#Women Workspace

[raininyourblackeyes]

Literally what's the point of my room if the wifi in it is so bad I can't listen to an online class, can't watch skating competitions, can't even send a fucking message from there

[m00nlight-woman]

I don't know if it's just me, but I think it's weird the amount of women who wear makeup to the gym. I saw a post on reddit the other day, where people were pointing this out (in less than kind ways, to be fair) and the number of women who were like 'well I like makeup in the gym! I feel so empowered and freed by wearing it while working out!' astounded me. Like, I'd understand if you're coming off of work and didn't have time to change, but there are literally so many women who just straight up say 'I don't want to feel ugly, so I put on lipstick and mascara!!'! It's the gym? No one is looking, why are you concerned about how you look? Especially because it messes with your pores when you do? Like you shouldn't go out to someplace like the gym in the mindset of 'how I am without makeup is not good enough for the GYM.' When I brought this up, someone compared it to having matching clothes, which I feel is kind of silly? You need clothes in a gym, and a matching outfit can often just be what you have. You're putting effort into having foundation, mascara, lipstick, eyeliner, or whatever else you use on you!

Like you can say it's empowering and freeing all you want, but if you say in the next sentence how you feel you can't go outside without it, I think that's insecurity and not empowerment.

[writer-and-artist27]

When the oldest coworker I have outside of my boss commented (mid-apology to me) today that most of the people he've worked with from my generation fall into either "totally humble" or "totally think they know everything" to the point of causing drama, I can't deny the claim.

Because at this point in my life, I've encountered the latter category 4 times now. And three of those times were from women my age.

It's those kinds of memories - dealing with bossy attitudes and toxic targeted language because they all thought they knew better than even the supervisors in the room - that makes growing up with the Internet feel like a double-edged sword.

[calltoamentor]

Professions, Authenticity, and The Entitlement to Service

What do teachers, writers, cashiers, and janitors have in common? How we decide which career paths receive dignity and livable conditions, and which ones deserve nothing? Why do we draw those lines?

Daily writing promptWhat profession do you admire most and why?View all responses What are some of the most commonly accepted answers for “What do you want to be when you grow up?” What answers tend to get you the least amount of judgement when you say that this is what you want to dedicate your life to?Firemen, Doctor, Police Officer, Therapist, Social Workers, Teachers.Careers that, on paper,…

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - jealousy

miguel gets jealous possessive after a new intern flirts with you this is part of the same universe as my call oneshot!

Being 2nd in charge of the multiverse is... honestly not that hard for you. It’s mostly just co-leading, and being a secretary. Lyla helps out a bunch, but sometimes, a sassy AI can only do so much. 

Jess informed you of a new intern she recruited. Apparently, he’s having his first day today, which means you’ll probably have to do a quick run-through of things with him later. 

For now, it’s your fated duty to sit with Miguel at his desk so he doesn’t get all pouty later. He starts huffing and puffing when you aren’t near, takes it out on the kids sometimes. 

Thanks to your suggestion, Miguel invested in a nice desk and swivel chair for the office, so now it looks more like an actual workspace instead of a maniac’s plot room. (either way, he his one lmao)

Since Lyla’s gone for the time being, you’re standing up on the office platform, tapping away at a multitude of screens. Miguel lays lazily in the office chair, swiveled up behind you to rub his face into your upper back, as well as run his hands along your tummy. 

“Hun, you gotta let go. I needa tour the intern.” You mutter, closing in on an ID photo of the recruit.

“No.“

“Well, if I don’t do it, then who will?“ You ask. 

“Jess.“

“She’s busy on her break. Pregnant women need breaks, you know.“

“Ugh. I don’t want you to leave.“ He whines. squeezing you tighter. 

You start squirming out of his grip, pulling his pinky off of your stomach. Inching away, you push Miguel away by his head. Reluctantly, he starts letting you go, lazily running his hands onto the skin of your hips and lower thighs before letting go. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby.“ You say, scuffing up his hair with your palm. Gracefully, you leap down from the platform, somersaulting onto the floor and skating out the exit. You hop over a few stray cardboard boxes. 

Miguel watches you stroll away, and fixes his hair back into place. 

Lyla magically appears, phasing in and out with a different sly look each time. She snickers, flickering all around Miguel’s head. 

“Whipped.“

“Shut the fuck up.“

. . .

Miguel’s blood starts to boil as soon as you roll in with that stupid, bastard of an intern. He’s too close to you for comfort, so close to his arm nudging yours... Miguel’s teeth start to clench, his fangs close to drawing blood from his mouth. He’s paying too much attention to you, there’s a vibe he gets that he hates to his core. 

Everything about him is aggravating; the blonde hair, the snarky smirk, all of it.  

“...and this is Miguel’s office!“ You say, gesturing your hand to the majority of the area. 

“Sweet, nice to meet the bossman.“

Bossman, his ass. Miguel would only ever let you call him bossman. 

“Miguel! Come down!“ You yell, and his heart warms in his chest. He turns around from his standing form on the office platform, eyeing the intern in order to scare him a bit. 

“Hey, what’s up man! Glad to finally meet the man behind the slaughter!“ The intern exclaims, his hands rested on his hips. 

Miguel fights every urge to both roll his eyes and tackle the recruit, keeping a somewhat straight face on. He chuckles a little, not a single trace of a smile on his face. 

“Heh, yeah? Excited to meet the bossman?“ Miguel taunts, but it looks like the intern can’t tell he is. 

“Heck yeah dude! Where do I start?“

Miguel starts nodding a little, plastering on a face smile, chuckling a bit...

Before he throws the entire office chair at the recruit. Not to hit you, though. He’d never, ever hit you. 

Instantly, the intern turns away, shielding his body with his hands. In the nick of time, though, you latch your webbing onto the chair, slinging it away to side before it could harm anyone. You cross your arms. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry about tha- MIGUEL!“ You scream. 

And he throws a literal file cabinet at the man. Again, you latch it out of way without problem. 

“What th'heck, man?! What’s your fuckin’ problem?!“ The intern yells, spreading his arms out. 

“My fuckin’ problem is you nagging my wife!“ He roars. 

“Wait a sec- she’s your wife?“

Miguel then  leaps down from the platform, chin held up high in a sinister glare. Slowly, he steps over towards the both of you, fixing his eyes on the intern the entire time. 

Miguel’s tall, really tall compared to the newbie. He pokes his finger to the recruit, leaning in real close. 

“Stay at least 5 feet away from my wife at all times.“ Miguel utters, and you kinda feel bad for the new guy. 

You cross your arms. “C’mon, Miguel. He’s literally new, take it easy on him!” You say back, and Miguel pouts, whines. Possessively, he reaches over to you, pulling in you in by the hip to try to soothe you. It doesn’t work, and you present yourself from giving into his needy touches.  

And then, you turn around back to the newbie. “Gosh, I’m so sorry about that! He’s usually not like this-”

“Man, fuck this.“ The intern exclaims, taking a few steps back in agitation. “Take me back home, I ain’t dealin’ with this shit!“

He storms off, kicking a stray cardboard box on the way out. 

“Aw, crap.“

“Finally.“

You swerve back around, hands on your hips. “Miguel, that was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was! He was smothering all over you!“ He yells, throwing his hands up in the air like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

“Well, now thanks to you, we lost a recruit.“

“One of literally thousands!“

“And now, there’s papers everywhere on the floor!“

“Shhh, honey, I’ll clean it up later.“

Ignoring your frown, Miguel finally pulls you into him, pressing your lower back into his own with a nose into your hair.

“I saw the way he put his arm around you. He was flirting with you too. Hated it.“ Miguel utters. 

“When?“ You ask.

“On the surveillance.“ He says, and you sigh. He’s right, the guy was flirting with you for a bit, but you chose to ignore it so you could get over with the tour faster. 

“Eh, he gave me the heebie jeebies from the beginning.“ You say, and Miguel automatically squeezes you tighter into him, a deep grumble bellowing from his inner throat.

“I’m never letting you tour anyone ever again.“ Miguel admits.

“After that? Go ahead.“ You scoff, and finally, he sighs in relief. 

He tries drags you back to the office platform again, but then forgets that he threw the chair, grumbling in regret. Instead, he just hovers behind you for the rest of the day, occasionally pressing a smooch to your head. 

[singdrossel]

In Krankheit und Gesundheit

Heute ist Dienstag. Seit einer Woche und zwei Tagen sitze ich krank zu hause. Drei Krankmeldungen sind in dieser Zeit bei meinem Arbeitgeber gelandet, da ich immer wieder gehofft hatte, dass es mir besser gehen wuerde. Die dritte reichte ich am Donnerstag ein. Die Reaktion war schwierig, wenngleich Ausbilder einen Pluspunkt bekommt, da er zumindest nicht gefragt hat, was ich denn haette. Denn reinrechtlich darf er das gar nicht.(!) Und man kennt es ja meist nicht anders. Ich zumindest nicht: Die meisten Arbeitgeber:innen fragen nach dem Grund der Krankmeldung, denn eventuell koennte man ja doch noch arbeiten, weil es gar nicht so schlimm sei und schließlich werde man ja gebraucht! Was machen Arbeitgeber:innen nur ohne uns ?! -offensichtlich untergehen. Naja ich war ja vorhin noch gar nicht richtig fertig. Ich bin im zweiten Jahr meiner Ausbildung zur Restaurantfachfrau. Erst Anfang April habe ich den Betrieb gewechselt. Mein Ausbilder fragte mich nach der dritten Krankmeldung, ob ich mich denn wirklich nicht in der Lage saehe, zu arbeiten.... eh.. nein? Wuerde ich mich sonst krank melden? Und dann schonwieder diese versteckte Unterstellung oder dieses Infragestellen dieser...Entscheidung? Da fehlt mir gerade das Wort aber Entscheidung ist definitiv das falsche. Denn wo entscheide ich mich denn dazu krank zu sein ? Wir sind nicht dafuer verantwortlich, wenn der Betrieb fuer nen paar Tage untergeht. Die zweite Krankmeldung ging letzten Dienstag ein und da kam das erste Mal der Gedanke auf: Scheiße, jetzt sind die unterbesetzt. Und ich kann doch nicht gleich am Anfang schon so 'lange' fehlen. Dann schreibt mir eine Arbeitskollegin/Freundin, fragt wo ich sei: 'Ja, eh ich bin krank', "Ja scheiße ich auch", 'Bist du arbeiten?', "Ja, weil du schon fehlst und wenn ich auch, dann wuerden schon zwei fehlen." ... noch mehr Druck. Ich weiß, dass die Kolleg:innen fragen und sagen 'Wenn ich krank bin, gehe ich auch arbeiten.' Ja.. und jetzt findet den Fehler..

(Ok, ich komm zur Arbeit und kotz den Gaesten auf den Teller - sorry.. konnt's mir nicht verkneifen)

[finemate]

Welcome to Finemate Consultants

FINEMATE Consultants effective & timely implementation of N.G.O./ Business projects, registration and certification through detailed assessment of work quantum, meticulous planning...

https://finemateconsultants.com/

[witchhatexchange]

Hello! I am happy to announce that Donation Period is now open! It will stay open until June 1st midnight EST.

(see here for charities)

this is how it works!

1. donate $5 USD (or equivalent in your currency)

2. submit the proof

3. fill the form!

here is the form:

places you can donate to:

care for gaza

palestine children’s relief fund

life for gaza

direct aid for gaza

https://www.gofundme.com/f/Children-Gaza-women

anera

for gofundme you can pick any gfm you want however if you are struggling with it there is a website that does the choosing for you!

[pynkgothicka]

Ｂｅａｓｔ Ｍｉｇｕｅｌ ｏ＇Ｈａｒａ

Synopsis - After you sister leaves you to hang with your boss, both his and your lives becoming a waking nightmare

Pairing - Yandere! Miguel o’Hara x Fem! Reader

Featuring - Jessica Drew but the black version cause I luv black women

Tags and Warnings - Stalking, Kidnapping, Violence towards reader

Authors Note - I LUV HIM SM MY GOD. I HADDD TO WRITE SOMETHING. Also I believe this contains slight spoilers??? I think???

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

“Jess! Are you sure it's okay that I'm here? I'm not really spider-like.” You followed behind your sister, her afro swinging as she walked. You fiddled with the band she gave you in order to keep you from glitching out.

It was all so casual, and almost everyone greeted her. The architecture was other worldy, almost only to benefit the inhabitants. Speaking of, there was many, too many to count. 2D, 3D, Male, Female, Pigs, Horses, Cats, almost anything imaginable.

While you looked at it all in amazement, they all looked at you, and gave you dirty and worried looks. At least thats what it looked like under their masks.

“Oh Miguel won't like this…”

“I didn't know they allowed just anyone up here?”

“I mean Peter B brings his daughter so I guess it's a pass."

“I just know Miguel doesn't like anything new. He might bare his fangs or something. You know that guy and sacre tactics.”

You shuddered at the way they spoke of this Miguel guy. But you kept following behind Jessica until she came to a huge hatch, in which opened up on her walking up.

“Miguel!”

“What do you need Jessica, aren't you supposed to be on a mission?”

“I do, but I need you to do a favor!” Jessica yelled, shoving your shoulder to push you ahead. “My sister is visiting from college in my dimension. I need someone to watch over her and I trust you'll do that without letting her get hurt.”

You finally looked up seeing a sharp jawed man looking down at you. His spider suit glew a dark blue with bright red highlights. His brown hair was pushed back, framing his face perfectly. Not only that, but he was huge, built like a giant.

He came down from his workspace, now closer to you than ever. His chest was too your face and you had to look up too look at him. He seemingly almost over analyzed you, eyes trialing up and down your form. “Fine. Just go handle the situation.”

Jessica raised a brow and crossed her arms. “Fine? Just fine? You usually aren't just okay with this type of stuff. You sur-”

“Your questioning my decisions?” Miguel said his stature becoming stiff, seemingly fed up with her constant questioning.

“No… just wondering. Don't have too much fun you two.” Jessica said giving you a small hug before walking off. As the hatch door closed, Miguel's hand went to your back, ushering you to walk with him.

“I'll give you a chair so you can stay within my sight. I don't want to lose you.” You nodded, watching as he turned away from you, going back to his work. A chair was pushed your direction, and when you finally got to sitting down the cushioned seat almost swallowed you whole. You could take a nap if you wanted too, it was just that comfortable. And you almost did, until you were pulled from your rest with a deep voice.

“Did she tell you, or did you piece it together?”

“Huh?"

“Jessica. Did you just figure out she was Spider-Woman?”

Miguel's hands just kept working, his focus divided between talking to you and his work. “To be honest, I just figured it out. When I asked her if what I thought was true, she just seemed relieved and told me everything.”

Miguel seemed surprised at this making a strange humming noise. “You two must be very close huh?”

“Yeah. I wouldn't trade the world for the bond me and her share. I'm glad she trusted me enough to tell me about that side of her life. From what she told me, Spiderman doesn't usually tell people about what he does. It's refreshing you know… I'm sorry am I rambling too much?”

“No. Your fine, I'm actually enjoying the company. I'm in here by myself most of the time. It's nice to hear another voice.” You gave him a small smile in which he returned, smirking at you. He stopped working and his screens switched off. “What do you do for fun?”

“Me? Fun? Uhh I don't know. I'm a college student with just about 0 connections. I guess reading?” You finally chased for a reply.

“LYLA get someone to bring me a book from the library. Hell bring two.” Miguel said, finally an AI woman popping up. She teased him a bit before finally having someone bring you two books. Miguel then sat down next too you beginning to open one of the books he brought.

“Your willing to read with me?”

“Yeah. I need to get my mind off of things anyway.”

🩸

Once Jessica had picked you up, Miguel felt weird. He knew you were attractive. Like very attractive. But that wasn't normal for him. He usually didn't see attraction in people.

Something else he also knew was that when he was around you he felt comfortable. He had no worries and you took them all away. It was a feeling he could only recall when he was with his “daughter.” He'd let you snuggle up close too him, physical touch being something he hadn't felt in a while.

“LYLA. I need you to pull any information on Jessica Drew's sister. It can be from any dimension, I just need to know everything.” Miguel basically ordered the ai. She popped up in front of him, with that same smug look she always gave when questioning his any of his decisions.

“Why would you need that?! It's not like she's ever going to get bitten by a radioactive spider.” LYLA said bringing up a huge collection of information she'd found on you in a heartbeat. “But hey I'll indulge this. Let's see, she's almost always college student, future looks like a journalist, ooh she's judgemental! And just about always single. Seems like her connection to Jessica Drew is always the sisterly role.”

Miguel fell more and more in love the more LYLA talked. “Send all that too my computer.”

“Gotcha! Hopefully this will help you.” LYLA said dissipating away. Miguel stared at the picture of you on one of the screens.

He had to have you. At any means necessary.

🩸

You'd finally saved up for a apartment to where you could stay without the need for dorm mates.

Being a journalism major meant you needed all the focus you could get. And you couldn't find that when around all those people. So you left.

Usually you wrote uplifting pieces for your sister as her and the press don't usually get along well. Even though your pretty sure she knows you wrote majority of her good stories, you also know she'd smile seeing that people appreciated her work.

As you were turned around and began slicing open a box to unpack in your room, a voice boomed from your window. “Hi sweetheart.” From across your room stood a towering Miguel o’Hara. He crawled his way into your room, shutting the window behind him.

“Umm hi Miguel. Are you looking for Jess? She's not here i-” Miguel cut you off.

“I'm not looking for her. I was actually looking for you. I came to talk to you about something.” Miguel started moving closer, slowly stepping towards you. He ducked past your light fixture, finally truly Intimidating you. Something about the way he was coming towards you frightened you. His size almost made it worse.

“Oh. Well of course. You can talk to me about anything.” You trailed off putting your knife to the side, giving Miguel your undivided attention

“I want you to come live with me. At the headquarters. No one has to know. Not even your sister.” He said causally. He was right on you, making you trip and buckle to fall on your bed. You looked up at him, pushing yourself further into the bed.

“That's, crazy Miguel. I can't that, I'm a college student! I don't even know you enough for that!”

"But I know you. I've studied you. Every possibility of you. I know more about you than you know yourself!" You let out a small gasp. This man had been essentially stalking you.

"Miguel. That makes it even worse, the last answer is no. And.... And I need you to go."

“You just don't get it do you?” Miguel's hand hit the wall, claws digging and dragging in the drywall. “I don't think you understand I'm not asking you to do anything. This is me telling you.”

And with that you kicked against him, trying to immobile him at any means possible. You had to find Jessica.

But he grabbed your wrist, trying to drag you to your window. He hoisted you up to his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“Let go! Let go of me, Jess! Jess please!!” You began to scream out for your sister seeing if maybe, just maybe she was around to help you.

But she wasn't.

No one was.

You started to beat on Miguel's back. He was now out of your window and climbing up the side of your apartment, heading to the roof. “You better stop fighting, this is destiny. Our destiny.” When he finally made it to the roof he put you down and a hexagonal portal appeared as he messed around with his arm band. You began to heave on impact with the hot concrete. Miguel then turned back towards you, watching in amusement as you dragged yourself slowly to get away from him.

“What are you doing?!” Miguel's head snapped as he stared at LYLA who now stood in front of him at full height. “Your pulling the exact same thing you tried before this, before you made the society! Made me!”

"You don't understand. You will never understand."

"I understand more than you will ever know. You need to stop. And you need to stop now!"

You took this as a opening to crawl your way to the nearest side of the building. You could hear Miguel snarl and yell at Layla. But you tried to pay no mind to that as you looked down over the right edge of the building. You saw a metal of the top apartments stairway.

Fuck this would hurt.

Your body hit the metal with a loud bang, the adrenaline wore off as you finally felt all the bruises and gashes you gotten. “Fuck, my god. Jess… Spider-Woman! Plea-” You felt a hand on the back of your neck. Claws dug in to the front, slightly nicking at your neck.

“Where are you going?”

Miguel picked up your body like you weighed nothing. He then carried and slammed you against the nearby wall. When trying to move your hand to tap on the glass pane, Miguel's other hand grabbed at your wrist, immobilizing you. “Miguel please don't do this! Jessica, she's going to look for me I know it jus-”

“Shh My Love… this won't hurt a bit.” Miguel barred his fangs at you opening wide and moving to your neck. And before you could protest he bit deep into it, venom seeping into your veins. You felt woozy, and realized you couldn't move an inch. Just how he wanted you.

“It's all going to be okay Mi Vida. I know exactly what you need... A family. And not just any family. A family with me."

[jexnkookie]

The Law of Attraction (Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader) [Part 2]

Story Synopsis: Throughout his life, Jung Kook has only ever loved one girl. Despite her being out of his league and of an elite class that he wasn't born into, he fell hard, keeping his feelings a closely guarded secret. When they parted ways, and Jung Kook pursued his law career, he did so with the intent of moving on. But when she unexpectedly arrives back into his life, Jung Kook finds himself once again face to face with his own insecurities, and the girl of his dreams.

Story Rating: M (18+) [Language, sex, depression, alcoholism]

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Characters/Pairings: Lawyer! Jung Kook x Reader (feat. Jimin x Reader)

Chapter Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: The second part! Thank you all so much for your really kind words, I've been excited to write this which has been so nice because I haven't been excited to write in a while. No spoiler, but this part is a bit of a flash back, and a bit of depth into Y/N and Jimin's dynamic, so I hope you enjoy!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

You sat in the back of the lecture room, with tears clouding your vision, unable to see the presentation or the professor. He was teaching in an animated tone and expressive way, and you knew that you should be taking notes for your next exam, but you were too distracted. Your chest was aching, still freshly heartbroken and embarrassed from being stood up on a date the night before. 

Kai, a business student and an athlete who you’ve had a crush on for a couple months, decided to ask you out. Excitedly, you went to the restaurant to meet him, but after hours of waiting, he was nowhere to be found. Your waitress was empathetic towards your situation, and had a fresh plate of food packaged to-go sent your way before you left. While you were thankful, you also couldn’t help but feel humiliated by the whole thing. You went back to your apartment, and hadn’t stopped crying since. 

You excused yourself from where you sat in the classroom, and exited into the hallway. Walking down to the women’s restroom, you saw Jung Kook, the quiet, handsome pre-law student who always sat next to you, grabbing a snack from the vending machine nearby. After bending down to pick up the protein bar, he straightened up to meet your gaze. He smiled and waved shyly, before noticing a tear slip down your cheek, dropping his lips into frown. You knowingly offered a half-smile in response, cheeks red from embarrassment, before murmuring a quick “sorry” and rushing to the restroom. As you walked quickly and disappeared behind the bathroom door, Jung Kook’s eyes followed you and his heart ached at seeing you cry.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror and collected yourself, sniffling into a cheap tissue. Repeating to yourself that it’s ok, and that there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you were able to steady your breathing and slow your beating heart.You cursed yourself for being so sensitive, allowing a boy you’ve only had a crush on for just a bit to make you so sad. Forever the romantic, you always jumped in head first with blind optimism, often leading to hurt feelings. But its made you strong and resilient, something that you saw in the mirror as you picked yourself back up, and headed back to class. 

Jung Kook had already returned to the room, sitting in the seat next to yours. You joined him, noticing how he didn’t glance over when you sat back down. You were thankful that he didn’t draw attention to you, despite knowing that he saw your tears. When you looked down at workspace in front of you to open your MacBook to begin taking notes, you paused when you saw a neatly placed chocolate bar waiting for you on top of your computer that hadn’t been there when you left. 

Your glanced over at Jung Kook, who was staring straight ahead at the professor and bouncing his leg anxiously, avoiding your gaze. You smiled gently and leaned over, close enough so he could hear you whisper, “Thank you. That was really sweet of you, Jung Kook.” 

Jung Kook just nodded his head as he felt his cheeks go pink hearing your voice say his name. He kept his attention up front, but unmistakably heard you unwrapping the candy bar. Then, a few seconds later, your perfectly manicured hand was holding a few pieces in his direction, waiting for him to respond. 

“Take some.” You whispered, leaning in close to him again. “Let’s share it.” 

“Th-Thank you…” Jung Kook whispered back, taking the pieces from your hand. His fingers grazed your soft skin, and he held his breath at the slightest touch. 

He smiled softly as you ate the rest, feeling content with himself. You liked it, he thought to himself. Although he internally patted himself on the back for making you a little happier when you were sad, he secretly wished he could’ve done more. 

As Jung Kook waited on his dinner to finish cooking in his small apartment kitchen, listening to the sound of bustling city traffic just outside his window, he thought back to that moment. The innocence of it all was still so vivid, despite several years passing. There were many innocent moments like that which he could recall. A mental collection of sorts, boxed up and stored in his memories like film reels that he could hit play on at any time and relive them. Those times were his small way of taking care of you from a distance back then. 

He sadly knew, every time he would do something like that, it would never be quite enough. In his eyes, you deserved a man who could do more than buy you a chocolate bar when you were sad. You deserved a man who could give you the world, and then some. He understood he would never, and could never, be that man for you. 

But, as he watched Jimin lead you out of his office building, it seemed you had found a man who could. Park Jimin. A man from your world, who can provide for you in the ways Jung Kook knew he lacked. Even if he were to somehow win your heart all those years ago, your family would never approve of a working class man like himself. Now, that he’s able to have an excellent income of his own, you’re already spoken for. It was unfair, but that’s just the way the world always seems to work. 

Jung Kook has always been a hard worker. What he lacked in resources, he made up for in practice, high energy, luck, and learning. He took on several jobs, putting himself through undergraduate and graduate school, then on to landing a mentorship with the distinguished lawyer Kim Namjoon, who brought him to his current position. It’s an underdog story, where the boy from the poorer side of town is now a lawyer for wealthy clients, working quickly towards becoming wealthy himself. 

Only this wasn’t his ideal underdog story, because in those stories, the underdog gets the girl. His girl had already been won. Seeing you with Jimin made Jung Kook sick to his stomach in sadness, much worse than when he used to see you with Kai, or another boy on campus. 

With you, being a beautiful, kind girl, and from a good family, Jung Kook has always been far from the only man who wanted your time. But he always held on to a glimmer of hope that somehow, it would be him. Someday, it would work. But now, he just feels defeated. 

He felt guilty about dismissing Namjoon’s concerns, as well. He knew it wasn’t professional, but in the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to deal with any questions. The air was thick and heavy in the office, and Jung Kook felt that the room was spinning. He needed to leave, to be able to breathe and think clearly. But now that he can, his mind is filled with you, you, you. How, after everything he’s been through trying to forget you, could he possibly focus on anything else? 

He knew what he needed to do. Pulling out his iPhone, he opened up a new chat to Namjoon. 

11:12 p.m. - Hey, it’s Jung Kook. I know it’s late, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior today at our meeting. I also wanted to voluntarily recuse myself from the Park Jimin case, and I can explain more if I need to on Monday. Thanks. 

——————————————————————————————————

Jimin’s favorite part of making love to you, are the sweet sounds you make. The hotel bed squeaked loudly with each thrust, as Jimin took you from behind, his hands gripping your waist. Your head was thrown into a pillow, in an attempt to muffle your cries, whimpers and whines, and your hands were tightly holding onto the soft sheets. You kept you legs spread and back arched for him, letting your fiancé take you as he wanted. 

Each deep stroke was an attempt at an escape. For Jimin, these last few months have been stressful. Taking over his father’s business, getting engaged, and the case against him have piled up on his shoulders, leaving him struggling to breathe. But there’s been a hint of something else, just bubbling under the surface, that only Jimin can see. Looking at the ring on your finger, as you white knuckle the bed sheets, this something looks right back at him. 

An engagement ring is meant to be chosen thoughtfully, reflecting well the person who wears it. But this ring is nothing like you; modest, simple, honest, and pure. Instead, it’s gaudy, expensive, and over the top, just like everything else in Jimin’s life. He is sometimes able to see his reflection in its shine, and staring back at him is a hypocrite and a fraud. Everything about this piece of jewelry reminds him of himself, and he hates it. 

So, he runs from it; runs from himself, from his father’s gnawing expectations, and towards the only thing that’s ever made sense in his life. You. The beautiful woman he met one cool autumn evening at a charity fundraiser event that both of your families were invited to. The woman he snuck off with, and asked to kiss in private before the night was over. The woman his father approved of, and whose family he had to practically beg to receive their blessing. 

The woman who, despite the concerns of others, agreed to marry him as he bent down on one knee, one cozy night at a getaway cabin. That ring now taunts him, and reminds him of everything he pretends to be, but he’ll never truly live up to. .

“J-Jimin….” You whined, pulling him away from his thoughts, as you were clearly lost in the moment. “S’good…” 

Jimin reached under you, between your thighs, and began slowly circling your sensitive clit. You whimpered in response, growing louder as the pleasure builds. He desperately needed this; not just a release for himself, but to feel and hear how he makes you feel. A validation, of sorts, that he was doing something right. 

“Jimin… Fuck….” 

“Shhhhh, just relax, baby.” Jimin said softly, continuing to penetrate deep as his fingers rubbed your sensitive area. “Gonna make you feel good, yeah? Want you to cum for me… Just for me, baby… Let go…” 

You whined, the pleasure continuing to build for several moments, until you hit the breaking point. You cried into the pillow, your legs shaking, and Jimin worked you through your high. 

“Fuck, baby…” Jimin groaned, picking up his pace as his thrusts grow sloppier. “Not gonna last… About to… Cum… Oh, fuck-” 

He pulls out, letting himself spill on your skin. You both steadied your breathing, and Jimin quickly wiped you off and gave a soft nibble to your skin, making you giggle. 

“C’mere.” He mumbled as he laid on his back, pulling your naked body close to his. His smile was warm, clearly coming off his high, as he placed a soft kiss to the top of head. 

“I love you.” You say, your voice soft and tired. 

“I love you, too.” 

“You know…” You began, your tone trailing as you find the words. “You don’t have to do that, honey.” 

“I know. I’m sorry, I should’ve.”

“It’s just… I’m on the pill, and I wanna feel closer to you.” 

“I know, baby. Maybe next time, ok?” 

“Ok.” You sighed quietly. 

“Did you not enjoy it?” You could hear the sadness in his voice. 

“I did.” You said quickly, reassuring him. “Absolutely. It isn’t that, honey. I just wish that, at the end… I could feel you, you know? Maybe I’m being stupid-” 

“Hey, you’re not stupid.” Jimin said, cutting off your thought. “Next time, we’ll do that, ok? I want to be closer to you, too, my love.” 

Jimin hoped you couldn’t hear the way his heart raced as he said those words. Closer to you. It amazed him how easily he could lie to you. Finishing inside of you would feel so intimate, far more than what he’s ever been able to handle. But how could he have these vulnerable conversations with you, the woman he adores, without hurting you? 

“Ok.” You said, and Jimin could tell by your voice you were drifting to sleep. 

“Baby, can I ask you a question?”

“Always. What is it?” 

“Do you like your engagement ring?” 

“Of course.” You smiled, thinking about that night. “It reminds me of you.” 

His heart sank. The reason you liked your ring, is for the same reason it mocked him. You confirmed, unknowingly and sweetly, the irony of what should’ve been a reflection of his love for you. It seems apparent to him that this ring, like much else in his life, is a reflection of the love he has of himself. 

As you drifted off to sleep, Jimin snuck away from the bedroom. The guilt of leaving you alone after he had just made love to you was small, compared to the guilt of ordering alcohol to the hotel suite. Jimin drank, one glass after another, for the better part of the night. 

The engagement, the case, the business, the high expectations, the self loathing, and the imposter syndrome. They all seemed to melt away with the smooth sip of each drink. Slowly, Jimin’s vision turned from blurry to black as he collapsed in a deep, drowsy sleep onto the couch. 

[manikas-whims]

how Xavier from Love and Deepspace will react when he finds out you're on your period..

Xavier realizes its the first time you haven't arrived at work on time. It concerns him deeply and he decides to call you on the phone.

You pick up the phone from the nightstand, receive the call and speak groggily due to the ache in your limbs.

“Xa..vier? What is it?”

On the other end, his eyes narrow in concern. “You don’t sound alright.”

“Ohhh its just..my stomach and thighs ache.. especially thighs..” Your eyes are watery as you speak. All this ache is making it harder for you to even have a simple phone conversation.

“But I'm okay..its just that time of the month, you know!” You attempt to make your best imitation of a chuckle to ensure everything is good.

Yet the line has already been disconnected.

At the workspace, Jenna watches Xavier already pulling on his white leather jacket and running out of the building.

[minutes later]

You hear your phone buzz again. Without even bothering to check the caller ID, you answer it with slight annoyance. “Who’s speaking!?”

The voice on the other end is familiar and calm as ever. Not reacting negatively to your words, Xavier says. “It’s me. I'm here at your place. Do you think you can open the door?”

You know he's only trying to be kind but you grumble anyways. You can't help it. “Xavier I’m not that weak! No girl is!”

You don't bother changing clothes and remain in your oversized shirt as it's more comfortable that way. And with little difficulty and a lot of ache in your body, you open the door to prove your point, staring up at him with your weary eyes.

He simply shuts the door as he walks in and hands you a package. “I bought some pads, and heat packs for your belly. Just in case you needed extra.”

You blink slowly, all the rage ignited by your period slowly fading in the face of his honesty.

“Come on, ” He beckons, heading upstairs towards your bedroom. “Or would you prefer I carry you?”

Mortified at the idea of being treated like a little girl, you stomp after him back to your room.

There, he guides you to lay down and sits at the edge of the bed, by your legs.

“Rest. I’ll be here for you. Always.”

Usually you would've tried teasing him but you don't wanna strain your body by speaking anymore. So you simply give in to the tempting softness of the mattress and close your eyes.

A moment later, you feel something glide along your leg, all the way up to your thigh before gently yet firmly grasping it.

Your face heats up, flushing a light shade of pink as you realize they're fingers. The same long fingers which you've seen Xavier wrap around his sword during your missions together.

Now for some reason, those very same fingers are holding your thigh. You feel the muscles in your leg tensing. So does he, and looks at you.

“Xavier you— what are you doing?” You squeak out, a hand over your eyes cause its just too embarrassing to look directly at him.

His hand doesn't even budge. “I’ve heard that during menses, women's thighs ache a lot. I was just trying to give yours’ a massage.”

Then he raises a brow, a lopsided smile curving upon his lips. “What did you think I was up to?”

“Ehhh!!” You shake your head, far more embarrassed now (if that was even possible).

“Nothing! I was just shocked when you suddenly touched me.”

He nods in understanding. “Pardon me for not asking permission before touching you.”

Now you shake your head even more, the aching muscles completely forgotten due to how embarrassed you feel for even daring to imagine something naughty at such a time.

“It's okay.” You mumble softly. “And I’m sorry for getting mad at you.”

He responds with a proper smile.

Then, his fingers begin pressing into your thigh, gently massaging along the entire leg.

“Now rest.” He commands and you close your eyes for there's no reason to deny his aid. You feel the tense muscles in your legs gradually relaxing, his care lulling you into a state of slumber.

And just as you feel sleep blessing your form, you mumble. “Xavier?”

“Mm?” He replies.

“Thanks for this. And for coming to see me.”

“No problem.”

Its been a while since I wrote any Character x Reader HCs so please bear with my errors. i love feedback so don't hesitate!

AND THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

Rafayel and Zayne version coming soon!

» MASTERLIST «

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Stede Bonnet and the Subversive Shirt

In season one, despite the colours, lace, and detailing, Stede’s dress is mostly conformist in cut and style. His shirts are high-buttoned, cravated, and do not show much flesh below his chin. Coupled with the pantaloon and waistcoat, Stede’s wearing the clothes of traditional masculine presentation of his era.

There are times Stede’s clothing becomes less formal. During the sword practice with Ed in 106, Stede’s shirt is open and the cravat loosened. Again, in 107 we see Stede in his open nightclothes wandering on deck. During evening story hour, his jacket is removed. Stede usually seems more relaxed during these moments too.

Stede’s style changes properly on the second leaving of Bridgetown. What Stede is wearing openly as he drags the boat to sea is a rather romantic poet-pirate look with billowing shirt and sash. The look has links with future nineteenth-century Romantic freethinkers, championing individualism, revolution and liberty - including sexual liberation.

The open-neck shirt was popularised by Byron and Shelley a hundred years later. It was a deliberate choice of styling in opposition to enforced gender presentation and monogamous heteronormativity. The fashion of the times, similar to the 1700s, was high collars and neck-wrapping in order to force the holding of the male head in a stately and erect manner. It’s all about rigidity…

For an English gentleman of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, to have his shirt open and loose in public, was a sign of effeminacy. It was women who showed their décolletage in society, who were allowed a softer presentation; this new style hinted strongly at sexual and gender nonconformity. Women were viewed as more animalistic, men as cultured. Cultured people cover up. Softness, looseness - these are aspects of female sexuality, a bit bestial. And women are also a little bit insane. Why would any man, especially a man of status, want to present as feminine and lesser? And what does it say about patriarchy if some men actively choose to relinquish their privileged status by presenting more effeminately? It’s dangerous.

By today’s standards, Byron was pansexual and polyamorous. Shelley’s sexuality is less clear, but he was viewed as a subversive atheist and disinherited. Both might consider themselves nonbinary today. Shelley especially seems to have had a strong gnc presentation. Both left England for more liberal Europe.

I feel the costume department must’ve made a very deliberate and informed choice regarding Stede’s shirts post season one, but I don’t feel it’s the one some people think it is. I know part of DJenks stated aim was to ‘make Rhys Darby as sexy as possible’, but it’s not about appearing more masc. just because he’s showing more flesh. It’s about appearing more Stede. Stede is expressing a new-found confidence in his sexual identity and gender expression, by choosing a more freer, less structured, less traditionally masculine way of dressing, associated rather presciently with future Romantic liberalism. It seems poets and pirates have more in common than we realise. And both were considered dangerous for questioning the system.

However, Stede is also an individual in flux and he circles back to a part of his former self. The Red Suit is a sort of hybrid male/female costume. The cuffs, detailing and shirt itself are femme. But there are elements of traditional masculinity which are quite toxic. The epaulettes reinforce the inverted masculine triangular shape. Anyone who grew up in the 1980s will remember their mothers feeling forced to wear exaggerated shoulder-padding as they entered male-dominated workspaces. They also enforce military rank. Stede thinks he needs this imagery to ‘be the Captain’. He doesn’t. The exaggerated coattails are also absolutely synonymous with upper class male power. It’s masculinity as performance and power-play. Stede needs to let all of this cursed patriarchal nonsense go.

As so often’s the case in OFMD, external struggle, this time with the crew over the Red Suit, could also be a manifestation of Stede’s internal conflict and shifting identity. It’s a final letting go of patriarchal ideas, especially around captaincy. The crew certainly don’t want it. Stede is (more than) adequate just as he is. At the end of all the pushing and pulling, Stede keeps the most relevant bit of the outfit - the shirt. It’s the least restrictive part, the more feminine and therefore, the more subversive on a male body. It’s a sartorial representation of a changing Stede.

The three shirts worn in series two are deliberately opened-collared and low-cut, showing more and more of Stede’s chest. This is a traditional feminine aesthetic which historically on a man, at least in the anglosphere, was considered subversive and dangerous. And Stede couples his shirts with a different sort of masculinity, a leather trouser. Class-wise, this is a traditional working man’s garment. Through his new choice of clothing, Stede is rejecting entirely his previous role within patriarchal hegemony, both the imposed status and imposed gender norms.

This was in my drafts a while but inspired to try and pull it together by @celluloidbroomcloset posts here and here

[stararch4ngelqueen]

domestic jason hcs? >:)

(this ask feels self-indulgent but i was VERY inspired by this one buff dude i saw on insta reels baking in a not-so-sexual way but like women in the comments are down bad and i cant really describe it im so sorry 😭)

imagine waking up to jason baking something (doesnt have to be anything could just be bread). you wanna help but the only instructions he gives you is to sit pretty, wearing his shirt and all. everytime he moves around the kitchen, he give u a lil peck on the lips if hes close enough to you. youre just sitting pretty like he asked, watching this man work and looking a little love struck cuz all you wanna do is pull him down and give him the fattest kiss for being so husband material

(dude, im yearning so much. thank u for writing a lot for jason 💞 ALSO ive seen u around in the cod tag so another thanks for ur fics there too 💞)

I’m sticking with the prompt cause I had unholy thoughts. An thank you! I appreciate your appreciation for my works ✨

This may be the tiniest bit suggestive 🌝

Time Written - 5:51 a.m

Baking at an early hour was somewhat new for Jason.

Baking at an early hour after an intense ending to an incredible date night was incredibly new for Jason.

His hands were occupied with an intriguing scene of soft dough and hard, rich yellow butter on a marble countertop. His muscles at work folding in the pockets of butter into the dough, pressing it with the heels of his palms.

“Morning, mama.” His morning voice held that early rasp in his tone that tickled you just right. You reciprocated his greeting as you walk into the kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts he aggressively yanked off the night before.

There he stood in grey sweatpants. Baking something delectable for seemingly no reason.

“What’s the occasion?” You question as you approach the counter, admiring his bed rugged hair adding onto his every attractive appearance.

“Cloudy outside, which means baking time.”

“Baking time?” The slightest glance at your cheeky little grin made him amusingly scoff.

“Baked goods,” he clarified with a head gesture behind him. “Coffee’s ready for ya, babe.”

Soon, the kitchen will flood with the warm aroma of browning butter and cooking sugar, invading throughout your home for a very long evening. Neighbors will get jealous over the smell of bakery air, hopefully helping them ignore the noises prior to the other night.

It was quite a sight to watch, his muscles flexing with a focused flare along his brow. You almost didn’t hear his insistence the second time towards the cinnamon coffee waiting in the pot for you.

“Gonna stick around? You’ll get first glance at what I’m making.”

“Which is?” You pry, watching him approach the sink to wash his hands.

“Crossiants,” he admits after drying his hands, giving the tip of your nose a peck. “With chocolate.”

“Look at you, my man’s a baker.” You smile while leaning against the counter, feeling your heart throb romantically from his chaste kisses.

“Not what you expected, huh?”

“What, my Red Hood busting skulls and baking? So many single moms would chase after you if they could.”

That comment has him unexpectedly laugh. Not the worst thing he’s been told, so he’ll take it. Poor single mothers, too bad he’s already taken.

“I thought you meant the chocolate would be inside?” You ask after peeking at the dough he wrapped up in cling wrap.

“No,” He shakes his head. “See, I thought that, but I like the idea of dipping them into melted chocolate a whole lot better.”

“Where’d you get the inspiration?”

“France,” he amusingly huffs with a shrug after approaching to take the packet you handed to him. “Thanks baby. Where else?”

He slips the packet of buttered dough into the fridge before turning towards the stove, almost running into you as you beat him to it, peering into a saucepan full of melted chocolate.

“Hey, hey.” Cool, clean hands gently grasped hold of your shoulders, gently nudging you away from his little workspace. “Easy on those eyes, almost knocked you into an accident.”

“Need some help with anything?” You offer, reminding him of when he used to ask his mother the same question. Happy little memories that brought embers of warmth in his heart.

“You can be of huge help,” He begins, calloused hands grazing down along your fingerprint shaped bruised hips before hoisting you up in his arms like a little doll.

“By sitting pretty, an’ letting me work.”

He plops you down on a stool he pulled out from the island counter, giving you a perfect little spot to watch him work. You slouch after he turns away, watching him return to his little objective on the stove.

“You just melt chocolate in the pan like that?”

“Sorta,” Jason tilts his head after grabbing a spoon, stirring the smooth, ganache-like chocolate concoction around. “France’s version of hot chocolate. Some milk, cream, a little sugar.”

You hum as a response, watching the muscles along the back of his left shoulder move as he enacts upon such a simple, minor task. Jason probably said something else, along the lines of not wanting such a beautiful body of chocolate boil on the stove, but it wasn’t much of your concern as it was his.

Maybe your main concern was how exactly did the scratches you left along his back didn’t break skin, clinging onto him for dear life as they flexed along your greedy palms.

He probably knew that, he was hiding a smile for all you could tell if you paid any attention.

“My girl want a taste?” He offers, his real gaze snapping your mind back into reality. You nod, anxiously sitting up in your seat.

He spoons warm, melted chocolate on the top of your tongue, watching it dribble down your bottom lip. The pink of your little tongue swiped up the remnants, all for Jason’s adoring gaze to witness.

Your reaction varies upon the subtle lack of sweetness from the chocolate.

“It’s not that sweet. Is it dark—?”

Your words are stolen when he kisses you, cradling your face within his two warm hands after carelessly setting down the spoon.

His heavy lidded gaze meets yours after breaking off the kiss, his cheeks flushed with affectionate warmth.

“Don’t know,” his glistening lips curve upwards after licking his lips. “Tastes pretty sweet to me.”

He turns away, as if he hadn’t committed such a crime in the first place.

You’re left watching once again, anxious nerves preventing you from sitting still. Fidgety fingers lingering in your lap, grasping along the lower hem of your shirt.

“Also coffee,” Jason pitches as if he forgot. “Added a little espresso to enhance the taste. You, uh… never got your coffee, babe.”

Oh. Right. The first thing he told you when you came in.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly admit, slightly shifting your hips whilst on the stool. “Got a little distracted.”

He chuckles, not even needing a detective’s mindset to understand fully why. “Did you now?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Jason sets the saucepan off the burner before turning full attention towards you. Swooping you off the stool you sat, hoisting you ontop of a warm, clean counter.

His torso pressed against yours, keeping you comfortably confined between a marble surface and a hard place. His hands caress along your torso, thumbs trickling over your stiff nipples through your shirt, still sore from his teeth marks.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles against the shell of your ear. His lips press against your neck as you swallow, kissing down along your collarbone. “Figured you’d have stayed sleeping in ‘till I was done here. Guessin’ last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Your fault for putting on a show.” You whisper, hooking your legs the best you could around his broad waist.

He chuckles against your neck, his excitement as palpable as his pearly smile expressed. “Your fault for watchin’, mama.”

[nejiverse]

A DISTANT MEMORY

Boothill

In which an array of events briefly teleports Boothill to the past, where is daughter would forever remain. Fem! Reader

cw: suggestive, a teensy bit of angst, not prood read (ik its unlike me but im feeling lazy lol)

1700 words

"So..what do you think?", Y/n held the gun up to the light on the ceiling, admiring her handiwork.

"Beautiful", Boothill responded but Y/n could see from her peripheral vision that he wasn't looking at the gun at all, he was looking at her.

"The gun, Boothill", she had to let him know he wasn't slick.

"Yeah an' I said it's beautiful", he defended himself, crossing his arms as he crossed his legs on top of the empty side of Y/n's workspace, a knowing look on his face. "Good with your hands, ain't ya?". Boothill smirked, his pointy teeth poking out of the crevice between his top and bottom lips.

You know what else they can do?", she noticed how his eyes shone with a glint of expectation, until she used the butt of the gun to hit him on top of his head.

Boothill let out a disgruntled groan as his hat fell lopsided on his head.

"Geez, where'd all that strength come from?", he took his hat off, rubbing the crown of his head.

"It's all natural", she puffed out her chest, flexing her non existent arm muscles.

Boothill chuckled, shaking his head. "Well darlin', you sure know how to handle yourself", he teased, cocking his head to the side as he scanned her from the bottom up. "Y'know, I've always had a thing for women who can handle a firearm", Boothill winked, placing his hat on top of her head playfully.

Y/n rolled her eyes at his words and actions, a grin playing at the side of her lips. "As ironic as it may sound, I don't actually know how to use a gun...I just tinker with them", she admitted, a tinge of embarrassment floating in her chest.

Boothill's grin faltered for a moment, his eyebrows arching in surprise. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone more curious than accusatory. "Well ya sure had me fooled". He took the gun from the table, twirling it around his index finger. "I can teach ya".

"Sure, why not", she might as well know how it works, there was no harm. She adjusted her seating as she listened attentively, but instead of Boothill picking her ear about his knowledge on guns, he instead stood up behind her.

"O-oh you mean actually teaching me", she muttered, her eyebrows furrowing in uncertainty.

"Well how else would I teach ya?".

Boothill stood behind Y/n, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. His hands gently guided hers as they held the gun, his touch sending shivers down her spine.

"Now, darlin', you gotta hold it steady," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Nice and firm, but not too tight."

Y/n nodded, but internally her brain was malfunctioning at the ambiguity of his words. She tried to focus on his instructions rather than the electrifying sensation of his proximity. She adjusted her grip, her fingers brushing against his as they wrapped around the handle.

"That's it," Boothill spoke in a tone above a whisper . "Now, ya gotta aim true. Find your target and focus."

Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she followed his guidance, her gaze fixed on the red thumbnail on the notice board hung up on the far side of the dimly lit workshop, but her attention kept drifting back to Boothill, his rugged features illuminated by the soft glow of the desk light.

"Steady now," he murmured, his hands moving to adjust her shoulders.  As Y/n exhaled slowly, she felt Boothill's body press against hers, his chest firm against her back.

"Atta girl," Boothill praised, his voice laced with pride at how good he was at teacher her. "But you gotta remember to relax. Let the gun do the work".

Y/n nodded, internally noting all the tips and tricks he was giving her. Despite all the waves of emotions she was being smacked with, she truly did appreciate his efforts in helping her fully understand how a gun works and how to use it.

"Y'know, darlin'," Boothill murmured, his voice low. "There's more to shootin' than just hittin' a target."

Y/n hummed in anticipation. She turned to face him, her eyes meeting his in a silent exchange.

"Like what?", she breathed.

"Like trustin' your instincts," he said, his voice dripping with promise. "And lettin' go of control."

Before Y/n could respond, Boothill's lips were on hers. Boothill felt as though he had just came home from a long journey, albeit her workshop not being his home, and having not went on a long journey at all.

Y/n melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as she surrendered herself to his touches and deep kisses. Though she was taken aback when she felt his head against her chest. Boothill couldn't help but notice the rapid thumping of Y/n's heart beneath against his face.

Y/n's lips quivered in embarrassment. "Stop that", she uttered, shooing him away.

Boothill let out a hearty laugh as he fell back into his seat. “I gotta say, it's mighty gratifyin' to know I have that kind of effect on you—".

Y/n shoved his hat in his face in efforts to shut him up. "Nonsense", Y/n retorted, opting to change the subject. "Besides, you said you only came here to say hi and leave", Y/n swatted away his roaming hands.

Boothill grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sometimes sayin 'hi' just ain't enough".

As Boothill and Y/n chatted away together, caught up in their moment of bonding, they were interrupted by a soft sound nearby. Turning, they spotted a little girl rubbing her eyes, her tiny form illuminated by the light of the room she just came out of.

Y/n shook her head with a lazy smile. She just couldn't bring herself to be mad at her daughter for coming out when she looked so cute. "I told you no coming in when I have visitors", she cooed, getting up to pick the little girl up while she brushed her bed hair back. The woman was still curious as to how she managed to get out of bed all by herself.

Boothill's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of the child. She couldn't have been more than a year old, yet there was something hauntingly familiar about her features—the same dark curls, the same wide eyes that he had seen in his own daughter.

"I'll be damned", Boothill whispered to himself in bewilderment.

His heart clenched with a mixture of astonishment and grief as he stared at the child, his mind racing in utter confusion. It was uncanny.

"Never knew ya had a daughter", Boothill opted to just forget about it, but he would soon find out that it wouldn't work.

"A lot of people don't, my line of work isn't the safest you know", forging and enhancing weapons for both good and bad people certainly came with its risks, but Y/n thought that being neutral to both sides was the best idea.

The little girl looked over her mother's shoulder at the stranger. She babbled incoherent words whilst pointing at the cyborg.

"Wanna say hi?", Y/n asked the child who flailed her arms around as a response. Y/n turned her gaze towards Boothill. "You any good with kids?".

Was he? He's not sure since he wasn't able to protect his own kid. With hesitation in his voice, Boothill spoke. "I...dunno".

Y/n chuckled. "Well you must be 'cause this girl hates strangers", Y/n put the little girl down as she slowly waddled over to Boothill.

Boothill's eyes softened as he looked at the child, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Well, ain't that somethin'," he murmured, his voice filled with surprise. "What's your name lil' lady?", he asked the little girl.

The child babbled happily, her small hand reaching up to touch his face. Boothill chuckled, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. "Guess you're not quite ready to tell me yet, huh?".

Y/n stepped closer, her heart swelling at the sight of Boothill holding her daughter with such care. "Her name is D/n," she said softly. "She's not really that verbal yet".

Boothill nodded, his eyes never leaving D/n's face. "D/n huh?".

Y/n watched them, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. Seeing Boothill with D/n, so tender and gentle, made her heart ache with a longing she hadn't realised she carried. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"You're good with her," Y/n remarked sincerely. "You look like you've done this before."

Boothill's smile faltered for a brief moment, a shadow passing over his eyes. He quickly masked it with a grin. "Well, kids seem to like me," he said lightly, though the weight of unspoken memories lingered in his gaze.

D/n made grabby hands at the feather on Boothill's hat, intrigued by how it moved every time he did.

The man took off his hat and handed it to her, the  accessory engulfing half her head.

She giggled and lifted the hat up, or attempted to till Boothill did it for her, angling it in a way which would allow her to see. She flashed her still developing teeth into an award winning smile.

As he held Y/n's daughter, memories of his own daughter, who had been taken from him far too soon, flashed through his mind. The pain of her loss had been a constant shadow, a wound that never fully healed. Yet, holding D/n, he felt a glimmer of healing, a sense of connection that he thought he'd lost forever. It was as if life was giving him a second chance to protect and cherish a child.

Boothill never wants to leave, ever.

masterlist :)

[preetrambles]

no pride in calling it an independence day when women aren't even safe in their workspace