip the fat of your hips, tightening with each roll of your hips. while riding the fuck out of him, you suddenly remembered you’re still wearing your bra. quickly unclasping it with a hand, the garment falls off your chest, freeing your breasts. miguel’s eyes widen, a groan rumbling from his chest at the sight of your exposed breasts. watching them jiggle as you bounce on his dick. a thin layer of sweat coating them like a dressing.

a deep feeling of hunger bubbles in his body. his hands on your hips travel up to your bouncing tits and gropes them. kneading the soft mounds feverishly. relishing the squishiness in his palms. with his thumb and index finger, he pinches your perky nipples then gently tugs them. eliciting a loud whine from you. the reaction makes him grin.

a loud groan erupts from his throat, throwing his head back against the pillow as you circle your hips in sinful manner. “oh fuck- mami…” instinctively, his hands return to your hips, tighter this time.

your legs were about to give out due to the burning sensation but miguel’s hands on your hips guiding you was a big help. the more you bounce on his cock, the faster both your orgasms were approaching.

“fuck- i’m gonna—“ miguel cuts himself with a load groan as he reaches his climax. spurting thick white ropes into the condom, filling it with his seed. secretly wishing it was your pussy.

you come as well, marking it as your third time tonight. you’re never orgasmed so much in your life. definitely an incredible experience.

you collapse on his chest and miguel immediately wraps his arms around you. your pants echoing the room as you both recover from your highs. his thumb tenderly rubbing up and down your spine as comfort.

after a few minutes to recover, miguel tossed out the used condom in the trash and carefully cleans you up with a towel from his bathroom. after cleaning up and giving you a water bottle, he then joins you in the covers and allow slumber to call both your names.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃

you never forgot that night.

you left that morning before miguel woke up. a part of you felt guilt but it was a one nightstand after all. despite the chemistry between you two. some things are meant to end. it’s just how life is.

besides, you’ll probably never see him again. miguel radiates that mystery guy vibe who’ll you will meet once and never again afterwards.

you really liked him, you really did. still do, in fact. he never left your mind. his touch still lingering on your skin like a ghost. how good he made you feel, the sex and conversations with him. you felt so comfortable with him. however, it was just a one time thing.

oh well.

now summer activities are over and the new school year begins. another year giving lectures. you love your job as a professor, encouraging and motivating students to become their best.

each year is different. you’re excited to see what’s in store for this school year.

dressed in a fresh outfit for the first day. a baby pink blouse with a long white silk skirt. after your first two lectures, you decide to head to the teachers lounge for a quick cup of coffee. you didn’t go to your usual cafe this morning since you were in a bit of a rush.

entering the lounge, you head over to the counter where the coffee maker is. waving and greeting fellow colleagues on your way in. once you make your coffee, you stir it with a plastic spoon. after enough stirring, you take a small sip to test if it’s good. a satisfied hum from your lips says it all.

as you turn around to start your journey back to your classroom, your heart drops.

standing across the room talking with a few other male colleagues, a man with brown hair and stands way taller than his two counterparts. clad in black button up shirt and dark denim jeans. a pair of thick rimmed glasses settled over his eyes.

miguel.

the same miguel from the stupid party.

the same miguel you fucked that same night.

suddenly, you feel paralyzed. a wave of shock coursing through your body. jaw dropped and eyes popping out of your damn skull.

he’s a fucking professor here? at the same fucking university as you? what the actual fuck.

you fucked a coworker?

oh fuck.

those thoughts pause the moment his eyes meets yours before widening as well. his expression matches yours. a wave of anxiety hits you.

shit shit shit.

your body goes into panic mode and you bolted out of lounge. not sparing a glance at him. anxiety consumes your body like a virus. heart pounding in your chest as you hurriedly walk down the hallway. you didn’t notice the concern looks given your way as you rush back to your classroom.

a sudden wave of nausea hits you as you enter your classroom and hurriedly shut the door. tossing your coffee in the trash. the nausea destroyed your thirst and hunger simultaneously. holding your hands close to your chest, you slowly slide down against the door before sitting on the cold tile floor. the rapid drumbeat of your heart echos in your ears. chest heaving frantically and eyes fluttering.

this can’t be happening. this can’t be true.

miguel is a fucking professor?

but you’ve never seen him before in previous years. you’ve been teaching at nueva york university for four years. never once you saw his devilish handsome face on this campus. you’re 100% sure of it.

oh shit- is he new?

word has been announced a new professor, a biology professor specifically, has been hired.

oh my god- it’s fucking miguel.

glancing at the clock on the wall, your phone was on your desk so you couldn’t read the time easily, it’s an hour before your next lecture. that gives you time to deal with this mindfuck and calm down.

all you pray is to not run into miguel at all.

that ultimately fails when he catches you in the parking lot.

“don’t touch me.” you aggressively shrug away from his light touch on your upper arm, stomping your way to your car as fast as you can.

“please, can we talk?” miguel pleads, almost sounds desperate as he follows you like a lost puppy.

“no, stay the fuck away from me.”

“hermosa, pro favor—“

“stop!” you whirl around with bloodshot eyes, making him stop in his tracks. “stop following me! i don’t wanna fucking talk to you… at least, not in public…” you quickly glance around the parking lot, making sure there’s no bystanders.

his eyes do the same before sighing, his shoulders slumped. “i know, just please let me explain to you.”

you shake your head. “i said not in public.”

“then let’s go someplace else.”

“i’m not going anywhere with you.”

he frowns, secretly butthurt. “¿porque?”

“because i don’t wanna be seen with you because we’re coworkers! when people see us together too close, they’ll get the wrong idea.”

another sigh escapes his lips, understanding what you’re implying. “i understand but we really do need to talk—“

“no, we’re not talking. end of conversation.” you stomp your way to your car, which was only a foot away, ignoring miguel’s pleads.

part of you really wants to talk to him, know what the fuck is going on. it’s the right thing to do but the potential gossip of two professors hanging out with each other a bit too closely which could jeopardize you both consumes your mind.

miguel gives up and stops chasing after you once you got into your car and drive off with a pissed off face. shoulders still slumped as he sighs, feeling defeated and a little frustrated.

“fuck…” he curses at himself, running a hand through his brown curls.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃

you avoided miguel like a fucking plague.

cooped up in your classroom majority of the day. the only times you’d leave is to use the restroom, fr an a quick snack from the local campus cafe, meet other professors for discussions.

luckily, miguel hasn’t shown up to your classroom. probably doesn’t know which room number is yours. although, you don’t doubt he has asked others for it. but still, he hasn’t shown up yet.

you never stepped foot in the lounge in fear of seeing him there like the previous time. too afraid to see his large silhouette around campus and chase after you.

you feel so fucking guilty. you truly are making this worse and awkward than it already is. you should talk to him, sort this shit out. communication is key.

but fear is consumes you like virus.

you fucking a coworker would cause a scandal. okay, maybe you’re being a little dramatic. you and miguel are both adults and professors. you just don’t want drama or gossip spreading around. coworkers whispering behind your back. that’s the last thing you need, more bullshit added to your list.

you exhale deeply as you walk down the hall towards your classroom. the first lecture starts in 20 minutes so you had time to grab breakfast at the campus cafe. a croissant sandwich and fruit.

“hey!” a familiar male voice calls out.

turning around, you see your coworker eddie. a sigh of relief leaves your lips, thankful it’s not miguel.

“hey, eddie.” you greet your friend with a smile.

“hey, me and the guys are meeting at jackie’s tonight. you still planning to come?”

the guys consist of you, eddie, your coworker peter and his wife mj, your other coworker jessica and her husband. eddie used to bring his girlfriend anne until they broke up. almost every friday, you all would head over to jackie’s, the local bar for funnies.

you nod with a smile. “yep, i’ll be there.”

“okay, cool! also, should i get red or white tulips?”

you quirk a brow, smirking. “you’re really trying to win back anne, aren’t you?”

a shameful smile plastered on his face. “yeah…” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck with a hand.

you sigh, shaking your head with a smile. “white because they represent forgiveness.”

eddie claps excitedly with a big grin before pulling you in a quick, tight hug. “thank you, thank you, thank you! you’re the best!”

you chuckle at his enthusiasm. “of course, eddie.”

“see you tonight!” he lets you go then starts walking away with a wave.

you laugh, waving back. you hope things work out for him and anne, unlike you and miguel. you dismiss the thought with a head shake and walk away.

unknowingly, a pair of jealous brown eyes observed the interaction from down the hall. miguel knew eddie, one of the coworkers he became acquainted with on his first day. he sometimes gets on miguel’s nerves with his shitty ass humor, and consistent crying about his breakup with anne.

but oh eddie was really on his nerves when he pulled you into a hug. miguel’s jaw clenched and fists tightens at the intimate moment. he knows eddie is still in love with anne, would never chase after another woman because his heart still beats for her. by the interaction, it seems you two are friends which is totally fine. it’s normal to have friends.

but miguel’s brain says otherwise. eddie’s arms wrapped around you made his eye twitch. jealously boiling in his veins. miguel knows he shouldn’t be jealous because you’re not his and he’s not yours. but his feelings for you are strong. he wished it was him giving you that hug, just to feel you in his arms again.

your distant behavior was taking a toll on him. turning on your heel the minute he sees you and tries chasing you but ultimately fails. it leaves him upset and frustrated. miguel needs to talk to you.

he needs to find a way.

he has find a day to talk to you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃

as you’re walking down the hall to your classroom, a yelp falls from your lips as you’re suddenly yanked by the arm into a supply closet. whirling around to face whoever snatched you, your eyes widen.

“motherfucker…”

“i’m sorry, i didn’t have another choice.” miguel holds up his hand cautiously.

“dragging me into a supply closet, where the janitor can clearly walk in, was your only choice?”

he lowers his hands. “okay, not the greatest idea but i just need to talk to you.”

“no.” you try moving past him but his bigass frame blocks you completely. “ugh! move, miguel.”

“not until we talk.” he said sternly, crossing his arms.

you groan, rolling your eyes. “ya te dije, i don’t wanna talk to you. especially not here, miguel.”

“tell me why you’re freaking out and i’ll let you go.”

anger and impatience boils in your veins. nails digging into your palms as your fists tightens. “i swear, if you don’t move i’ll—“

“what are you gonna do, gatita?” he coos, smirking.

“don’t call me that, especially in public.”

“we’re in a supply closet, there’s no one else.”

you grown out of frustration. “ay por dios, miguel! let me out! i have a class in 10 minutes!”

miguel just stands there with an intimidating expression, piercing eyes looking down at you. his heart races in his chest. being so close to you again makes his mind hazy. it’s been weeks, almost a month since you’ve been in the same space, standing so close to each other. he fought his demons to touch you, hold you in his arms.

you whine, running both hands over your face. you can’t believe this is happening. locked in a closet with the man who’s been constantly on your mind. tossing and turning in your bed having wet dreams about. whose touches still linger on your skin.

you hate the way he towers over you so easily. you hate the way he can corner you with his big frame. you hate the way your heart is racing because of him.

“fine, you wanna talk? let’s talk. why didn’t you tell me?” you fold your arms, mirroring his posture.

you went straight to the point.

miguel sighs, frowning. “first, you never mentioned you worked at a college. second, at the time i didn’t know if i was getting the job or not. i didn’t get a call until a week after we met.”

allowing his words to sink in, you do remember not mentioning you’re a professor at nyu. you kept personal information private.

“okay, the first part is on me.” you state before sighing once again. “fuck…” you lean against the wall with a thud, staring at the ceiling to avoid his eyes.

“trust me, i’m just surprised as much as you are.” miguel takes a small step closer.

you look back at him, staring at each other for a moment. if you had superhearing, you’d hear both your rapid heartbeats. the close proximity makes you and miguel anxious, bashful messes.

quickly blinking, you snap out of it. “there, we talked, bye.” swooping past him, you quickly open the door and walk out, not giving him enough time to react.

thankfully, there wasn’t anyone in the hallway. rushing back to your classroom, you swiftly close the door and sat down at your desk. you let out a deep breath before slouching down in your chair.

you can’t believe that just happened.

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ୨ ₊ 𓂃 ౨ৎ 𓂃 ₊ ୧ 𓂃

coffee and books, two of your favorite things. you pay a visit to your local bookshop café. you spend an hour and a half slipping on coffee while reading a murder mystery novel. once it’s time to leave, you pack up your things and exit the little café.

the night sky above tells you it was late. on the path home, you pass by a sketchy alleyway. decorated in graffiti and trash scattered among the floor. a shadowy figure emerges from the shadows.

“hello, gorgeous.” a homeless man.

you ignore him, picking up the pace so you can avoid the man at all costs.

“don’t walk awayyyy.” the idiot slurs.

“please, stay away from me.” you keep on walking but you can hear his footsteps behind you. anxiety begins creeping through your veins.

“whaaat, i’m not gonna—“

“leave the lady alone.” a third voice said.

turning around, you see miguel standing in between you and the homeless guy.

“s-sorry, man.” the man holds up his hands in surrender. a slightly frightened look on his face before walking away like a coward.

with a stern frown, miguel keeps a cautious eye on the guy until he was completely gone. he then turns around, about to ask if you’re okay but you opened your mouth already.

“you’re following me, now? fucking creep.”

miguel lets out a frustrated groan. “i’m not following you. i just left the boxing gym and was on my way home then i saw you on the way.”

“uh huh, sure.” you narrow your eyes at him.

“ay mujer, when will you fucking believe me for once?” a sigh escapes his lips.

your eyes dart at his outfit. a black tank top and a matching sweatshirt over it. gray motherfucking sweats. strings of hair sticked to his forehead due to sweat. his duffel bag hanging over his shoulder.

fuck, he looks so good. you imagine him boxing, muscles rippling with each punch—

no, can’t have horny thoughts right now.

“what is this? my knight in shining armor? real fucking classic, miguel.”

“wh- no. that homeless guy wouldn’t stop bothering you so of course i had to stop him.”

“oh so what? you want my token of gratitude? sorry, i don’t have a handkerchief on me.” you pretend checking yourself for one. “i’ll just say thank you and goodbye.” you turn around and start walking away.

miguel blinks in disbelief at your childish tactics then proceeds to follow you. “you can’t just keep ignoring me and pretend nothing happened!”

“yes, i can.” you state firmly, still walking away.

“just talk to me!”

“miguel!”

a pregnant pause falls between you two. staring at one another. chests heaving, feeling breathless. your yelling cussed some heads to turn but neither of you care. people continue brushing past you both.

“not here…” you plead softly.

with a sigh, miguel silently nods and you both walk back to your apartment. the tension grew stronger during the silent walk back.

once you stepped foot into your apartment, you force miguel to take a shower because you don’t want his sweaty ass sitting in your living room. he teasing comment about showering together earned him a slap on the arm. his chuckling and smirk on his handsome face makes your skin crawl. he changed into his other set of clothes, different shirt and sweats. you take a shower after him, changing into a nightgown with a silky robe over it.

how the fuck did it get this far? one minute you’re avoiding him like a fucking virus at work, then he’s sitting on your couch after using your shower.

after offering him tea, you hand him is mug then sit down on the other end of the couch, leaving mic space between you two. much to his dismay but miguel understands and respects it.

another long awkward silence before miguel speaks up. “i was really happy i found you…” he glances at you. “i haven’t stop thinking about you since.”

that made your heart skip a beat.

“i really enjoyed spending time with you. i’ve never felt so connected with anyone before. i knew you were special the moment i saw you and i’m glad i decided to go to that dumb party to meet you.” he turns so he’s fully facing you. “believe me, spending time with you is better than any party.”

your heart did multiple summersaults. his words created butterflies in your tummy. never in your life someone had said such heartwarming words to you, nevertheless about you.

“when you left,” you notice his tone changes, a bit more sorrowful. “i was scared i’d never see you again. i asked some friends from the party if they knew you or at least your friends so i could find you. but i got no luck so i…” he pauses for a moment, sighing.

that guilty feeling returns, consuming your body. “i’m… i’m sorry i left. it’s just… i thought it was a one time thing so…” your gaze falters.

miguel frowns, upset but understands. he was about to say something but you continue on. he didn’t mind though. he wants to hear you.

“but the truth is i do feel the same way. i haven’t stopped thinking about you either. our conversations did mean something to me. i’ve never felt so comfortable with someone, especially right off the bat. it felt so nice having a sincere connection because it’s hard to find that with someone.”

you quickly glance up and see his expression softened. it reminds you of those conversations with him that night. how attentive and thoughtful he was.

“the reason why i’m freaking out is because coworkers dating isn’t really looked upon on well.” you tear away from his gaze with a shrug, concealing your embarrassment. “i didn’t want gossip spreading around and affect our jobs. especially you since you just started.” you let out another sad sigh.

that frown returns, but a concern frown. “hermosa…” scooting closer so he’s next to you, he gingerly cups your cheek with a hand, making you look back at him. “i appreciate your concern, a lot. i understand coworker relationships aren’t praised but honestly i don’t care.” he watched your eyes widen. “i don’t care what they say. what i do care about is you.”

your heart flutters, butterflies in you belly.

with both hands, he gently holds your face in his hands like the precious thing is in his palms. “i really like you, querida. i want nothing more than getting to know more of you, if you let me.”

at this point, you heart is beating like a drum. lashes fluttering and cheeks warm. his kind, heartwarming words washes your worries away. finally, you allow your heart to win. gently placing your hands on his wrists, you give them a loving squeeze. “sí.”

the corner of his lips curl up into a smile. a smile that makes your heart swoon. leaning closer, miguel gently pressed his lips on yours in a soft kiss. your hands leave his wrists to cup his face. his hands slowly move down your body, fingers skimming over the fabric of your silky robe waist as the kiss grows more passionate. instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean closer. his own secured around your waist, tugging you closer to him.

things escalated quickly, growing spicier. soft moans and groans. lips devouring one another. hands roaming around feverishly. left with no patience, miguel quickly rises from the couch and rushes to your bedroom, carrying you bridal style in his arms. your laughs echoing in the hallway.

perhaps everything was going to be fine. as long as miguel is by your side and you by his, no negative comments or criticism will stop you from loving each other. in fact, nothing but praises came your way when your relationship was later revealed.

everything was fine.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @rinyukaa @laysmt @felinespark @eatalyy @devotion @miss-canon-event @club-danger-zone @clearlysworld @unhinged-reader-36 @slut4oscarissac23 @hao-ming-8

#꒰ ˖ ࣪ . 𐙚 ⊹ ꒱ — 𝓞𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 .ᐟ #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #across the spiderverse

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xpao-bearx · 2 years

Text

"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 1 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

NOTES: Y'ALL the way my jaw literally DROPPED when not even H A L F a minute after I posted the first part, you guys were already exploding my notifs which I wasn't expecting AT ALL I swear Oscar Isaac's really got us sluts in a chokehold O_o

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ This is truly wonderful and encourages me a lot, especially since this is my first ever Moon Knight fic AND the first time a story of mine blew up this much! This is also great cuz I've been terribly sick, but of course ✨️priorities✨️ I gotta shower our Moon Boys with some much deserved lovin' and it's just so fucking nice to see that it's paying off! \(^o^)/ I was so happy and inspired that I couldn't resist and just HAD to write this second part ASAP!

Dissociative identity disorder is also briefly mentioned here and if I made any mistakes, then I apologize and please kindly correct me. And I feel like the ending may be a bit rushed, but it's the best my tiny brain could think of!

I'll shut up now and I'm very proud and excited to present... PART 2!!! 🥳 And if you'd like to be tagged for any of the next parts, feel free to tell me!

Also Marc does something very asshole-y here oop

TAGS: @autismsupermusicalassassin @ungracefularchimedes @pimosworld @ababynova @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @anapnovo-blog @am-3-thyst @harrys-tittie @zukoisbabee @wiltedwonderland

Part 2: You made me feel I've nothing to hide

After work, instead of heading home, you rushed straight to the nearest boutique to buy yourself a new dress for tomorrow night. The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults and you felt as if you could spontaneously burst into song like in those cheesy musicals your former college roommate was so obsessed with.

You knew the employees were all looking at you oddly as you constantly giggled to yourself like some lovesick schoolgirl while you perused through endless racks of the latest fashion. Of course you knew you were acting ridiculous--crazy--but wasn't that what attraction or, dare you say, love did to you?

Besides, you wanted tomorrow to go perfectly. In your eyes, Steven Grant was already perfect--perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect, you didn't know or care which was which. You just knew that you liked him. A lot.

And it relieved and pleased you to the moon and back that he actually felt the same! So, who cares what anyone else thought?

You just hoped that after tomorrow, Steven would like you enough to go on another date. And another. Then another...

Maybe you were looking--wishing--too far into the future, but you swore you could almost hear wedding bells chiming in the distance.

God, is this what happens after being a total virgin for twenty-something years? There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a virgin, but your insecurity bugged you. What if you weren't at all what Steven expected?

But another part of you, a positive ray of sunshine, clobbered all your doubts. For once, you were going to be brave! You were going to take a leap of faith! You were going to control your life!

Because, in the end...it was worth it. Steven was worth it. Sure, you've experienced various crushes throughout your life, but not like this. Not with Steven. This felt more...serious. Adult.

It felt as if right from the get-go crossing fates with "Steven with a V", your life was about to change--for the better.

Of course you were afraid, and yet you've also never been more sure of something in your entire existence. You've been waiting this long and you're glad you did, and now you were ready to jump head first (and head over heels) into whatever adventure was in store for you--with Steven.

You then squealed excitedly when you spotted the perfect dress, ignoring the judgmental stares other customers shot you as you hurriedly grabbed it like a child in a toy store.

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a dream come true.

♡•••🌙•••♡

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. It was totally embarrassing how eager you were, but you couldn't help yourself. Though at least with how early you were, you snagged a good table overlooking the restaurant's beautiful back garden strung with fairy lights and you can have some time to calm down before Steven came.

And you looked stunning. Your hair tumbled down in elegant waves, light makeup adoring your face and donning the contact lenses you rarely used. And the dress you bought fit like a glove; it was the shortest dress you now owned, stopping around your thighs. It was baby blue and had an off-the-shoulder style with some frills, and it hugged your figure just right.

You felt very self-conscious. You've always fancied clothes like this, but never actually had the guts to wear them--until now. Did it really suit you? But you couldn't deny that you were happy and, truly, isn't that all that mattered?

"Shall I get you started, ma'am?" A waitress snapped you back to reality and you shook your head.

"Not yet, thank you. I'm still waiting for my...date." The word made you blush furiously, as if sharing a dirty little secret.

The waitress smiled and nodded, leaving you by yourself once more as you sighed wistfully.

You took out your phone from your purse, checking the time. 6:45 p.m. Alright, not too long now. And you double checked that the address you texted Steven was correct, which it is.

You settled back in your chair, peering over the garden and giggling softly.

"I'm right here for you, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

"It's about time, innit?" Steven murmured, glancing over anxiously at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. It was already eight p.m., a whole hour past your meeting time (not to mention he arrived embarrassingly early). And he was just informed by one of the servers that the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, to which a pitiful look was also casted to him.

"It's not 'about time', Steven. It's late." Marc gruffly pointed out, Steven seeing Marc's reflection glaring back at him from the shiny silver flower vase set in the middle of the table. "Face it: she's NOT coming."

"Don't you dare say that." Steven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a certain edge to it that one would normally not hear from the soft man. "Y/N would never do that. Not her. She's just running late, I'm sure. Traffic and all."

"Oh, please, we both know that even the traffic here doesn't take this long." Marc scoffed. "Stop kidding yourself, Steven. She's. NOT. Coming."

Steven frowned, and with a shaky hand he pulled out his phone. He should've called you since way earlier. It was the logical thing to do, after all. But he was...scared. Scared that, maybe, a terrifying maybe, Marc was right.

He found your number and called you, pressing his phone to his ear as it began to ring. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until you finally picked up, voice groggy.

"Hello..?"

"Y/N..." Steven heaved a relieved exhale. "Hey, uh, I'm at the restaurant. Guess you got stuck in traffic?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

A long, dreadful pause. And then:

"Fucking EXCUSE me?"

Steven's eyes widened, having never heard you swear before. He was just about to ask what was wrong when you continued without skipping a beat.

"Are you playing with me, Steven? Is this what it is?!" You definitely sounded angry, but he didn't miss the faint sniffles coming from you. Shit, were you crying? What the hell was happening?

"How can you be such a...such a DICK?!" You shouted, causing him to jerk his phone a few inches away from his ear. "I fucking waited for you like a total idiot until closing time, you prick! You never showed and you never answered my calls! What the fuck can you POSSIBLY gain from toying with me, huh?!"

"W-Wait, I don't understand!" Steven was nearly hyperventilating, all the colour draining from his face and his mind running a mile a minute. "I-I'm here! Right now! D-Didn't we agree? Friday night, seven p.m.?"

You were dead silent. Steven was going to check if the call was still connected when you beat him to it.

"Steven... It's Sunday."

Steven froze. Then his eyes landed on Marc's reflection, refusing to meet his gaze and it clicked.

"Y/N." Steven said slowly, steadily, despite feeling like crying himself. His eyes were still on Marc, cold and pissed. "Please. I promise I have an explanation. I just... God, can we meet? Y/N, please, I'll come to you."

"No need." Tears threatened to spill from Steven's despondent eyes at your flat response, before you suddenly added: "I'll come to you. You said you were at the restaurant, right? Stay there."

You ended the call, and Steven flared at Marc--no longer caring if other people perceived him as a lunatic fighting with himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Marc?"

"Steven..." Marc struggled to find the right words, and the asshole actually had the audacity to look ashamed. "Listen, she's nothing but a distraction--"

"You always think you know better, yeah?" Steven laughed humourlessly. "A distraction? YOU stop kidding yourself, Marc. This is not just your life, but mine. And it's about fucking time you stop being such a selfish bastard!"

"Um, sir?" Steven winced, greeted by a baffled waiter. "We'll be closing soon, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

Humiliated and repeatedly babbling apologies, Steven abruptly sprang out of his chair and dashed outside. He sighed deeply and collapsed listlessly on the ground, finally allowing the tears to fall.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching until he saw a pair of worn bunny slippers in front of him. His eyes heavily dragged upwards, finding you staring back at him with an unreadable expression and breaths coming out in ragged pants.

"Y/N!" Steven jumped up, surprised you actually came despite the way he--the way Marc--treated you. Your bloodshot eyes and the dried tears on your cheeks only made him feel even shittier, much more fucked up than any beating he suffers on a mission.

Because at least with those, he can be confident that he and the boys would win no matter the challenge. But with you?

He had everything to lose.

Your hair was a total mess; glasses slightly crooked and you were in your pyjamas, a matching set of a purple tank top and shorts with stars and moons. The only thing you had covering you was a purple silk robe, drawing it closer to your chilly body as your eyes narrowed at Steven.

You should be mad at him, and you were. Still, despite everything, you hopped on to the first bus you saw and scrambled the rest of the way here as fast as you could.

But now that you were here...what in Khonshu's name were you going to do? You could scream at him with all the pain you haven't had the pleasure to release like you did on the phone, but you'd just be wasting your breath. Then again, he wasn't lying. He really is here. And it confused you more than anything.

And seeing him like this, looking so...sad. Well, it made you sad. Him miserably clenching onto a heart shaped chocolate box, fat globs of tears cascading down his cheeks as he gawked at you with his pretty doe brown eyes.

You raised your hand, and Steven shut his eyes as he braced himself for the slap he very much deserved--only to be met with your soft palm, wiping away his tears tenderly.

"Explain to me, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

The travel to Steven's apartment was spent in deafening silence, but it brought upon a strange sort of comfort. Unconsciously, you hugged Steven's black jacket that he had offered you earlier even closer to your much smaller frame. It soothed your nerves, being completely enveloped in his smell; fresh soap with a hint of musky cologne.

Once you reached his unit, you couldn't help but smile. It was just so...Steven. It was a bit messy, but a good kind of messy. You didn't really know how to describe it, but it warmed your heart especially when you saw a giant fish tank with only one goldfish.

"Cuppa tea?" Steven asked to which you shook your head, facing him fully.

"No. I'm a 'get over it' kinda girl so whatever your explanation is, I'd rather we just nip it in the bud." You huffed before you halted, biting your lip. "Oh, uh, sorry... Of course, if you wanna have tea, you can. It's your home, after all."

Steven laughed, his first real laugh that entire day. "Are you always this nice to blokes you should be mad at?"

"Only if they are really into Egyptology and have beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous curls." You rolled your eyes though you couldn't suppress your grin before you cleared your throat, getting a hold of your stupid giddy self. "Now, explain."

Steven's demeanour instantly shifted, serious now and quite uneasy. But he nodded and gestured towards the couch. You walked over and plopped down, Steven sitting next to you and keeping a respectful couple inches between the two of you.

He looked down at the ground, carefully considering his words before meeting your gaze solemnly. "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" You nodded, previously learning about it in Psychology class and researching about it due to personal interest. "That's...what I have. I'm an alter within a system, and there are two others--Marc Spector and Jake Lockley."

"Am I correct to assume that when you asked me out...it wasn't actually you?"

Steven blinked, rather startled that you were taking this so well. "Yes. Jake was the one who asked you out."

"Was he also the one who didn't show up for the date?"

"No, that would be Marc." He grumbled. "And listen, I'm truly sorry about him. He's a right twit. It may not have been me who didn't show up, but that absolutely doesn't excuse the hurt it caused you. I am so, so sorry, Y/N."

Your brows furrowed, mulling over this new revelation. But...you believed him, especially when it explained all those times you secretly caught Steven muttering incoherently to himself or staring at his reflection and quietly reacting to something. You were curious about more, of course, but Steven didn't have any reason to lie about such a serious matter. And if he was lying, there were plenty of other things he could say. But the way he acted, and just the look in his eyes--he knew the risks of opening up to you, but he did it anyway.

You clasped his hands in yours, sighing. "I know I look calm right now, but trust me, I'm freaking the fuck out." You chuckled, and Steven felt safe enough to join you. "But... I trust you, Steven. And I believe you. Tell me one thing, though. Are you...into me? Like, at all?"

"Of course I am!" He replied in a flash, making you both pause before erupting into easy laughter. "Why would you even have to ask that, love?"

"It's just... Well, if Jake was the one who asked me out, it made me wonder if you really did like me." You mumbled, looking away.

Steven gently grasped your chin, tipping your face back towards him. "I've liked you since the day we met, Y/N. In your pink skirt and the cute little pigtails you had." He smiled, eyes so amorous and gleaming with sincerity. "Truth is, I've wanted to ask you out since forever. I'm just not as...forward as Jake is."

"And that's fine. But hey, we gotta thank him 'cause Lord knows I'd just spiral into a panic attack if I ever made the first move." You chuckled. But it gradually died down as Steven continued to stare at you, and you never thought you would ever have someone look at you the way Steven did; as if you were precious treasure hidden within a sacred tomb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your body started moving of its own accord. You were leaning closer, closer, closer--a mere breath away from his lips before he piped up.

"I'm also Khonshu's Avatar!"

"Say what?"

"Um, well, you see--" He stammered, mentally slapping himself.

'Don't say anything, Steven.' Marc warned, and it took all of Marc's willpower not to seize control and actually slap Steven.

But it was too late now. Steven already said too much, but he wanted to be honest with you. Utterly so. And since you wanted to nip this in the bud, now was the best time more than anything.

"Erm... You've seen the news, yeah?" He didn't grant you the chance to respond as he rambled. "Masked vigilantes... Moon Knight and Mr. Knight? They're actually...Marc and I."

"Steven, this is--"

"I'll show you, Y/N. I'll summon the suit."

"Summon the soup? What is happening--"

Steven stood up, and a split second later there was a whirl of white. And sure enough, there was none other than one half of the mysterious heroes you've been seeing a lot on the news recently; his glowing white eyes locked with yours, crisp ivory suit and batons clutched tightly in his hands.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in--"

"Handsome..." You blurted out before you can restrain yourself.

"Huh?" Steven blushed underneath the mask, and you were the same as your cheeks tinted crimson. Then you rose from the couch, closing the gap between you two and removing his mask.

His curls stuck every which way and his eyes were as wide as the full moon, making you giggle. "You're so handsome, Steven. And yeah, this is a fucking lot to take in. To be honest, a part of me is still wondering if this is all just a dream." You reached up, caressing the side of his face sweetly and smiling. "But...thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

His batons dropped to the floor, trembling hands hesitantly settling on your hips. You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he looked down at you, tears once again glistening in his eyes. Happiness, relief, adoration--how can so many exhilarating emotions crash over him all at once?

"Can I be more honest?" He whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes. "I...want you to stay with me."

Your cheeks hurt from how impossibly wide your smile has stretched, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with yours.

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Steven with a V."

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ssuperficialspacecadett · 1 year

Text

Friday Fight Night

Chapter Four of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Five

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3.4K

Chapter Overview: You help Benny and the guys get ready for FFN.

Notes: this chapter is just a bit shorter than what i usually like to post, but i didn't have a lot of time to write this week & i'm actually content with where i ended it ! sometimes u just have to stop a little short so u don't just start typing random shit to meet a bullshit word count u give urself u know? i updated the tag list so if i missed u PLZ LET ME KNOW & i will add u asap !! well as usual...my asks are always open & happy reading <3

*no use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Why is this so difficult? It's just like every other day at work, except for the fact that it's not. You have been standing in front of your closet for a good 10 minutes now just looking at your clothes. Suddenly nothing seems good enough to wear. Maybe something would be good enough if you knew how to dress for a fight. Should you wear workout gear? No, you weren’t the one fighting. Should you wear a tank top and a tennis skirt? Probably not if it gets as rowdy as Benny says it will.

“Just pick a fucking outfit, you idiot.” You chastise.

After yet another once over of your closet you pick out a worn, white t-shirt with an image of Speed Racer on it. It had definitely seen its glory days years ago when you were still in college. If it worked then, it should work now. You take it off its hanger, along with some jeans, and put it all on. You’re tying your shoes when your phone chimes next to you.

???: Hey, we will be getting to the gym around closing time. Are you staying to help Benny set up?

???: Oh, this is Frankie BTW

Seeing his name on your screen makes your chest tighten with excitement. You obviously gave him your number so he could text you, but now it feels so real. Something about Frankie texting ‘BTW’ makes you giggle to yourself as you sit on the floor.

You: Yes, I figured I would make myself useful. No point in going home since the fights start at 10:00 P.M. and I might lose my parking spot.

You have to set your phone down before you overthink the most basic text you have ever sent in your life. Just for good measure, you leave it on your bed while you go into the bathroom. Despite your best efforts to remain nonchalant about the whole situation, you find yourself putting on a little more makeup than usual. By the time you have wrapped up and returned to your room an unread text is waiting for you.

Frankie: Good thinking. See you tonight then.

The rest of your morning has a bit more pep in it than before.

***

Your day at the gym passes by as usual. The only two exceptions were a truck load of last minute Friday Fight Night tickets sales and then compliments on how the gym was smelling. You made a mental note to smack Benny upside the head for throwing such a temper tantrum about it. In between customers you found yourself checking your phone more than you regularly do. You told yourself that it was just because you were excited about the fights and were counting down the minutes and not because you were hoping to receive another text from Frankie. Unfortunately, lying to yourself never really works out.

In an effort to keep yourself occupied, you answer emails from people that are applying for a gym membership, make laps around the gym to see if you need to replace any of the wipes used to clean the machines, and collect all of the dirty towels for a load of laundry. Much to your dismay, these tasks don’t take very long to complete. By 3:30 P.M. you reluctantly slink back to the front desk where the single most unwanted guest is waiting.

“There she is! My favorite receptionist! I’m still interested in knowing your name, darlin’.”

“Good afternoon, Brunson.” You plop yourself down in your chair and pull up the schedule on the computer. “Just working out today? I don’t see that you’re with Benny.”

“You caught me. I want to make sure that I’m in good shape when I fight in a few weeks time.”

For a few blissful seconds you allow yourself to indulge in the idea of Brunson getting clocked, hard, right in the jaw.

“Well, enjoy yourself.” You scan his card quickly in an attempt to move him on his way.

“I always do so when you’re here.” He clicks his tongue at you while he walks past your desk.

“God, he’s insufferable.” You mumble to yourself.

It’s 4:00 P.M. when Benny finally ventures up to the front lobby with you.

“Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you all day, man.”

“Because you haven’t,” He covers his face with his hands and whines into them before coming back up for air. “At first I couldn’t find where the white board I used to write out the fightin’ pairs was. Then there was somethin’ wrong with the beer delivery and they kept me out back for fuckin’ ever. That isn’t even coverin’ all the one on one sessions I've had today or the ones I’m still goin’ to have.”

It’s breaking your heart to see how stressed out he’s getting with all of the things he has to juggle today. You get out of your chair, walk over to him, and rub on his shoulder comfortingly.

“It’s going to be alright, Benny. I’m staying after work to help you set up and Frankie told me that the guys are coming to help around closing too. You won't be in this alone for much longer.”

He places both of his hands on his hips and exhales deeply.

“Thank you,” You can see the earnestness in his eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He smiles down at you from his 6’2 frame and before you can move he pulls you in for a deadly tight hug.

“Benny!” You can’t stop laughing. “Let me go this fucking instant!”

“Friends like hugs from other friends, right?” He yells over your incessant protesting.

“I’m going to kill you, you know that?!” Your tone of voice doesn’t even sound remotely serious.

Eventually you get him to unlatch himself from you so the two of you can finish up the work day in order to prepare for this evening.

***

You stand back proudly and admire all of your handiwork. Benny put you in charge of setting up the beer table, so set up the beer table you did. You designed a poster to hang on the wall above the table so people would be able to clearly see their options and their respective prices. You set a long, metal tub in the center of the table and filled it halfway with ice. Then you made a little arrangement out of the beer and poured the last half of the ice on it to keep it cold. The cash box was fully stocked and set to the side. All in all, you did a pretty good job. Thankfully, one of Benny’s regulars volunteered to work it this evening.

“All done over here!” You call over to Benny. “How’s the sign coming?”

You watch in horror as he stands up to reveal a barely legible fighting roster. He must have seen your face flounder when you looked at it because he just tosses the dry erase marker over to you and crosses his arms.

“Oh, Benny I-”

“I know it looks bad. I’ve never had a knack for all this creative shit.”

You squeeze his hand as you pass him while heading to the white board. He slides over the roster that has been printed on paper for you to use as your guide. You’re so engrossed with your new task that you don’t notice when the guys come in around 8:30 P.M..

“You sure are givin’ Benny a run for his money this evenin’. The place hasn’t looked this put together in…well ever.” That sugary, sweet southern drawl could only belong to one man.

“Thank you, Will!” You toss over your shoulder.

“Aw screw you, dude. Maybe it would have been if y’all had gotten here when y’all said you would.” Benny notes.

“Blame Fish.” Pope snickers. “He couldn’t find the perfect outfit.”

That got your interest peaked. You turn around to look at what Frankie is wearing. Regular work boots, soft looking denim jeans, a black undershirt, a worn blue button up with the top few buttons left undone, and finally his cap- oh god he’s looking at you. If you had been a smarter woman, you would have noticed that two thirds of the group standing behind you were looking at your sign. That damned one third of the group was watching you trail your way up his whole body. He’s like an oak; completely unwavering as you take him in.

“Well, I like it. ” You squeak out as you turn your attention back to the roster. “Now why don’t you guys go make yourselves useful and help Benny?”

You hear a unified ‘yes ma’am’ come from behind you followed by the scattering of three pairs of feet. There truly isn't anything more sexy than men who can follow orders.

All five of y’all work tirelessly for the next hour to get everything finished before the doors open to the public. When you cross off the last item on your to-do list, you decide that you have earned a drink. You sneak over to the beer table and open one of the coolers that you set up behind it that contains the excess bottles. Much to your dismay, the bottle caps don't twist off like you originally thought. You’re on your knees looking around in the extra bags and praying that Benny had the foresight to get a bottle opener when Frankie walks up next to you.

“Lose something?”

“Just my dignity trying to locate the stupid fucking bottle opener.”

He laughs jovially as he extends his hand to help you up. You take it and sheepishly hand him your bottle when he motions for it. The two of you walk around to the front of the table and you watch as he easily takes out his keys and pops the cap open with a bottle opener he had attached to them. You notice that instead of tossing the cap in the trash he places it back in his pocket along with his keys. Right when he starts to hand the drink back to you he pulls it back towards him.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I have to test it to make sure it isn’t poisonous or something.”

“Oh my god, you dick.” You lean back on the table behind you.

“You won’t be saying that when I save your life.” He takes a small sip and passes it over to you. “Nope. It’s not poison. You’re in the clear.”

Now it’s your turn. You turn to look out at the gym while you take a drink of your well deserved reward.

“Wait,” You look over at Frankie. “What if it's a slow acting poison and now we are both infected? I guess you have to stay here and finish this with me so we can go out together.”

He leisurely reclines next to you on the table and takes the bottle in his hand when you offer it to him. “That's some pretty sound logic. I can’t argue with that.”

You try to stop yourself, but you watch as he brings the frosty glass to his pouty lips. They look more pink than usual against the dark color of the bottle. His hands make the beer bottle look so much smaller than it really is. Your eyes wander to that nose you’re so fond of. God, what would it feel like on your clit as he ate his fill of you? Now that you’re closer to him you’re able to see the gray that's intricately woven into his beard and hair. Would it tickle the inside of your thighs when he buried his face in your pussy? Feelings you haven’t had for a man in a long time rock through your body the further you sink into your fantasy. Drifting even further, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows the chilled liquid. You want to decorate the sensitive skin with blossoming purple marks.

“What?” He’s looking at you now. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” You say almost breathlessly. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t hog it all.”

“I would never.” The low baritone of his voice reverberates through you.

Benny, thankfully, yells from across the gym at the both of y’all before you do something questionable.

“Hey, lazy asses! It’s showtime!”

You and Frankie both let out a breath neither of y’all realized you were holding. He looks down at his watch and then faces his friend with a mild look of annoyance.

“It’s 9:30, man. It’s just the boxers and the ring girls coming in right now.”

You notice that Frankie’s body immediately tenses up after he says this. Confused, you look over at Benny who has eyes as bright as the sun and is making a beeline towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers down to you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Benny? What are you-?”

“I have a proposition for you.” He says while gripping both sides of your arms. “Do you wanna hear it?”

“I don’t think I have a choice by the look of things.”

“Please be my ring girl.” He gasps.

“Oh my god.” You let your head roll back. “Benny, are you serious right now?”

“Don’t say no yet. Just think about it before you decide.”

You roll your head over to face Frankie and raise your eyebrows. You’re met with a shrug that is just as innocent as his grin.

“Does this offer have an expiration date?” You inquire shifting your focus back to the man that currently has you in a vice grip.

“Just think about it.” He pleads.

“Fine, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna say n-”

“La-la-la! I can’t hear you! La-la-la!”

“Don’t you have fighters to go hype up in the locker room?” Frankie cuts in.

“Nothin’ I hate more than when you’re right, Fish. Catch y’all in between the matches!”

With one final ‘think about it’, he bounds off into the locker rooms. All you can do is laugh hysterically at what just transpired. Frankie probably thinks you have lost your mind with the way you are doubled over right now.

“Hey let us in on the joke, why don’t you?” Pope sits next to you on the table.

“I could use a good laugh as well.” Will adds blithely.

“What you two could use is a reality check.” you walk around the table and grab a beer for each of them. “God, I can’t believe him.”

You hand Will and Pope their drinks completely forgetting about taking the tops off. Fortunately, that didn’t stop them. Will snatches Pope’s beer out of his hand and positions the bottles where one has its cap resting just barely on the edge of the other's cap. Then he slams them down on his knee and Pope’s opens with ease. After he hands the open one off, he pops his own with a thick ring he’s wearing.

“I’m thoroughly impressed, Will. What the hell was that?”

“You just gotta learn to make due sometimes.”

Frankie and Pope both mutter ‘show-off’ under their breaths as Will explains to you the physics behind his little trick.

“Okay, now back to what Benny was talking about.” You adjust your stance so you can better face the group. “Are y’all in on this? This ‘ring girl’ shit?”

“Can’t say it wouldn’t be fun though.” Pope prods his finger at you.

“Oh, yes I can.” You say swatting at him.

“You know, Benny. Once he sets his mind to somethin’ he’s pretty determined to see it through.”

“That doesn’t even begin to answer my question, Will.” You groan as you take the beer from Frankie’s hand.

The movements between y’all are so natural, so fluid that it feels like something you have been doing for years. You see Pope, almost in shock, watch you as you take a drink.

“Can I get some of that?”

“No way, man.” You shelter the bottle against your body. “Three is a crowd and you literally have an open one in your hand.”

“Will’s right,” Frankie reasons with you. “Benny is as one track minded as they come.”

“Tell him to get on another track then.”

“How about this?” Pope counters. “You go into the locker room with Benny and see what it takes to be a ring girl. Then and only then will he accept your answer of ‘no’ if that’s still what you want.”

“If that will get him off my case then that's fine with me.”

You start to turn towards the locker room doors when a blue sleeved arm reaches over your shoulder and plucks the beer from you.

“Hey, give that back!”

“I just want to make sure you don’t hog it all.” Frankie’s tone is thick with sarcasm.

“I would never.” You grin.

Pope waits until you have cleared the locker room doors before he whacks Frankie in the shoulder. Unfortunately, Frankie doesn’t see it coming because he is too busy hoping to catch one more glimpse of you.

“If that's how you act around women you think are ‘just cool’ then I’m terrified to see how you act around women you actually like.”

“The fuck was that for? And the fuck are you talking about, man?” He massages the spot where Pope smacked him.

“Will, please tell me you aren’t as blind as he is?”

“Sorry, Fish. I see it too.”

“See what?”

“That you look like a goddamn catfish whenever you look at her! Eyes all big and mouth agape.”

“I do not.” Frankie mutters.

“Come on.” Pope folds his arms across his chest. “You think she’s cute.”

“What are we in middle school? You’re being ridiculous. Will?”

“I’ll be honest, I wanna know too.” He flashes that signature boyish Miller smile.

All Frankie can do is laugh nervously while he removes his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. He knows that he’s in the middle of a losing battle and that he’ll have to concede. They are going to be ecstatic that a woman other than Rochelle has caught his eye. Especially when it's a woman that meshes so naturally with their group. No, what’s stopping him is that a part of himself wants to keep it a secret. To have something that is just his. No prying eyes, no unwanted advice, no consequences, and no one else has to get hurt but him. As soon as the acknowledgement of his affection for you falls from his lips, it's real. As selfish as it sounds, he wants to keep you at arms length. He feels like everything he touches breaks and he doesn’t want you to become the next casualty. You wouldn’t want him if you knew the truth about the things he has done. But then you smile or laugh and he can feel himself falling deeper and deeper into his delusions of grandeur.

“Well, if you don’t like her then maybe I’ll ask her out.”

“No, you won't because,” Frankie puts his cap back on. “I think she’s cute. Are y’all happy? I like her.”

“Atta boy, Fish!” Will cheers.

“I knew it!” Pope says as he pulls Frankie in for a hug. “She’s a good one, man.”

“I know she is. I just don’t know if I’m going to do anything about it right now.”

Will’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to fuck it up. To drag her into the shit show that is my life. I don’t even know if she feels the same way either!”

The two other men nod in understanding. Frankie takes a sip of the drink he stole from you and sighs as he looks up at the ceiling.

“All I know is…is that I like her.”

“Shh!”

“Pope, you were the one that wanted to talk about this!”

“Shut the fuck up! She's coming!”

“Y’all ready? I’m going to open the doors for everyone!”

The three of them use the time it takes you to unlock the doors and arrive back in order to regroup from their previous conversation.

“Did you,” Will clears his throat. “Did you like the view back there? See a future in being Benny’s ring girl?”

“I like the view from right here, thank you very much.”

“So,” Pope rubs his hands together. “Who ready to see some dudes get the shit beat out of them?”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

{tag list: @cutesyscreenname @rsquared31 @smol-beb @bitchwitch1981 @avastrasposts @hoeslingz @saltybutteredtoast @javicstories @c-justhere @pimosworld @modernperplexity @beboldbebravethings @modernperplexity @mxtokko @moonliqhtszn @tanzthompson }

#francisco morales #frankie morales #catfish #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #benny miller #will miller #ironhead #santiago garcia #pope #through the scope #read on a03

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whatevertheweather · 4 months

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Well, hello again.

It's been a very busy month, and I have roughly nothing left in my head, but it's Wednesday okay, and that's finally aligning with a day I ended up driving home thinking I want to do a wip post okay. So first, thank you to everyone still commenting on Musical Chairs, and I'm sorry to anyone who's been hoping I can get the last chapter out in a timely manner. I can't, obviously, but as a sad offering in that chapter's stead, I have here An Ode to How Soundly Musical Chairs Is Kicking My Ass.

This is a multimedia presentation. In this essay I will-

I don't have a posting goal anymore. As soon as possible is a moving target. But I do have two deleted scenes, and here's one.

“Stupidity has no bearing on whether or not I hate something,” Baz said. “No? The two’ve always struck me as pretty intertwined,” Niamh said, picking up her drink. And then, like it was a completely separate observation, “I’ve noticed you seem to hate a lot of things.”

I also have 44 pages at the top of my Miscellany document that contain nothing but snippets for musical chairs, and scenes cut from musical chairs, and scenes rewritten for musical chairs, and checklists made for musical chairs, and all caps yelling for musical chairs, and-

Featuring such goodies as:

And:

So in theory. And I hate this because I’D HAVE TO REWRITE AGAIN but in theory.

And:

[HEY MAYBE JUST FULLY FUCKING SWITCH TRAJECTORY AND GO] “[Redacted].” Baz raised an eyebrow. “[Also redacted].” [FUCK BUT ACTUALLY. IT’S WEIRD AT THIS POINT. AFTER HE’S ALREADY PUSHED THIS MUCH. FUCK. YES OKAY MOVE IT UP TO COULD HAVE HAD SOME FUN. SIMON JUST PIVOTS FROM COMMITTING TO THAT/MAKING BAZ MAKE HIM COMMIT TO THAT BY SAYING HE DOES ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT. AND THE SCENE WILL DEFINITELY AND FOR SURE WORK THIS TIME AMEN.]

It's possible these latest two yellings are leading me in the right direction, but I don't know yet, because I made those notes and then dusted off my hands and ran walked away for a month. We'll see. I've at least started thinking about it again. (The trick is apparently pacing small circles around your enclosure while you're on hold with customer support for an hour.)

Here's that other deleted scene, as a treat. It was a treat for me, anyway, because I don't remember writing it.

“Despite our best efforts,” Agatha muttered, and everyone looked at her. She raised her eyebrows. “She started it. I was out for a week because of her.” “You gave Agatha a concussion?” Baz smirked as Simon said, “You’ve had a concussion?” “Yes,” Niamh answered, and Simon added, “That explains it.” Agatha turned from whatever she’d been about to say, replacing it with, “Explains what?” Simon gave a sad little hum and nudged her chin. “Why you don’t even know what it explains.”

By the way, the actual final chapter is 45 pages at present. One (1) page deeper than the burial ground for its failures. Though the burial ground has a lot of gaps between graves. That probably adds a few pages.

Anyhow, I do sincerely hope y'all will be able to read it before another 7 months have passed. I'll do my best. In the meantime, thank you to everyone who's still tagging me in things, and I'm sorry I disappear a lot and don't shower y'all with the love you deserve for it <3

Here's an incomplete mess of tags, because I do need to go do many other less fun things now.

@fatalfangirl @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @moodandmist @cutestkilla @whogaveyoupermission @aristocratic-otter @alexalexinii @iamamythologicalcreature @facewithoutheart @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @run-for-chamo-miles @rimeswithpurple @thewholelemon @forabeatofadrum @monbons

#wip wednesday #my writing #musical chairs #there are a lot more deleted scenes where that came from #but most are spoilers at this point #may it all someday see the light #ok it won't actually tag half of y'all #I really do have to go do other things so OH WELL I tried

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datingdonovan · 5 months

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a/n: stfu I found yet another makki timestamp I never posted. guess I was like obsessed w makki during the era right before I stopped writing for hq *cough* you mean the era right before I got my tsukki bf and disappeared from Tumblr anyway if you haven't been following my tags & tales, my roomie is watching hq for the 1st time and it's causing me to want to possibly get back into writing for it, or at least post all the old stuff I wrote and never published. so anybody who's still in this fandom on here, come get your freakin FOOD!!!!!!

4:35 pm

Hanamaki Takahiro (27) is no longer between jobs. Well, actually, he’s sort of between being between jobs. Basically, he doesn’t think that scooping ice cream is a real use of his talents, but a friend of a friend landed him this gig, just until the summer’s over. Despite the fact that it sucks, he’s never been one to say no to cash. And there are some upsides. Namely, the fact that this kid around his age drops by every Thursday after they get off work. Hanamaki’s not saying he’s in love or anything. He just thinks you’re the most attractive person to ever order ice cream.

It’s been about a month since you started coming, which means he’s really only seen you a handful of times, but he doesn’t plan on forgetting you anytime soon. The way you sort of awkwardly fumble your cash out of your wallet, the absentminded look in your eye as you study the board of flavors, the fact that you say “No, thank YOU!” right back to his coworker when you tip way too much. He loves it. He loves the way you wait at the counter, swiveling around in your chair without a care in the world, just existing there in your own pleasant daydreams. He’s pretty sure you’re begging to be watched.

And he’s even more sure now that you’re here, for the fifth week in a row, and you’re glancing at him from your seat at the bar. He misses it the first time, so shocked at being caught staring that he doesn’t quite register that actually, you were looking at him, too. He can’t even remember who looked first. Had he even been staring? Or had he been casually looking your way when he noticed you looking at him? He decides it’s no use wondering, and as he serves another customer their sundae, leaning over the counter, he sneaks a glance at you. And you are watching, dammit. Your eyes aren’t on his, they’re in his hair, and running along his bicep, and then you look up, and he smirks, and this is definitely the best job ever. He turns back to his work, willing himself not to actually do a stupid fist pump. Instead, he busies himself with crossing the delivered order off the list in front of him, starting on the next bowl of ice cream.

He’s trying really hard to focus on delivering ice creams. He really is. But he keeps looking up at you, now, every time he comes to the counter. When you make eye contact again, he sees the smile creep onto your face, and he can’t help smiling too. And you keep smiling at him, each time he comes over, like looking at you was the right thing to do. Two cones, a cup, and a milkshake later, he licks his lips and flexes a little as he walks away, and he’s pretty damn sure he hears you snort. And his heart’s starting to beat fast, because you noticed. You’re watching him intently, even when he’s not watching you.

And then it hits him. You’ve been sitting there a really long time. Without ice cream. Whoops.

Right about that time, it seems like it hits you, too, because he watches you nonchalantly get up from your seat and walk over to the register, questioning the blonde man about where your cone might be. The guy walks over to Hanamaki and starts rifling through the order list, and sure enough, there’s your cone, line straight through the order. “You crossed it off like you already finished it, idiot!” The blonde laughs and knocks his arm against Hanamaki before coming back to you at the counter. “Sorry. He’s not the brightest.”

Your ice cream is ready faster than any of the ones you’ve seen come out before, and the blonde man watches with a laugh as Makki hands it to you. “I swear, I’m not new.”

“I know,” you say. And you don’t know what’s gotten into you, because you add, “They just keep you around cause you’re cute.” And you leave him standing there, mouth hanging open, and walk to sit at one of the tables outside.

It’s not five minutes before he sits down next to you. “Hey, pretty thing.”

You look over and roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “What, do you need something?”

“Nope. Just got off.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“If it means you’ll let me sit here with you while you eat your ice cream alone instead of forcing me to go back inside—“

“So dramatic.” You laugh.

It takes a minute for him to work up the courage to say it, but he eventually does. “You really think I’m cute?”

You shrug. “I was just messing around.”

“Well, don’t all good things start with messing around?” He swivels to face you and flashes you that lazy smile. And he definitely leaves with your number… even if he’s getting dragged away by Ukai.

#the stuff of cece #haikyuu timestamps #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki x you #hanamaki x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hanamaki x y/n #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!!#hehehehe I love him #hq #this is based on something that genuinely happened to me. not the hitting on me part but the forgetting my ice cream part lol. was hilariou #anyway if you're a hq blog please please come find me and interact #so many of my old friends are gone inactive or even deactivated #but cece's back babey #ready to absolutely tear it up w the fictional scenarios about adorable men who treat me right :)#hahahahhaa #honestly tho like several of my old y/n timestamps came true (yeah ask me ab it!!!) so this can also be seen as manifesting hahaha #bonkkK!!!!!!!#get hype im back babes and I want to be shipped with hq men lol

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aylacavebear · 7 months

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Stockroom Antics - Chapter 1

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 1747

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst (mild)

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 1

You’d think being something supernatural you’d prefer to stay away from people, and live more of a solitary sort of life, but no. You like people, love laughter, and having a job with amazing coworkers brings you a sense of peace and happiness in your life.

One of your best friends at work is Sarah. She’s adorable, fun, and goofy, and you both make each other laugh all day at work while you unbox the truck shipment and get things on the hummers and into the bluebins, to get put out later.

She knows what you are, sort of. Although, not even you yet know the actual name of what you are. You haven’t found anyone you can really trust outside your immediate family to tell the whole truth to. Hell, you don’t need to scare anyone. Most people have no clue what’s really out there and you like keeping it that way. You’ve researched to find a name for what you are but so far, there isn’t a single thing that has your abilities/powers description.

As you’re out on the floor, getting out one of the hummers with the kitchen items on it, your mind wanders back. When did it start, you think to yourself, absentmindedly. Four years, five now. You’re not sure anymore. Technically you’re in your early forties but ever since it happened, you feel like you’re in your mid to late twenties again. It also seemed as though aging had practically stopped. Most things a forty-year-old body would go through, you haven’t been experiencing. Just the opposite, you truly feel as though you’ve been getting physically younger.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” A woman asks, pulling you from your thoughts, as she can’t see the nametag hanging around your neck with how you’re standing.

You turn to her with a friendly smile, “Yup, how can I help you?”

“I’m just looking for a pan I can cover the top of my stove with,” the woman attempted to explain.

Neither you nor the woman knew the exact name of that particular thing, but glancing down, you notice a rather large cookie sheet on the shelf on the endcap of the aisle you’re stocking, “This might work,” you tell her, picking it up.

The woman is impressed, looking it over, “How much is it?” she asks.

You flip it over and find the tag, “Nine dollars,” you let her know, “Not bad. This is really nice.”

“What about that price? Fifteen?” the woman asks.

“Oh, that is the price you’d find it for at another store. Our price is always on the bottom of the tag,” you reassure her.

The woman is very happy, letting you know that if it doesn’t work to cover her stove, she’ll be making cookies. Of course, this is when your lighthearted side comes out, “I’m here Monday through Friday, always in the afternoons,” you tell her, playfully.

She finds you adorable, smiling at your playfulness and the two of you spend almost three full minutes talking about cookies before she thanks you for your help. You know it will bring your times down that you have to run the hummer in, but to you, seeing a customer smiling and enjoying their visit to the store is what brings you the most joy at work.

You smile happily to yourself as the woman goes on about her shopping trip and you get back to running your hummer of kitchen items. It’s while you’re putting out some of the food that the mess of the section bothers you again. This is one thing you’re not responsible for, straightening the shelves up to make them look nice. You frown a bit, seeing that there is nowhere to put out the box of bagged oats. Checking around, and not seeing anyone nearby, you just think that there is room on the shelf, that it looks a little neater, and it happens in less than the blink of an eye.

What you didn’t notice was that you were being watched. A man, in his mid-thirties was standing near the women’s clothing racks, just watching you. He was fairly average, with short brown hair, and brown eyes, only about an inch taller than you, wearing jeans, a blue t-shirt, a hoodie, and sneakers.

You finished the kitchen hummer and then grabbed a toy one, making sure to write down your times on the sheet in the stockroom. The toy hummers were a little different. They had toys, pets, and craft supplies. Being a kid at heart, as well as loving anything stationary, you loved running these hummers. As you were putting out some of the dog toys, you heard the sound of one of the bluebins heading in your direction. It was like the hummers but those bluebins were for women's, men's, and children's items specifically.

Sarah was soon standing at the end of the pet aisle, phone up and recording, a playful smile on her lips, “Aaaannd, you’re fired,” she tried to say seriously.

You pretend to look upset and sad, then toss your arms up with playfulness, “Party at my house!”

The two of you laugh as she saves the video, only to post it online later, your Stockroom Antics tag included. The man who had been watching you earlier continues to do so. Every aisle seems to be a bit of a mess today, so again, you think about it looking a little nicer. Only a little though, you don’t need to draw unwanted attention to yourself from your boss if they watch the cameras.

Ten minutes before your shift ends, Sarah comes back up to you, “Code 99 me?” she asks, and you smirk.

“Oh, so if I don’t, that means you’re stuck here,” you chuckle.

“Not cool,” she replies, playfully, “Should I go find someone else?” she raises an eyebrow.

“Na, I’ll let you out,” you laugh a little.

The two of you walk to the front of the store, in front of the doors so that you’re both on camera. Sarah opens her bag, and you peek in, “Looks good. See you tomorrow?” you tell her.

“Yup. See ya,” she replies before leaving.

You smile a bit and head to the stockroom. There’s always some cleanup that needs to be done and you enjoy doing those little things that there never seems to be time for others to do. The man continues to watch you, and you still haven’t noticed him, not really anyway. You’d seen him, yes, but to you, he’s just another customer.

The backroom isn’t bad, not today. The girl is working on tagging the shoes with the alarms while a couple of other girls are in the clothing pods tagging clothes and getting them on racks to go out either later on or the following morning. You get some sweeping done, straighten up the bluebins and hummers, then bid them all farewell for the evening. Just as you reach the register to clock out, your ‘end of shift’ alarm goes off.

“Thank you phone,” you say out loud, pulling it out of your back pocket, and then turn it off. Smiling and shaking your head a little.

“See you guys tomorrow,” you tell the two cashiers as you punch out.

They smile and say goodbye as you head for the door. Since you don’t carry a purse, there’s no need to have a code 99 before you leave. The air is a little crisp, it being the beginning of January in Southern Arizona and you put the hood of your hoodie over your head. It’s been a cold few weeks, although this week has been the worst with the rain. For three days now the low in the mornings has been in the upper twenties and the days barely over fifty. That’s cold for where you live but it happens every so many years.

As you’re walking toward your truck, which you love with all your heart, the man from earlier is following you still. The chill doesn’t seem to be bothering him at all. For now, you believe he’s still just a customer, not paying him much attention. The wind blows just right, from behind you, and all you can smell is sulfur, and a chill runs down your back. You take a deep breath though, calming your nerves. You should have known that picking a job across the street from where you had previously worked wasn’t the best of ideas.

You stayed calm as you walked to your truck. She was quite the beast of a truck. A 91’ F350 XLT Lariat, crew cab, long bed, with a two-inch lift, 1500 lb leaf springs, and 4-wheel drive. You hadn’t saved up enough to have her fixed up like you wanted but you loved her dearly. As you rounded the hood, the man pushed you against your truck, right in front of the tire.

“Found you,” he said in a low, pleased tone, smiling devilishly, “The boss is gonna be pleased.”

Without thinking you put your hand on his chest and the black smoke of the demon's soul began expelling out of his mouth, toward the ground. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to deal with demons and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. The demon looked at you through the man’s eyes, almost in terror but more in shock at what you were doing. He apparently didn’t get the memo of what had happened to the last demon that had gotten too close to you. A smirk crossed your lips as the demon's soul left the man’s body, went into the ground, back to hell where it belonged.

With the demon now gone, the man was unconscious. You sighed before carefully dragging him over to the closest tree in the parking lot, which you had parked near, and propped him against it. At least he was still alive. Most demons rode whoever they possessed hard, usually killing them in the process. He’ll wake later, you told yourself before heading home.

That night you thought long and hard about whether or not to go back to work the following day. You knew the demon would tell his boss, whom you’d never met, just heard about. That’s when you sat up a little straighter on your couch, a determination in your eyes.

“I’m not letting demons run me out of a job I love,” you said confidently.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in this one, and future chapters, leave me a comment and let me know. :)

Link to the series Master List

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darsynia · 2 years

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66. a kiss only meant to last a moment, but when your lips meet, you can't pull away from each other

With Tony Stark please (I love him 😍❤️)

Okay I really enjoyed writing this, and PREDICTABLY it ended up longer than I thought... Thank you for my very first fic ask!! 💚😍

Summary: You're only at the party because your friend needed a +1, but Tony Stark's parties are legendary... Warnings: none Pairings: Tony Stark x Reader Square Filled: 'Soft Under Hard Exterior' Trope Word Count: 1,409 A/N: @avengersbingo

If anyone would like to be on a taglist (when I don't eff up and post before I tag anyone, that is), please don't hesitate to ask!

PLUS ONE

Attending Tony Stark’s 40+1 birthday bash is not what you’d been planning to do when you came to L.A.

It’s actually a complete fluke. You are really only in town to celebrate your best friend’s casting in a really promising pilot, one that catapulted her into a fancier sphere of influence, and earned her an invite to this thing. Except, Stark has decided to go full-out as usual, and every single person who is invited is required to bring a +1.

A female +1.

As it turns out, everyone your midwestern, level-headed, best friend since childhood actually trusts not to ruin this new chance of hers is already invited. So, she’s dressed you up in the most gorgeous, most revealing black dress you’ve ever worn, and dragged you along.

You and your best friend step onto the property with stars in your eyes, and the first person you meet is Stark himself. Well, sort of. He’s wearing a custom-made birthday hat that’s almost certainly modeled after Madonna’s pointy-boob bra era, and he’s got a bucket full of wristbands that he’s distributing.

It seems that every +1 gets a wristband saying she’s a +1.

The closer the line gets to Stark, the more nervous you are. Finally, you balk. “Okay, well, dressing up and seeing the house was enough for me, I’ll call a cab and--”

“I heard that. Call Patrol, we’ve got an escape in progress!” Stark says loudly, looking around to find out who’d been speaking. Like an actual tv show, everyone turned and looked at you. “You. You’re scared of me?”

“I’m scared of the idea of you. I have no idea what you’re really like,” you say, without thinking.

The regular flow of party talk resumes around you, but Stark cocks his head to the side and looks, really looks at you, and then he dips his hand into a bucket, pointing at you with his other hand.

“Who’re you with?”

Bestie has been nudging you with her bony elbow so often you probably have marks, and somehow after three minutes, you’re inside with your bracelets. The decor is ‘tropical Christmas,’ which is baffling until your friend’s bracelet goes off right by the bar.

A handsome man turns around, grins, and points up.

There’s mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

Bestie actually knows the guy, he’s another aspiring actor, so they share a quick smooch before you and she retreat to a far wall to figure out what the heck is going on. That’s when you realize Stark’s swapped the bracelets. You’re wearing one that says ‘Stark’s Elf,’ and she’s wearing one that says ‘+1.’ As you watch the crowd, it’s immediately apparent that the ‘+1’ bracelets light up and chime when they’re near the mistletoe, and it’s everywhere.

“Okay, this is good actually,” your friend declares. “You’d have to be carted out of here by ambulance, and that’s not what either of us need right now.”

You give her a hug right then, because she’s right. A few kisses you’d have been cool with, but this is a chiming, blinking assembly line. At least the noises aren’t irritating… yet?

“Mind if I go, uh, network for a little bit?”

“Not at all,” you say, holding up the drink you just obtained.

An hour or so later, you’re happy for her, happy for yourself, and most of all, you’re oddly charmed by Stark’s selfish thoughtfulness. You’d always thought of him as a hard-nosed playboy, and he probably is, but there’s something else there, something kind, soft, even. He’d seen your reticence and given you an out (though again, he could have given you both ‘Elf’ bracelets, so there’s only so much credit to give the guy).

Speaking of an ‘out,’ you need the restroom, so you ask around. The staff member looks at your bracelet and directs you through a door, down a hallway, and around a corner.

On the way back, you pause at the corner to fix the strappy shoe you’d borrowed from your friend, your clutch under an arm, one hand on the wall, one hand on the sandal. Predictably, the bag succumbs to gravity.

You take one look at your neckline, another look at your hemline, and bite your lip.

“That’s a ‘don’t drop anything’ dress, right there,” Stark says, coming out of a door you hadn’t seen.

The alcohol in your system responds with, “Yeah, I might need rescuing, here.”

The lighting in the hallway is dim, but you can still see that his grin is on the sexy side of predatory as he says, “I’m happy to oblige, but I might need proper compensation.” When Stark gets close, he shoots a look up at the ceiling, then gives you a thorough once-over. “You’re the one I placated with the regular bracelet.” He takes a step back and puts his hands in his pockets. “Well, go on, Alice. Back to Wonderland.”

Something’s off, and when you glance up, you see why.

You’re standing under mistletoe.

Again, you’re charmed. This man has set up a kiss factory, but one hint that you’re uncomfortable with it, and he’s decided you’re off limits. Except, he is handsome as hell, smells amazing, and you’re just tipsy enough to be disappointed.

“I don’t recall there being anything in the universal law of mistletoe about a bracelet requirement.”

His gaze sharpens, but Stark says, “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“I nursed a single drink for an hour.” You bite your lip at the thing you just thought up to say, but go for it anyway. “You can see if you can taste it on me, if you think I’m lying.”

“The universal law of consent says that kiss shouldn’t be long enough to tell,” he shoots back. Your eyebrows shoot skyward, and he rolls his eyes. “Hard and fast rule by the party organizer. I maybe should have thought about whether the open bar would ruin all my fun.” He steps closer, inches away. “Last chance, Alice.”

“You haven’t picked up my bag yet,” you point out, heart pounding.

He doesn’t move back as he sinks down, and when he stands again, he holds the clutch close enough to your body that it takes your skirt up with it for a little while. Stark hands it over, then reaches out to hold your chin steady, obviously meaning to drop an insolent, brief kiss on you.

Except, that’s not what happens.

As soon as your lips touch, his hand spasms on your face, and you grab at his lapel, despite yourself. It’s electric, intoxicating, the chemical formula for lust just spontaneously generating between two strangers.

Stark angles his head and murmurs, against your lips, “No, sorry, gonna need another five to ten--” and doesn’t even finish before he’s sliding the hand on your chin up into your hair and licking into your mouth. He’s more potent than any drink you’ve ever tasted, and he knows how to use his body to persuade, so it’s not long before you’re up against the wall and he’s got a handful of your skirt. Somehow Stark figures out everything you like in seconds, and the deep little chuckle he lets out when you moan in encouragement is as sexy as it is devastating.

It’s only the sound of someone else in the adjoining hallway that breaks the two of you apart, but again, Stark’s generous, offering his arm for balance as you gather yourself.

“And here, I thought I’d given you the wrong wristband,” he teases, picking up your clutch from where it had fallen righteously onto the floor during those frantic few moments.

Two weeks later, when you’re back at home and checking your email, you notice one from Stark Industries, and have a mini freak out before you open it. No one had said anything about giving the bracelets back, but maybe you should have done a little more due diligence?

The subject line is ‘CLICK ME,’ and you shake your head in disbelief. If you didn’t know better, you’d think that’s related to Stark’s repeated allusions to you as Alice in Wonderland…

The body of the email sends shivers down your spine.

Alice,

I thought about it, and I definitely gave you the correct bracelet, so here’s Stark’s Erotic Lust Follow-up: just so happens I’m giving a tech speech in your neck of the woods next month.

Dinner?

It’s signed the Knave of Hearts.

#tony stark x reader #avengersbingo #tony stark x you #iron man x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark kiss #tony stark #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #iron man imagine #marvel fanfic #iron man fanfic #tony stark fanfic #oh my god you guys i wrote this so fast i did not tag it or TITLE IT in the tumblr post #EAT FOOD IT IS GOOD FOR YOU

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eveningearlgrey · 6 months

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I think I didn’t introduce this AU properly when I posted the "Warmth", "Rêverie", and "Good Things about Percival Morton" drabbles. So let me sit back for a while and rearrange my thoughts for a bit.

Okay, I’m ready. Here we go again.

May I present to you, ‘Percival meets Peter Smith-Kingsley because why not?’ AU.

The story started in 2016, two years after Kingsman : The Secret Service, which means James died for real. Percival’s emotional state was a total trainwreck and never actually recovered from the loss. No matter how much he tried to act as if he was fine, at the end of the day he was still broken. He would come home, mourned every night he saw the bed he shared with his husband empty.

It went like this for two years after James's death. Time helped ease the pain a little bit. However, it would take only one trip to Italy to render his recovery process back to zero again.

It could be either a long-term mission or a vacation. I haven't decided on this yet. One thing for sure was during his stay in Rome, fate sent him another twisted and cruel test in the form of one young pianist, who looks almost identical to James.

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Peter Smith-Kingsley.

I like to imagine they met on a street or in a cafe. Like, Percival was enjoying his coffee when another customer came in and sat at the table not very far from him. And when he glanced at the newcomer’s face, he was shocked to see his husband there, except that he looks about ten years younger.

It took years for Percival to heal from the loss, to put himself together, to forget the pain. All the efforts he took to overcome grief immediately diminished at the moment he saw Peter, when the face he just saw reminded him of what he had lost.

On the other hand, the young pianist was fascinated by the sight of a man he saw. It might sound cheesy if he called it ‘love at first sight’, but that was the closest words to describe how he felt the moment he locked eyes with this one stranger.

Peter felt attracted to Percival since they first met.

Percival wanted to push Peter away, but at the same time he also wanted to keep him, as he saw Peter as a remedy to the loneliness he had been enduring since James was gone.

A second chance, even.

Meanwhile, Peter was more than willing to offer his sincerity, his warmth, his feelings, basically everything he had to get to know Percival more.

He wouldn’t mind being a placeholder. As long as Percival was happy, that was all it mattered.

And that marked the start of their journey.

Since my attention span is too short to write anything longer than 2000 words, I decide to make this a series of drabbles about them in different situations. I'll start posting them more from now on(hopefully).

There’s a bit of an age difference, but not so different here. Peter is 26, while Percival is 36 in this AU. So prepare for the 'you're too young to be with me' excuse. Actually, there's a lot of excuses Percival could come up with.

You can find works and drabbles related to them in my Peter/Percival tag.

#Peter/Percival #percilot #kingsman

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onthewaytosomewhere · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday

Alright so I said Monday @typicalopposite I would turn your belated Sentence Sunday (on Monday) tag into this so here goes! (also I didn't forget - but it may have been a near-thing lol)

I opened a WIP doc on Sunday I think so I could snatch a bookstore name from it, for my collegeAU, as it was my bookshopowner!Henry Hockeyplayer!Alex fic (that may be inspired by one of my fave hallmark movies lol) and well that apparently lead to me fleshing out more deets on the outline and writing like 1500 words now in between other things (i may have been typing in it while waiting on hold yesterday but nobody saw so no one knows lol)

So the blurb ya get is from bookshopowner!Henry Hockeyplayer!Alex fic - yay!

Henry unlocks the doors of the bookshop, just like he does every day, although who knows for how much longer if business doesn’t pick up. His first few years in business here were outstanding, the area thriving and in need of a bookshop. Of course, it wasn’t long before he wasn’t the only bookshop in the area anymore. The only good thing about the shop being slower is that he has more time to work on his book when he isn’t obsessively straightening or worrying about how to stay in business. He opens the doors, and Bea breezes in and hands him the cup of tea she bought for him. As they walk towards the till, Bea starts what is a common refrain of hers when she is in town, “Hen, you really must get at least some sort of tea and coffee station in here; maybe it would help bring in some more business. Something to distinguish this place from the other shops that opened here.” She and Pez have (drunken on Pez’s part, just big-sisterly annoyingly on Bea’s) brainstorm sessions regularly, and they are continually convinced this is the solution to his problem. Luckily, this time, he doesn’t have to get into the discussion, as the bell over the door signifies a customer entering, and Bea heads into the office. “Hello, welcome to (name of bookshop). Is there anything I can help you find?” Henry looks over to the door and sees the confused look on the handsome gentleman’s face. He walks over to be ready to assist him, and as he approaches, the man looks over, and the grin that forms on his lips nearly makes Henry’s knees weak. “Ya’ll have any books on hockey for young kids? I need a book related to my career for this school event I let my sister wrangle me into.” If the man’s grin makes Henry weak in the knees, his velvety voice is a whole other book, and this one may belong in the pornography section if he stocked one. He imagines the romance section is best for it since he is well on his way to being enamoured and knows absolutely nothing about the man. He needs to thwart this book before it hits the presses.

alrigh so now time to tag all my mutuals that don't appear to have posted anything yet, with no-pressure tags cuz that's how this game is played lol

@priincebutt, @duchessdepolignaca03, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, & @adreamareads (you had to know that one was coming lol)

oh and @typicalopposite in case ya don't get another tag for today - which seems unlikely - tagging ya back (even if it's for that psych!fic ya got going cuz that may be relevant to my interests as well lol)

#wip wednesday #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #wip snippet #this one may end up dsitracting me from my others #who knows #maybe it will be happy to just have some written in it now

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nouklea · 6 months

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Writing pattern tag game

I was tagged by @onlyelaine, thank you!

Rules: list the last lines of the last 10 fics you've posted to see if there is a pattern.

Note : I've skipped a few fics that have been updated but are not finished yet, to pick only the very last lines.

10 - Of Faith and Choices Without another word, he walked away in the darkness. Quickly. And, once is not a custom, very loudly.

9 - Pound of Flesh Her babies are waiting for her.

8 - Five Minutes Earlier Wednesday leaned in and kissed him.

7 - How Do We Sleep While Our Brains Are Burning That’s when his cellphone buzzed.

6 - Last Wishes She closed her eyes and let the slow, regular pace of his heart lull her to sleep.

5 - Fuck Me Once, Shame On You, Fuck Me Twice, Shame On Me She had definitely not seen that one coming and, for once, she appreciated the surprise.

4 - Variations on a main theme 1 - A “Now,” Wednesday says. “How are we going to get you out of this mess?”

3 - Variations on a main theme 1 - B Laurel Gates won’t live through the night.

2 - Farewell, Xavier Thorpe The five friends walk away without looking back, happy to extend the moment they share together.

1 - Double-date With Dad “Oh, the pain I’ll inflict to you will make you beg for a quick death,” she growled before running after him.

So, is it serious, doctor? Twice I ended with Wednesday talking. Besides that... My last lines are usually short, with not to many comas and zero dash? Not sure what more there is to say about it.

So let's inflict this on other who might not have been tagged yet? @broken-everlark @beri-allen @iamfandomcrazy @allergictocolor @badmoodbatflowers @ourdramaqueen @wednesdayandherhyde @ablatheringblatherskite

#tag game #tag games #writing pattern game

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writernopal · 1 year

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Seven Snippets, Seven People

Tagged by @writingmaidenwarrior and @captain-kraken, see their posts here and here. Thank you both for the tag!

Tagging (gently): @outpost51 @sam-glade @violets-in-her-arms-writes @elshells @liv-is and @oh-no-another-idea

Snippets all come from AASOAF 3!

CW: gore, body horror

One

I lurched forward and vomited once more, and there, surrounded by that foul smell, I clasped my trembling hands together. Not yet. Please, not yet…

Two

I wanted them to see her sails on the horizon and tremble at the sight. I wanted them to fear me. I wanted them to live in suspense. And when they were so ragged and spent from their own anxiety, I’d descend upon them, twisting their bodies in my hands, peeling their skin away, and cleaving flesh and muscle from bone. The mere thought of their screams and looks of horror excited me.

Three

He leaned forward, bottle of bark in his hands, “Slip this into his drink. He’ll be gone before the hour is done.” I frowned beneath my hood. “I have no desire to run away from him.” A look of disgust painted his features as he forcefully shoved the package into my arms. “You stink of lizard, you know that? Go. You’re both making the other customers uncomfortable.”

Four

I swam through splintered wood, fallen sails, tangled line, and terrified limbs, skewering chests with my spear and tearing through throats with my taloned hands. Those who didn’t meet with such an end were flensed by my many tentacles and the serrated teeth buried between each sucker. Agony and the scent of blood clouded the air, and a hunger rife with a desperation so deep began to blossom in my belly. I seized the first body I could find and sank my teeth into it, but not the rows within my chest, the ones in my mouth.

Five

It was a thick, worn silver band with a black pearl in it, its surface shined green and red and orange, like a pool of oil. There were words inscribed on it, stained with some dark substance to make them readable. I’d only caught glimpses of them before but now that they were before me I was curious of what they might say so turned my hand to read them: ‘Sea and stars guide me’

Six

There they were all settled, barking jokes at one another and laughing whenever some punchline landed. Pipesmoke, the sweet aroma of sugargrass, and the burning of wood filled the air around them, like some formless cover of peace. Cheers erupted from them as I lay the stew to cook and gathered bowls and bread to serve it in when it was finally ready. I ladeled portions for them all and one by one, the bowls disappeared into their eager hands and hungry mouths. By sound alone, one might conjure the images of a happy family, instead of a group of strangers trying to forget what the dawn might bring.

Seven (this one might be a repeat from another post, but man do I love it!)

I lay my cheek against his and confessed in the softest of voices, those three words, and he, my reliable echo, filled that inches warm space between us with the same sentiment.

#tag game #seven snippets seven people #writeblr tag games #aasoaf #aasoaf 3 #my writing #mariel #axtapor #fay #wilkes

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amaranthhiding · 2 years

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Samwena Fanfic Preview

I’m still shocked that AO3 only has 501 Sam/Rowena fics at the time I’m writing this... and that’s including those that only have background Samwena. So I’m sharing a sneak peek of the first ~2000 words of my Sam/Rowena story with other Samwena enthusiasts. Maybe the preview can bring some excitement to someone out there—and some peace to me because today seems to be one of those days where my anxiety is spiking. Please be kind, I’m just a little bit terrified of hitting the “Post” button for this. Pairings: Sam/Rowena, Sam&Rowena friendship No secondary pairing. Other SPN characters’ involvement will be minimal, so far only a phone call with Dean. Rating: so far undecided (but the 2000 word excerpt here is teen-rated) Words: so far 17,500, but it’s far from finished. This story is not posted to AO3 yet. Tags: post-ep 13x19 “Funeralia”, Magic, Curses, Witches, Action & Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam POV, Rowena POV

Written for the prompt “Fool’s Gold” of the SPN RarePairTober, which I’m hopelessly late for. Story of my life.

Summary: Rowena shows up at the bunker after she has been targeted by a custom-made, lethal curse with the sole goal of destroying her. Under the shadow of this ticking timer of doom, she and Sam are left with a handful of days to prevent a slow, painful death. The search for a cure sees them on a last-minute flight to Central America.

A Metal Pursued by the Witless

Sneak Peek of the first 2000 words of Chapter 1

Sam

Sam sighed, feeling exhausted beyond the stinging in his eyes from too many hours of staring at the computer screen. All of it felt so… pointless when every lead they had on Gabriel turned out to be nothing but a dead end. Not even Rowena had been able to find the archangel, and Dean and Cas were on their way back from the latest road to nowhere, which left Sam alone in the company of his laptop and his own misery. He usually embraced the quiet, but right now it was far too loud.

It was impossible to focus when his thoughts kept spiraling back to all sorts of nightmares that their mom and Jack might be going through in that exact second. They were out there, fighting a war in a doomed universe, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. Nothing other than dig through that corner of the internet for anything angelic, with more alien sightings and 'My dog is the reincarnation of Elvis' posts than his sanity could handle right now.

Frustrated, he slid his laptop closed and pushed it away from himself to the other end of the table. He rubbed two fingers over the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt of releasing some tension. The cold wind outside howled along the bunker's outer wall and Sam breathed out a bitter chuckle at the thought that this was the perfect soundtrack to his life. All of this was on him. He'd made the call to return Gabriel's grace, naive enough to believe the archangel would side with them in return. As if Sam's willingness to trust in the good in people hadn't screwed them over enough times already. He—

Someone hammered against the bunker's door with all the urgency of another Apocalypse.

Sam got to his feet and climbed up the stairs with a frown, considering and discarding several possibilities of who he'd find on the other side of that thick layer of metal. Dean wouldn't forget the key, and there was no way Cas would ever knock like this. For an insane moment, Sam conjured the mental image of their mom and Jack being back home, just like that, no questions asked.

When the old hinges finally shrieked open in a gust of dried leaves, what greeted Sam was the sight of windswept red.

"Rowena?" he asked, not even trying to hide his surprise. "I, uh, I didn't expect you so soon after—"

Something on her face let the tiny smile die on his lips before it ever had a chance to exist.

No wisecrack, no flirtation. Not even an insult. This couldn't be good, Sam thought as he took in the wide-eyed look the witch directed his way. She seemed impossibly small wrapped in that long coat, another icy gust of wind pulling at her hair.

After a hurried glance back over her shoulder, she inhaled in the way one did before making grave statements. Sam waited patiently for whatever this was. Then she suddenly seemed to think better of it and simply shoved her way past him into the bunker.

"Sure, come on in," Sam commented sarcastically, lifting one of his hands with a palm upwards that said, 'Not like people in this bunker usually care what I think either.'

He could pinpoint the exact moment she seemed to come to a decision at the bottom of the stairs, squaring her shoulders before turning to look back up at him.

"Samuel," she said and attempted a smile that was nothing but a pale shadow of her usual air of grandiosity. "You see, there I was, enjoying a vanilla foam bath, when I thought to myself… I thought a seasoned witch like yours truly, with such considerable power…"

Her eyes lingered on the still open bunker door and Sam could swear he saw a flash of fear in them that Rowena masked quickly with another bright smile.

Sam narrowed his eyes, allowing the door to fall closed while noting the way Rowena's shoulders sank down in relief as soon as it sealed shut with a bang.

"I thought it was an affront that someone like me," she continued, undeterred. "...would be done in by a wee tracking spell!"

Fine, he'd play. By now Sam was absolutely sure that what she wasn't saying held the real information, so it took him a moment to process what had been said.

"Wait a second," he asked carefully, still not quite sure what to make of any of this. "Does that mean there's still hope to—to track Gabriel? You want to… try again?"

"There's no harm in trying, aye?" she asked, seemingly having recovered from whatever it was she wasn't telling him because the smile reached her eyes again.

"Uh, I mean, sure. And I appreciate you came all this way out here to try again, I do. But…" Sam frowned. "Didn't you say on the phone that Gabriel was too low on grace to give a blip on your radar? Especially without any belonging of his to lock onto?"

"Och, today's a new day! New chances, and all that."

Sam followed Rowena to the map table where she deposited her purse on one of the chairs. He watched as she dug out a crystal ball to place on the table. Only when she started hovering her hands over the glass sphere did Sam notice that she still hadn't taken off her coat or even the long black silken gloves concealing her hands and forearms.

"Ostende mihi illum quem quaero,"¹ Rowena chanted, the Latin easily flowing off her tongue in a way that Sam admired. He still felt awkward sometimes when he needed to pronounce the dead language instead of just reading it silently on a page, unsure if he truly got it right.

The glass ball remained dark.

Sam threw a surprised look Rowena's way, seeing her mutter something under her breath. For a reason he couldn't figure out, she removed only one of her gloves, returning the now uncovered hand to the glass sphere. Then her gloved hand shot out to grasp Sam's, leading it to the opposite side of the crystal ball.

"You've met Gabriel before, I haven't," she stated simply, holding his gaze as she repeated the incantation.

Sam felt a tingling sensation on his palm and the glass sphere flared to life, throwing a purple glow over the map table's North American continent. Rowena hissed suddenly as if in pain and Sam saw her pull the gloved hand back to her body. The purple glow began to flicker and fade.

"Focus, Samuel," Rowena admonished without averting her gaze from the crystal ball, and Sam cleared his throat hastily. He concentrated on the memory of Gabriel on the upper floor of the bunker, eyes glowing and the shadows of wings spread behind him.

The glow inside the glass sphere shifted from purple to blue, but then it died as abruptly as the hope he'd allowed himself to feel for a short moment.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I think your archangel," Rowena said in genuine regret, placing the crystal ball back into her purse, "doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah, that—he, um, he kind of left in a hurry," Sam explained, a miserable smile tugging at one corner of his mouth in the memory of his misjudgment.

Rowena glanced up at the bunker's exit door, then closed her eyes with a quiet sigh while fumbling with the loose glove between her fingers.

Sam decided the time for some truth had come.

"What's with the, um, the gloves?" he asked and saw the hesitation on Rowena's face before the smile that didn't reach her eyes returned.

"Only the finest silk. Imported, of course."

Sam huffed out a breath with an annoyed sidewards glance, pressing his lips together. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"That's—that's not what I meant. But I think you know that." He looked directly into her face, waiting until she finally met his eyes again. "Rowena," he implored softly. "Tell me what's going on?"

She hesitated again, longer this time, before averting her gaze to the table.

"Nothing," she replied in a not very subtle attempt of deflection. "Just that failing a simple tracking spell isn't the best for a witch's reputation."

"Rowena, I thought we'd moved past this," Sam said quietly, surprised at himself that he felt actual hurt over her refusal to tell him the truth. "After everything, do you really trust me so little?"

"You're the only one I trust," she objected instantly, followed by a look of utter shock at her own words.

Sam swallowed through the silence, touched by the visible truthfulness of the admission.

A chuckle suddenly burst out of her. "I must be mad, saying this to the one who's going to kill me. Out of all the people in the world."

His stomach sank at the reminder of that prophecy, the phantom touch of his pistol's trigger still burning on his fingers.

"For what it's worth," he said, clearing his throat another time to get rid of the taste of guilt. "I do not want to kill you. Never have, actually."

The genuine smile playing around Rowena's mouth just confirmed how truly deranged his life was for this to count as a compliment.

He reached for her gloved hand, slowly enough for her to pull away if she wanted. She let him.

"Do you want to know what I felt when you stopped that bullet?" he asked, and Rowena inclined her head in silent question.

"Relief," he stressed, and peeled the glove off her arm. The sight of what he found let the fabric slip from his fingers and sink to the ground. Where before there had been dark silk, he now saw dark-gray skin, dried out like something that had withered a while ago.

"Wh—what…," Sam stammered, unthinking.

"I had nowhere else to go," Rowena stated, the slightest shiver in her voice.

"What happened?"

"This bunker is the safest place I know," she continued, as if that had anything to do with his question.

"Rowena, who did this to you? Was it Lu—"

"Time," she said before he had a chance to finish pronouncing that name, and her smile was at odds with the terrified expression in her eyes. "It seems my past has finally caught up with me."

For the second time within a few minutes, Sam felt his stomach lurch.

"What, how—wait a second, why is this happening now? Your hands were fine two days ago!"

"It appears that the unrest in Hell set free an old enemy of mine. Olivette," she spit out the name with audible disdain. "Calls herself 'High Priestess'. She not only reassembled what's left of the Grand Coven, she somehow found enough fresh blood to bring it back to power. Not quite what it used to be, but enough to—"

Rowena cut herself off, swallowing as she picked up the fallen glove and put it back in place over her arm. She still seemed to be able to move the affected hand, though it looked far less dextrous than her other one.

"They—they ambushed me," she continued in a faraway voice, her gaze glued to her hand. "Those cowards didn't dare to face me in an open fight because they knew I'm the most powerful of them all. So they lay in wait with a curse on the doorstep of my hotel room. Ever since I passed the room's threshold, my body is no longer responding to life magic. And they're still there, cutting me off from all my belongings but the few things I've left in my handbag. I barely got away."

"Rowena, why didn't you say so right away? You can—you can stay here. We got supplies, whatever you need to break this curse."

"Curses are intricate magic. Only their creator knows the balance between the curse and the cure woven into its very fabric. Sam…," she said, and the gravity of the situation started to dawn on him when wetness rose in Rowena's eyes. "Unraveling this, it might take years. It's—it's time I don't have."

"How long do we have to fix this?"

"Judging by the current rate of progression..." She swallowed, then breathed out, "mere days." ¹: Show me whom I want.

#samwena #samwitch #sam x rowena #sam winchester #rowena #rowena macleod #supernatural #spn #amaranthfics

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enchantcdstories · 2 years

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A Sting in the Way You Kiss Me- Chapter 1

Read on A03

Word count: 2323

Tags: [See either the master post for this fic or the a03 page for full tags] Mention at being drugged (she's not), Aether x oc female, I'm just really too tired to write out the full tags here I'm so sorry THEY ARE THERE I PROMISE.

Fic Summary: Brianna Adams dreams of figuring her life out and possibly getting back out into the dating world, even if she is a bit hesitant. Maybe give tinder a try. What she wasn't expecting, however, was to be kidnapped from her apartment one night and bonded for life to a creature from the more darker realms of the universe. Chapter Summary: Brianna has a lot going on in her life, and it’s only going to get worse.

Brianna Adam’s body hurt like hell. It had been a long, exhaustive day full of rude customers and far too much physical labor for working at a department store. She swirled the drink around in her hand for what felt like the fifth time, watching the fruity alcoholic drink slosh around in her glass. Her sister watched her, worried features etched into her face. Brianna seemed to deflate as she took another sip, the cold liquid making her shoulders relax and her back straighten.

“Are you… positive you’re okay?” Isobel was only a few years older than her, but still worried around Brianna like a mother hen. She shared the same hair color as her sister, the same shocking red curls that, on Brianna, fell neatly down her back in a delicate braid. They shared the same brown eyes, the same heavily freckled complexion —people often mistook them for twins on good days.

“Me? Oh, yeah.” Brianna nodded, taking another sip of her drink, and fishing out the cherry from the bottom of her glass with a fork. “Work is just…work. You know how it is, Karens and what not.” She shrugged.

Looking around, Brianna noticed the bar was emptier than usual that night; the only waitress working was leaning against the counter, wiping the same spot as if she was trying to remove a stubborn stain. Isobel shifted in her seat, turning around to see what Brianna was looking at.

“You know why I asked you here tonight, right?” Her tone was soft and almost concerned. Brianna looked at her, setting her drink down and forgetting the cherry. Here we go, she thought. Another sibling-to-sibling lecture about something in her life that she was doing wrong.

“Now what?” Brianna stated, already dreading the answer. Isobel turned to her food, a basket of french fries sitting in a red and white wax paper basket.

“I’m just,” She paused. “You need to get out more. All you do is work and come home and then get ready to go back to work the next morning. You don’t have any sort of…I don’t know, social life? Maybe get back into the dating scene?” Isobel seemed to wince as she scooped up a fry and took a bite.

Brianna internally sighed. There it was. Her dating history hadn’t been extensive, varied yes, but not a long list of possible marriage candidates that really stood out to her. With work being exhausting and having no time outside of it, Brianna took a step back. She didn’t hate being single, she discovered. It was lonely, yes, but dating was work. It wasn’t easy. Brianna didn’t know if she was ready for that just yet. Besides, she thought, this was one of the prime spots in town to meet people, and the place was a ghost town.

“I’m starting to think that...” Brianna paused, looking for the right words. “I’m starting to think that maybe I’m just not…good at it? Maybe it’s just not for me.” She shrugged, turning back to trying to fish the cherry from the bottom of her glass out.

“You haven’t tried in months, though, right?”

Brianna stabbed the cherry and popped it into her mouth, savoring the sweet juice as it flooded her mouth. It was coated in vodka and sickly sweet. She waved the fork around, gesturing to the bar.

“It’s not like I have a lot of options.” She shrugged. “Not exactly a very fish-populated sea, if you know what I mean.” Brianna watched as Isobel shot her a look before turning back to her plate.

“There’s plenty of fish, we’re just right by a shark tank.” She mumbled. Brianna rose an eyebrow.

“Do you care to elaborate?”

“You know, the whole church thing down the street? People are freaked out by it so they…avoid this place.” The church she referred to wasn’t really a church, at least in the normal sense. No one went there for Sunday service, nor did anyone even talk about what kind of church it was. No one went near it or wanted to even acknowledge it was there. It was a clergy of dark proportions, Brianna had heard once, something to do with the dark arts and Satan. It was all rumors, of course, stories passed down from neighbour to neighbour. Rumors that circulated when people started going missing mysteriously. Darlene from down the street insisted that the clergy was kidnapping young adults for their cult, having sworn she saw the Devil himself selecting them by hand. Brianna didn’t buy a word of it.

“Those are just stories you tell around a campfire to scare kids. I’m twenty-five, I’m an adult.” She scoffed.

“It must be a little true. Why else are all those people going missing? There’s been what? Three in the past year?” Isobel looked behind her, as if scared someone was going to be listening to their conversation.

“I don’t know. Kidnappers? Murderers? Realistic things that aren’t evil churches?” Brianna brought her drink to her lips and drained it, feeling the sugar and alcohol burn down her throat in tandem. “You know, this isn’t exactly a great way to get me out into the dating world, if you’re so hyped up on that.”

Isobel looked down and nodded. She reached out a hand and gently put it on Brianna’s shoulder, her older sister look pulling across her face. Brianna hated that. Hated it when she started to mother her. The booze made her head swim a little— the room spinning for just a moment as she wondered just how much vodka was in it to begin with. She was becoming a lightweight now too.

“Look,” Brianna shook her head a bit, squinting her eyes at the dim bar lights before turning her attention to her sister. “How about I just take life one day at a time and if the time is right, I’ll get back out there. Compromise?” She blinked rapidly, her head starting to feel heavy on one side— like it was being almost…directed. Like she was supposed to be looking in one certain direction. How strong was this stuff, she though, staring at the empty glass. Maybe it had something in it? Her sister wouldn’t drug her, surely. She’d believe the church stories more than she’d believe that.

“Before your job kills you would be nice.” Isobel shrugged, though Brianna could barely focus on what her sister was doing. Blinking once more, Brianna slowly reached down for her bag that sat in a heap on the sticky bar floor. It was probably just a combination of her not being able to hold her alcohol and work, she thought.

“I should go.” Brianna said, standing up with a grunt as she put most of her weight on the table. Her sister stood up immediately, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing the bar stools back.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good…if it was the conversation I—” Brianna waved her off, shaking her head. It only seemed to make the looming headache that pulled and tugged at her brain worse.

“No, no, I have uh…. I have a shift tomorrow, can’t be out too late.” She lied. Isobel seemed to suspect it as well. Pulling her bag on her shoulder, Brianna steadied herself long enough to stand up straight, the throbbing in her head making her wince.

“A-alright… I guess, just, text me when you get home?” Her sister dropped her grip from her arm and stood there, watching with concern. Brianna nodded.

“Of course, um, thank you for tonight.” She managed to mumble out, before she made her way to the exit. Home, she thought. Just had to get home.

☠

The further Brianna got away from the bar, the more her headache subsided. It must have been the alcohol, she thought, rubbing at her temples. The air was crisp and cold, a welcome feeling on her clammy skin. She’d have to cross liquor off her diet for the next few weeks, at least until her schedule calmed down. Bummer, she thought. It was nice to relax with a drink or two after a long day.

While the headache slowly ebbed away, a lingering feeling of something…else made her heart race. Someone was following her, watching her, she thought. Every time she tried to turn around, however, no one was there. Brianna walked home quicker, peering over her shoulder as she went.

“I’m losing it.” She mumbled. Pulling her bag tighter to her middle as she picked up her pace. For a moment, she thought her headache was coming back, the pulling feeling rearing its ugly head for just a second more before vanishing just as quickly.

☠

Home was a small apartment, barely able to contain the knick-knacks and clutter that Brianna called her belongings. It was warm and safe, and the most important part— headache free. Laying out her pajamas, Brianna planned her night meticulously. That night would be a self-care night, she decided. Something to treat herself just a bit. Warm, clean pajamas and a hot bath with a lavender bath bomb sounded like more than a rare treat— it sounded like pure luxury.

Everything was laid out and ready to go as Brianna hummed to herself around the apartment. She was just about to strip from her work uniform and lower herself into the steaming bath when a knock echoed through the otherwise silent rooms.

“Oh, come on…” Brianna grumbled. She slipped her shirt back on and marched to the front door, resisting the urge to rip the door open and yell at whoever it was that they were interrupting bath time. Standing on her tiptoes, Brianna peered through the peephole.

Odd, she thought, it wasn’t Halloween anymore.

Two figures, one female and one…well Brianna assumed was male, stood side by side— waiting for her to answer. The female wore a tight, unamused smile on her face as she looked up and down the hallway. She wore a sort of business type suit, something that made her look a little boxy, but professional. The male, on the other hand, wore more of a costume. An all-black looking suit with a chromed silver mask, representing some sort of demon, reflecting in the low lights of the apartment building hallway.

“Hello?” Brianna called through the door, keeping her eyes on them through the hole in the door. The figures seemed to snap to attention, turning to face the door. The man in the silver mask tilted his head in curiosity. Or menace. Brianna wasn’t sure which. The last thing she wanted to deal with after the day she had had was some crazy axe murderers cosplaying from the Purge. The woman’s displeased smile turned to one that was sweeter, though clearly fake for the sake of pleasantries.

“Miss Adams, I presume? I do have the correct address, yes?” Her voice was accented, though Brianna couldn’t pinpoint as to where it was from. Regardless, she didn’t know this woman, nor did she know how this woman knew her.

“Do I know you?” Brianna winced. Of course she doesn’t know her, what kind of question was that? This was how horror movies started, and so far, she was on the right track to being the first victim. The woman’s smile seemed to creep up her face more as she turned to her companion, the man in the silver mask emotionless.

“You do not, dear child, but I know you.”

Brianna pushed herself away from the door, staring at the peep hole as she took a few shaky steps back. Before she had been joking about the horror movie thing, but now? Now this was suddenly real. She patted her pockets for her phone, heart racing and her brain buzzing as she whipped around frantically, searching every available counter space for it. Her room, she realized, socked feet barely able to gain traction as she rummaged around her apartment.

A knock on the door made her look up, eyes wide in fear. She could feel her heart practically knocking back, beating so loud that she couldn’t hear what the woman was calling out to her from the other side of the door. Where was that stupid phone, she screamed inside her head. Maybe she’d stand a chance if she could at least call the cops. Then it hit her, the image of the phone lying on her bedside table just down the hallway.

Racing to the room, Brianna heard a commotion from behind her, her braided hair smacking her in the face as she spun around. A shoulder hitting the door thundered through her apartment, before the door finally groaned and gave way. The nerve of them, Brianna thought. She spun back around, throwing herself inside her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her, moving to the cellphone that was plugged into its charger on the night table. Her fingers fumbled against the screen, shaking hands trying their best to call the police before she met her end. Nine…one—

“They never seem to make it easy, do they?”

The woman’s voice seemed bored and nonchalant, like the task at hand was a chore. Was Brianna’s death going to be that quick? That boring, maybe? Did her life mean that little? She turned around, facing the woman and the silver masked man. This is it, she thought. This is where the horror movie’s opening credits usually start. She’d be credited as ‘women victim 1’ and would be just a plot point to kick things off. How lame it was to be a plot point, Brianna thought.

The woman made a gesture with her hands, something between a mix of a shrug and a direct point, before the silver masked figure moved into action. He nodded and with his hands behind his back, took a step towards Brianna.

Then the world went dark.

#The band ghost #Ghost #Aether ghoul #original female character #nameless ghouls #ongoing #Ghost bc #Ghost band #ghost fanfiction

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buffintruder · 1 year

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for the wip ask game: truer than truth and/or DNG au

Thanks for the ask and for tagging me in the first place. (Referencing this ask game.)

DNG au is the Devil's Nest Gang au which I'm pretty sure I've talked about to you? I don't think I've worked on it any since then hah

It's the au where basically FMA goes differently and the Xing squad never go to Amestris and the Devil's Nest never gets destroyed, but Father and everyone still get defeated. Ling becomes crown prince some other way, but speaks out at the wrong moment against the Emperor or something and flees for his life to Amestris and ends up working at Greed's bar

...I thought I had posted excerpts on tumblr before but the search bar is not giving me results, so no idea if I've shared this part or not

When Ling was sent on yet another run to the butchery, he pondered over a good way to ask if Sig knew about what exactly the Devil's Nest gang got up to without sounding like some kid who had signed up for more than he could handle. By this point, he had developed a bit of a rapport with Sig. Mason was friendly, but their conversations had never gone further than generic niceties, and Ling had only met Izumi once, but she intimidated him. That left Sig as the only person in this entire country who wasn’t a criminal that Ling regularly talked to. He didn’t want to lose that. The butchery already had customers when Ling arrived, a pair of golden-haired men around his age talking to Sig. “—a trip, but she should be back tomorrow,” Sig was saying. The shorter one grumbled, but the taller one said, “Well, we’ll come by again, then.” With that, they turned to leave without buying anything, and Ling realized belatedly that they were probably Sig’s friends, not customers. As they passed, Ling noticed their eyes—both sets a shade of light brown that he had not seen on anyone else before. Perhaps that shade was more common in other parts of Amestris, but Ling had searched for immortality for too long not to be reminded of the tales of the golden-eyed, golden-haired Sage of the West. They were gone before he could think any more on that, and then Sig was looking at him, expectantly waiting for Ling to give his order.

Truer than Truth is a Donbrothers (Super Sentai) fic that was only going to be one part, but then I realized I couldn't fit the romance that I was writing this fic for into the story, so now it has a part 2.

Basically part 1 is centered around Sonoi, a guy from a different dimension of reality, and his journey through the later 2/3rds of the show (plus a bit canon-divergent post canon) as he tries to understand humans and the purpose of art, especially art that isn't realistic. Basically it plays on the idea that stylized art might not be realistic but it touches on emotions in a way that feels realer than reality (the idea came from something a professor I had said when he was talking about Japanese puppet theater)

Part 2 is post-canon (divergently) focused on Momoi Tarou. Canonically, Sonoi is into 'beautiful lies' and metaphors, so I'm trying to write his pov with a lot of figurative language, but Tarou literally dies if he tries to lie, so I'm trying to write his pov with zero metaphors or anything. Which is kind of challenging but fun. Anyway this is just the two of them doing vaguely couple-y things until someone asks them "are you dating or what??" and they're like "oh yeah i guess so."

The most fun part of part 1 is that in between each scene, there's a short section with one truth and one lie that connects thematically to the following scene. Idk how satisfied I am with it yet, but here are the first two:

Here is a lie: Momoi Tarou is like the moon, something that Sonoi can watch with ease. His existence is not harsh, neither life-giving nor deadly, not so direct and blinding as the sun. He merely tugs gently on the sea, constantly changing from night to night. Here is a truth: Sun or moon or something else, there is no celestial body close enough for Sonoi to touch.

Here is a truth: Momoi Tarou is like the sky, impossibly vast and unreachable; and Sonoi is like the sea, forever gazing up, reflecting that same blue. They could both stretch out into eternity and still never touch except for those most tumultuous of storms when cloud and rain reach down and the waves reach up and for one moment they can connect. Here is a lie: Sonoi is content with this.

#my writing

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mosylufanfic · 2 years

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I posted 1,056 times in 2022

That's 183 more posts than 2021!

55 posts created (5%)

1,001 posts reblogged (95%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@andorerso

@her-madjesty

@toooldforthisbutstill

@youareiron-andyouarestrong

@amarguerite

I tagged 1,051 of my posts in 2022

#search your feelings you know it to be queue - 983 posts

#star wars - 485 posts

#cassian andor - 256 posts

#writing - 176 posts

#jyn erso - 159 posts

#fanfiction - 152 posts

#jane austen - 149 posts

#andor - 147 posts

#recs - 146 posts

#rebelcaptain - 133 posts

Longest Tag: 112 characters

#but i do love that they're still themselves and love isn't easy just because you've been doing it for a lifetime

My Top Posts in 2022:

By Any Other Name

Because I’m basically obligated to do a rock star AU at some point, right?

Send me a prompt for Nano!

By Any Other Name

Jyn liked this time of day in the Kyber, the grubby little bar she co-owned with her best friend. Early afternoon was a dip where the hardcore drinkers and the lunch crowd had all cleared out or been cut off, and the after-work crowd wasn't in yet. She used the time to catch up on paperwork and put on her favorite music.

"You like this song?"

The voice came from the end of the bar, where their one customer of the moment was drinking a draft beer and scribbling on what looked like staff paper. A starving songwriter, she concluded, a dime a dozen in LA.

"It's all right," she said, because it had only taken her the first shift as a bartender to realize that some guys would take a statement as innocuous as "this is my favorite song right now" and translate it to "please, take my body at your earliest convenience."

"It's just, you're singing along."

Had she been? Damn. Bodhi referred to her singing voice as the unholy love child of a rusty gate and a cat in heat. "Sorry."

He laughed. "No, it's fine." He had a nice smile, wide and bright, with dimples. Cute.

Also a dime a dozen in LA.

She shrugged and hit the buttons on her laptop to save her most current schedule. "It's catchy," she said. "I guess I do sing along when it comes on the radio."

The song ended and another began, with no deejays jabbering in between. And it was the next song on the artist's newest album.

He raised a brow.

"Fine! The whole album's on my favorite playlist at the moment. It's good. All right? That what you wanted to know?"

He lifted both hands in a peaceable gesture, laughing again. "I’m not trying to interrogate you. That's just my favorite song from the album. The one you were singing along to."

“Yeah? Even though it's not the one that's the big hit or whatever?”

"That one's good too," he acknowledged. "But 'Built on Hope' is just - I like it better."

"Yeah."

He held out a hand. "Joreth."

She shook it briefly. "Liana," she said, giving him the name she went by behind the bar, to deter creepers and scammers.

"Liana, that's pretty. What is that, a flower?"

"It's a sort of vine," she said - also her usual answer. "A strangling vine. It kills trees."

He laughed. "Killed any trees today?"

"Sadly, no, but the day is young."

At the other end of the bar, Bodhi cleared his throat, loudly. She glanced at him, saw he was doing the bottle count, and figured he'd just had a frog in his throat.

"He's playing tonight, you know," Joreth said, pointing upward at the speaker. "Cassian Andor."

"Yeah, I heard. I've got to work. Plus tickets are an arm and a leg."

"Surely no more than a hand."

See the full post

88 notes - Posted November 11, 2022

Hello! I really enjoyed reading some of your fanfics yesterday and I got a prompt for you! Rebelcaptain on a mission, pre relationship but already with feelings for one another, having to kiss to keep up their cover - Maybe just maybe the rest of rogue one has asked draven to send rebelcaptain on a mission as couple as they were getting increasingly frustrated with them. If it's not your thing, don't mind ignoring it and all the best for the rest of nano! you rock!

*skids into the last day of November with a giant donut* DID SOMEONE SAY FAKE DATING

Dating for Beginners

It was Bodhi's idea. Jyn was pretty sure that was the problem right there.

"A date?" she said, baffled. "Me? And Cassian?"

"Not really a date because you're going to be doing - " He fluttered his fingers. "Spy things. Casing the joint. Taking the lay of the land. Tasting the wind."

"We don't say any of those things," Cassian said.

"Okay, whatever you're doing, you need a cover, and that's an easy cover."

"Right," Jyn said, "but I've never really gone on a date. Not a lot of dating going on with the Partisans - " A decent amount of furtive fumbling, but no dates. "And after that, my life didn't lend itself to dating, exactly." She looked over. "Cassian?"

He shrugged. "Closest I ever got to a date as a teenager was climbing over the back wall of my girlfriend's dad's shop and making out with her until he chased me off with a blaster."

Jyn felt her brows shoot practically off her face. Given the guess, she never would have pegged Cassian Andor, of all people, to be the kind of teenager a parent had to chase off with a blaster. More like the boy who turned up at the front door, hair combed, calling his girlfriend's parents "sir" or "ma'am" and promising to treat her respectfully and get her home before her curfew.

Bodhi looked equally befuddled. "I have questions."

"Continue having them," Cassian suggested, going back to reading the mission brief.

Jyn was still stuck on his old girlfriend, and how after he'd gotten her out the door, then there would be making out. Highly disrespectful making out.

Oh shit. She was thinking way too much about Cassian and making out right now. Was she blushing?

"Well, whatever," she said briskly. "It's like Bodhi says. An easy cover. How hard can it be?"

"You could at least hold my hand," Cassian muttered in her ear, and she jumped about a foot.

They were sitting on the tram into the city, hip to hip, dressed like a young couple out on a date. She hoped. What was that supposed to look like, anyway?

He laid his hand on his knee, palm up, as if waiting for her to slot hers into it.

"How about this?" she asked, and picked up his hand instead, using it to swing his whole arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah," he said quietly, after a blink of surprise. "That's - that's good."

"Good," she said. She still held his hand, their fingers woven together. His arm was heavy over her shoulders, but in a solid, grounding way. She found herself settling into his side.

She turned her head to ask him which stop they were getting off at, and found him looking at her already.

His eyes were so dark. She knew that already, but looking at them from this close up, they were so dark. Secrets upon secrets.

She looked away, feeling her face heat. Nice. Very nice. Blushing. That ought to sell the bit. Never mind there was hardly anybody to sell it to on this tram. Good to get the practice in.

A whisper of breath ghosted across her cheek, and she shivered. He murmured, "We'll want to get off at the city center stop."

It probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings. She turned her head as far as she could and murmured back, "Yeah, all right."

He kept his arm around her shoulders, or maybe she kept it there. She didn't know.

They strolled down the street, giggly and touchy, a couple of slightly drunk tourists, swaying every so often. He kept whispering in her ear, setting all her nerve endings alight like burning steel wool.

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111 notes - Posted November 30, 2022

Coping Mechanisms

Who knows if this is how Cassian actually going to cope with his time in prison? But I wrote it anyway.

Send me a prompt for NaNo!

Coping Mechanisms

"Ugggghhhh," Jyn groaned, flapping her shirt over her sweaty stomach. "Are they trying to roast us alive?"

They were going into their third day of this glitch in the transport's environmental systems as they hid out from the Empire after their scrambling departure from Hoth. It wasn't meant to have people living on it for more than a few days. It felt like the jungles of Yavin, but without the green. Everyone was wearing the minimum of clothes for public decency. Fans and portable chillers were at a premium.

"Maintenance is working on it," Cassian murmured absently, swiping through something on his datapad.

"No," she said. "It's clearly an Imperial plot."

He turned amused eyes her way. "Is it?"

"Yeah. There's some Imperial spy in the environmental controls, fucking it up for all of us. Ruining morale." She pointed at him. "You need to hunt them down and push them out the airlock."

"Too hot," he said, using his arm to wipe the sweat away from his hairline. "You do it."

"Too hot," she said, scraping her sweat-sticky hair off her face. "Guess the Empire wins today."

"Ah well."

She flapped her shirt again, then gave in and peeled it all the way off, leaving her in just a pair of Cassian's boxers and her bra. He'd certainly seen her in less. She lay down again, but the blanket was hot against her back. She grumbled and sat up, crossing her legs.

She wiggled her bare toes, then considered Cassian. He was entirely shirtless, also wearing only a pair of boxers, and - "You know, you might be cooler if you weren't wearing shoes. And socks."

He shrugged.

"No, I mean it. The floor's actually a little cool." She put her feet down on the deck, splaying her toes against the metal. "I mean, comparatively. Lots of people are going around barefoot, if they can."

"Foot fungus," he said, absently, swiping through to another page. "Half the troops have it and the other half are going to get it."

She made a face and immediately decided to stop going barefoot in the corridors. "What about in here? It's just us. I don't have foot fungus."

He shrugged again. "I'm fine."

Someone had found the means to construct thin, cheap-looking sandals - plastic soles and twisted fabric straps to hold them on. They made a killing. Jyn had just enough money on her after the sabacc game to buy two sets, one for her and one for Cassian.

They weren't the most comfortable things. To be honest, they were just this side of going barefoot. But they were far better in the heat than shoes and socks.

Cassian said, "Thanks, but my shoes are more secure on the deck."

Baffled, Jyn sold them again, at a fifty percent markup because she wasn't dumb.

Even after the glitch was fixed and the environment returned to normal, Jyn kept noticing how Cassian refused to ever go barefoot, or even close to barefoot.

He wore shoes as much as possible and socks at all times. Changing was a process of kicking off shoes, stripping off the old socks, putting on new ones, and then taking off the rest of his clothes.

He didn't wear them in the shower, but he took them off last and put them on first. He also didn't wear them in bed, but he peeled them off last thing before climbing in, and put them on the moment he sat up.

She'd thought it was a holdover from living on Hoth. There, they'd worn all the layers they could, as much as they could. But once she started really paying attention, she realized this was more than that.

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121 notes - Posted November 13, 2022

Cassian, Andor, and Community

So I want to talk about a Cassian headcanon that I’ve been holding since the movie came out: the romantic, melancholy idea of the solitary spy, who walks alone except for his seven-foot-tall snarkmaster droid friend, until Jyn Erso comes along.

Which I’m starting to think is 100% wrong.

In the first three episodes of Andor, we’ve seen the two communities where he spent his childhood and young adulthood. We’ve also seen that Cassian is unquestionably a part of those communities, not someone standing outside them in lonely solitude.

On Kenari, it’s a tiny band of what seems to be mostly teens and children, living in the forest on a lakeshore. This is a situation where there’s no such thing as a solitary survivalist. You have to depend on each other to survive. Yes, Kassa stops to look at the pit mine where, presumably, his parents and all the other adults died in the mining disaster. Yes, he stays behind to explore the downed ship. So you could go “okay, this is little Kassa striking out on his own as he always will.”

However, if you wind back a little, he doesn’t go off on his own to investigate the downed ship, but instead worms his way into the circle of bigger kids setting off, saying “me too, I’m here too, I’m old enough.” He is trying to establish himself as one of the group that explores when there are older, stronger kids hanging back. And when one of the oldest boys tries to stop him, he waits until the girl in charge steps in for him.

Even while he’s pushing to create a place for himself, he understands clearly how his little society works, who’s in charge, who says go and who says stay. He knows this isn’t his call, not in the place he currently occupies in their power structure.

And he also has a little sister that he takes care of and stops to reassure even as he’s rushing off to join the bigger kids. He isn’t a solitary kid. He’s connected to this community.

Let’s move to Ferrix.

This is a bigger but no less insular community, and he is no longer an skinny boy but a young man firmly rooted among his peers. He knows everybody and has for the past eleven years, and they know him. He knows that Brasso will back him up on the ridiculous, overly-convoluted lie he spins, knows it so well that he doesn’t say, “what if you say this” or “tell them this.” In a piece of glorious writing, he tells the lie as Brasso is going to say it.

When Nurchi tries to intimidate him, he knows exactly the buttons to push (”Vetch? Are you that hard up for money you’re working for this guy?”) to slide out of it without more than an exasperated look from Nurchi. He knows what to say to charm the guard at the shipyard, who is also exasperated (”this is the last time, I mean it”) but how many times has there been a “last time” before?

He knows Bix is like 99% done with his nonsense but there’s still that one percent that means she might be able to find him a buyer. (Of course, he doesn’t seem to know or care that Bix has Rebellion contacts, may even be a Rebel herself, but that’s a meta for another time.)

Again, he understands how the people around him work, and he’s shifted from finding his own place in that structure to using his established place as a base from which lever others.

“But mosy,” you say, “what about the movie? Surely the Cassian we see in the movie is a lonely, lonely spy who trusts and depends on nobody but himself and also his seven-foot-tall snarkmaster droid friend?”

The movie, right, the movie.

I could talk about Tivik, or Jedha, or Draven, and how all those moments and scenes depend on relationships with others. But actually I want to talk about the moment in the Yavin hangar when he turns up with enough manpower to run a mission to Scarif.

Jyn was coming out of the Council meeting, which Cassian either skipped altogether or ducked out of. Allowing for as much arguing back and forth as Jyn probably could have stood for, let’s say a couple of hours.

In that time, Cassian was able to gather up a squad of people who not only have the skills that Jyn needs for the mission to Scarif, but also are of the mindset that would take on a unsanctioned rogue almost-certainly suicide mission. It’s a big base, and it’s not like Cassian could have sent out a space email blast. He had to find all these people quickly and quietly.

Which means he had them in mind already. He knew who was getting frustrated with the Council’s inaction, he knew who had the skills they needed, he knew who would agree to this.

Sure, maybe a few of them tapped a friend. Could be some of them were listening in on the disastrous Council meeting. But most of them came on board because Cassian asked. Because it was Cassian doing the asking.

He’s part of this community too, the community of the Rebellion and of the particularly dirty-handed section of assassins, saboteurs, and spies that he gathers up and presents to Jyn as her squad. And once again, for the last time, he used his place within that community to get what he needed.

Now. This is all based on the movie and on the first three episodes of the show. The rest of this season and next could render all this so much hot air on the internet. But . . .

Don’t you want to be part of something?

Cassian Andor does, and he is.

174 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

5 times Melshi and Cassian talked about Jyn Erso (and one time they didn't have to)

Canon compliant you guys - or at least, it doesn’t directly contradict canon. Whatever you choose to think at the end is up to you.

5 times Melshi and Cassian talked about Jyn Erso (and one time they didn't have to)

1. Before Wobani

Ruescott Melshi was on his way down the hall when a familiar form caught his eye.

"Keef," he called out. "Briefing's this way."

Cassian didn't even roll his eyes at the fake name, the one Melshi had known him by on Narkina 5 and still used to tease him. "Change of plans."

"Is the mission off?"

"No, it's on. We need this woman. But I'm not going."

They'd been planning this breakout for a week now. "What's up?"

"I have to meet one of my contacts. He's getting - squirelly. But I'll send Kay with you."

"All right," he said. Infiltrations and exfiltrations were his specialty. Cassian was coming because he needed the woman for something important. But he'd never been an intrinsic part of the plan. Kay, yes, Cassian not so much, even if they generally came as a matched set. "I'll bring her back. No problem."

"Good. Ah, listen - I've read her arrest records. Don't underestimate her."

"Because she's in Wobani? You and I both know how people end up in places like that. I'm not worried." He considered. "Maybe I am. She might get a look at this face and fall in love with me."

It coaxed a crook of his lips, a huff of a laugh. Cassian had never been a particularly jolly guy. But lately he'd been getting tired, drained-looking. The spark of rage that burned in his eyes was getting dimmer and dimmer.

Melshi had seen the same in his fellow operatives over the years, usually just before they burned out, either quietly or spectacularly. Worry wormed in his stomach as he watched his friend walk away.

2. On the Way Back

Melshi cursed long and fluently as the medic fixed his nose. "Crazy fucking woman."

The crazy fucking woman in question was in restraints at the back of the troop transport. They hadn't planned on it, so they were the decoy restraints that they'd used when stopping the Wobani transport, hastily reprogrammed to actually work. She sneered at him.

"I told you I was getting you out," he said.

"I don't know you," she snapped back. "Why should you do anything for me?"

"Good question," he muttered.

"Melshi," one of his team called out. "Captain on the comm."

Cassian frowned at him through the comm screen. The bruises were probably coming in, dark and nasty, visible even through the bluish distortion of the screen. "Trouble?"

"Yeah, from that nutjob you wanted me to pick up."

Cassian's brows rose.

"She hit me in the face with a shovel."

"I told you not to underestimate her. Did you let her know we were getting her out?"

"Yeah, and then she hit me in the face with a shovel!"

His lips quirked. "I guess you're safe from her falling in love with you."

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179 notes - Posted November 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #your tumblr year in review #today in I am rebelcap trash #love you all #MWAH #search your feelings you know it to be queue

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