#because he wouldn’t have come to the society at all if it wasn’t for her

[pathologicalreid]

that gold mine changed you | s.r.

in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warning: post prison/prison arc, lack of communication, chemist!reader, slightly proofread word count: 2.13k a/n: love this song. both the original and the phoebe bridgers cover.

i don’t wanna be here anymore; it all tastes like poison

You rifled through the dish that you kept on the entryway console, looking for your car keys so that you could get out. It was hard to describe the way you felt like a spinning top, not dizzy but out of control. Everything felt so out of control.

How could you let it get this bad? You breathed heavily as you fished your keys from the pottery and looped your finger through the key ring. Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, your eyes caught onto some movement in your periphery.

“You’re leaving?” Spencer asked from down the hallway; his work clothes were rumpled and creased like he’d fallen asleep in them.

You had hoped that he would have the ability to ease himself back into society after three months of prison, and you always took the time to assure him that you would be there for him. Desperately, you tried to be a pillar of support, but you had reached your breaking point.

He’d been given six weeks to readjust. When that didn’t seem to be working, you thought maybe he needed to find his rhythm again, but going back to work at the BAU didn’t seem to help him either. It wasn’t until his first sabbatical hit that you finally considered the fact that things would never be the same between the two of you again.

When you didn’t answer, Spencer put his foot out but hesitated to take a step toward you. “Are you going to come back?”

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at the keys in your hand, “I don’t know.” You eyed the key to your lab, the one place you could always go to escape when you needed to, but you never imagined needing to escape from Spencer.

You weren’t even sure he had been sleeping in the same bed as you, and if he was, he was getting in after you and getting up before you. There was once a moment when you and Spencer shared every minute detail of your lives with each other, at least the parts you weren’t together for, but now you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was teaching in his lectures, and he couldn’t guess which projects you were working on.

When Spencer was in prison, you thought that was the loneliest you would ever be, but now you were living with the ghost of the man who you once loved, and you had never felt more alone.

Last week, you had practically begged him, very nearly gotten on your knees and pled with him to have a substantial conversation with you. He didn’t seem interested.

you believe that you love me

Looking back up, your eyes widened at the revelation that Spencer had made his way to you in complete silence; he was standing in front of you, “You’re sneaking out?”

Your nostrils flared in frustration; you were sneaking out of your own apartment, a space that you and Spencer were supposed to share, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked him, studying his brown eyes as they appeared until the cool light of the moon.

He set both of his hands on your upper arms, and you pulled away from his touch. Spencer flinched back as surely as if you’d struck him. If you pulling away from him hurt, then he wouldn’t be able to fathom how you were feeling right now—how you had been feeling for the last seven months.

“Is it because of your mom?” You tried again, silver lining your eyes as you looked up at him, mercurial tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for an answer. “I was at work when she was abducted,” you reminded him, having thrown yourself into work while Spencer was in prison. “Is it because I didn’t help her?”

Spencer’s lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself for that.” His arms hung limply by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release nervous energy.

Blinking tears from your eyes, your shoulders slouched at what felt like a rejection, “How would you? You don’t talk to me,” you told him, your tone wholly accusatory.

“We talk every day,” he rebutted, the energy in your conversation veering toward hostility. That’s not what you wanted; you just wanted to feel at peace.

Three months in prison, six weeks of mandatory leave, one hundred days with the team, twenty days into his first sabbatical, and Spencer was refusing to face what you had already run into headfirst. “We haven’t had a real conversation since February, Spencer. It’s September.”

His eyebrows pinched together as he studied your body language, profiling you to deduce what you wanted from him instead of just asking you. “What do you mean ‘a real conversation?’”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, and you searched every part of your brain for something to say that wouldn’t contribute to taking your life apart brick by brick. You couldn’t. The words simply weren’t there anymore. Maybe you had left them behind months ago, but right now, you shrugged helplessly, “You’re different, Spence.”

He peered down at you as if you had offended him, “Did you expect me to stay the same?”

It was pathetic. You felt pathetic. Staying in your entryway and begging for someone who previously kissed the ground you walked on for a reason to stay. You never had to ask him before. “I’ve never expected anything but love from you, and you know that,” you told him, pulling the truth from the depths of your soul and putting it on display for him.

Spencer took a step back, stumbling as if his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. “You don’t think I love you anymore?” His own tears welled in his eyes, glittering saline along his lash line that made your chest ache.

You blinked, letting more tears fall down your cheeks. You heard the droplets as they fell on the vinyl decal of your sweatshirt, the only noise in the midst of an otherwise deathly silence. “You have given me no reason to believe that you do,” you admitted, your voice tight with emotion.

so, lose your faith in me

“Don’t leave,” he gasped, struggling through his tears. He held a hand out to you, too hesitant to touch you because of the way you reacted earlier.

You felt like you were tearing your own heart from your chest. You held the organ in your hands, blood dripping to the floor and seeping within the woodgrain, and you asked him to put it back where it belonged. “I can’t do this anymore,” you told him.

He set a hand on the side of your neck, and this time, you didn’t pull away from him. Instead, you savored his touch, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin as the two of you waited for something to give. Three months in prison had been a test of your relationship; you had very little contact with each other. Nothing face-to-face, and after a while, Spencer’s mail started to go missing—interference by a prison guard who had it out for him. You thought that getting him back would fix everything.

Spencer was exactly the same, but somehow, he was completely different after his release. You couldn’t fault him for what he had gone through in prison, but you refused to continue your pattern of dancing around each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice so faint that you would’ve missed it had you not been searching for it. His breaths were quickening, and if it weren’t so dark, you’d be sure that his pupils were dilated in fear.

You pursed your lips, “Say it again.” You wanted to hear him. You needed to hear him. You so desperately wanted to hear him repeat himself so that you could throw your arms around him and let him know that everything was perfectly fine.

He panted, “I love you,” he echoed. “Please,” his voice broke, “I love you so much.”

“I want to believe you,” you breathed, looking back down at the keys that remained in your hand. As far as you were concerned, Spencer was the Patron Saint of Liars. He had the intelligence and the experience to become a master manipulator. He’d lied to you before. What was stopping him from doing it again? He knew that I love you was what you wanted to hear. When faced with telling a lie and losing you, the choice was laid out in front of him.

He nodded as if he understood, but you weren’t convinced that he possessed the bandwidth to fully comprehend why you were so unhappy. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he whispered.

You lost your balance, your back slammed against the wall, and your eyes widened as a result of his apology, “Why?”

Spencer’s brown eyes widened as you slid down the wall, waiting until you were sat on the floor to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mexico.”

“You could’ve told me,” you told him, “I could’ve helped you, Spencer. Then we could… Then maybe…” your voice trailed off, lost in a sea of hiccuping sobs.

Gingerly, Spencer lowered himself to the ground and took a seat next to you, “Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to jail. You’re right,” he admitted, “but maybe they would’ve killed you too. Maybe there would have been the same outcome as the one we got, or maybe it would have been much worse.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Lorenz,” you murmured, closing your eyes to relieve some of the burning.

“The Butterfly Effect,” Spencer commented, “Small changes can have large consequences. I made a decision that had massive ramifications and negatively impacted you, and I haven’t been doing enough to fix it.”

You sighed, “You can’t fix it, Spence. It’s like a band-aid over a bullet hole.” You thumbed the hem of your sweatpants, opening your eyes just to stare straight ahead at the wall.

He hummed in what you sincerely hoped was understanding, “I took six years of building trust with you and destroyed it, and now when I tell you I love you, you don’t believe me.”

“You told me you were going to Houston,” you whispered.

“I told everyone I was going to Houston,” he said softly.

Your head snapped in his direction, “I deserved more than what everyone else got. I deserved an explanation, and instead, you lied to me. You lied to me, and then you wouldn’t even let me see you while you were in prison.”

The corners of his mouth downturned, “I didn’t want you to see me in there, and I didn’t want anyone else to see you in there.” You’d heard second hand from JJ that the men at Millburn had ogled her the entire time she was visiting Spencer, and maybe he had explained himself in one of the missing letters, but he hadn’t mentioned it since coming home.

“Spencer, I just want to talk with you,” you whispered. “I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend that doesn’t end with him creating some arbitrary mental block because he doesn’t think I can handle it.”

There was a moment where you thought he was just going to let you go, but Spencer Reid liked to keep the things he cared about close. “It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because I can’t handle it,” he admitted.

You turned your body to face him, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to tell you about prison,” he clarified. “I barely want to tell my therapist about prison, but you—” his voice broke, and your heart went with it. “If I tell you everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t want to be with me anyway.”

You frowned, “Try me.” Your heart was racing; this bit here was decisive. His response would either mean letting go or moving forward.

He looked down at his lap, “Come to therapy with me tomorrow. It’s… there’s something about the leather couch that turns me into an open book.” He told you, nervously running his palms up and down his cloth-covered thighs. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed his hands, putting a stop to his compulsive movements. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “Please don’t leave.”

Shaking your head, you sniffled through your tears. If you’d had more energy, maybe you would’ve given him a soft smile, but for now, you answered him, “I won’t.”

[nicolibbyquotes]

"You'll be back," he said to Nico in a paternal way, patting his shoulder. "I have a feeling I'll see you again quite soon, Mr. de Varona.” "Why." Nico asked desperately. "How?" "Because," Atlas said, "Miss Rhodes will be back." This information dawned on Nico forcefully. Like the sun hitting his eyes, dazing him.”

- “The Atlas Paradox” by Olivie Blake

[moonlesslights]

Miguel O’hara in Love

Headcanons.

━━━━━━ ✿ 🕷️ ❀ ━━━━━

A/N: I was really looking forward to write this, because I just can’t get this whole idea out of my head.

Warnings: Basically none, a little bit of angst maybe?, some smut references and depictions. Miguel being Miguel. Kinda obsessive (?)

This text is based in that frase of Joe Goldberg: “There’s not a line, in the world, that I wouldn’t cross for you”. So be prepared.

Enjoy, my loves. Every comment or request is welcomed! 🤍

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Miguel was curious of you from the very moment he met you. Such a unique presence among all the others.

You had been bitten just a month ago. And it was hard for you. He saw you struggle, falling over and over again, training till exhaustion, fighting to be on the level of the others.

And the worst part of it all, was the guilt coming to attack him with every side eye Jessica gave to him. “If you weren’t going to help her, you should have let her alone.” The woman had whispered while both of them looked at you fighting to climb another building. Miguel knew she was right. He was the one who insisted in bringing you immediately after they found you (only a couple of days after the bite), even when Jessica insisted to give you time for you to figure it out alone. Miguel wasn’t having it, and now… “She’s been at it for the whole morning.” The woman pursed her lips, shaking her head.

What Jessica didn’t quite know was that Miguel hadn’t left you alone all this time… He wasn’t good at talking, that was true. He wasn’t good at showing his support with words, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

You let out a pained groan when you finally plop on the concrete of the building’s rooftop. Every single muscle of your body aches and you can fell your heart pounding harshly against your ribcage, making it feel like every breath that makes it to your lungs it’s just a mere miracle.

The weight of the presence of someone standing beside you forces you to blink out of your thoughts. Tiredly, you look up, finding Miguel's mask glaring back at you with a deep frown you can make out of the way his eyes curve.

He holds a white little package on his right and he hands it to you before finally sitting down without making a single sound. It had all started like a little game between the two of you: You pretend you don’t see his figure hovering above a building while you train, or his silhouette watching you getting back to The Society place safely. You also pretend you don’t know it’s him who leaves bandages and painkillers over your bed every day with a little chocolate next to it. And he pretends he doesn’t know that you know.

You cross your legs and smile when you open the small box on your hands, smelling the sweet scent of warm and fresh food. You also take notice of how he changed one of the things he brought you last time, you didn’t have the heart to tell him, but you were sure now he definitely noticed you didn’t like it.

“Eat.” He orders and you are too tired to remark his tone of voice with a roll of your eyes. So you nod, bringing a big spoonful of pasta and vegetables to your mouth, thanking him with a big smile. Smile he doesn’t return. He never does anyway. But now it’s not like always. He’s pissed. “When was the last time you ate?”

You look straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. You swallow, slowly, feeling his eyes burning on the side of your head.

“Mhm… Not long ago, no.” You answer, mumbling while you get more food into your mouth. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Training this much without any nutriments won’t do anything good for you…”

“Training this much won’t do anything anyway.” You sigh, keeping then the fork between your lips. Miguel wishes to say something but he can’t find the words, he can’t order his thoughts inside his head to place them on his tongue and tell you just how much you have improved since the first day, so he gladly receives your bright eyes turning to him when you seem to remember: “But I finally climbed this building, see? Without using any web, only my spider fingers.”

The man nods at you waving playfully at him. The determination in your eyes even when your whole body wanted to give up, even when you know you’re still not close to go on a mission by yourself (or with anyone else), even when you probably couldn’t even sleep fine because of the sore bruises, the determination in your eyes didn’t flatter.

That made him feel something deep is his hands, a tingle he couldn’t control. And he hated it.

“Tomorrow at seven.” He sentences, standing on his feet again.

You frown, raising big eyes at him. The brightness in them when the weight of his words hit you destabilizes him.

“For real?”

“Yes.” He looks away. “If I don’t train you you’re not getting anywhere.”

His comment goes unnoticed for the excitement running all along your body.

“Ok.” You nod, trying to look professional but failing miserably.

He grunts in response, soon jumping off of the building and losing among all of the city chaos. In some minutes he would be back at the Society lobby. You… An hour. Give or take.

Training with Miguel was nothing but… Hell.

No, it actually wasn’t. You expected you could say that to make people thing you were having it hard, but he insisted on starting with the basics… basics that you already felt like being good at.

Still, climbing had become easier within the first week of training with him. The tips and advices he insisted you to follow helped you thinking of it more like a game than a must do.

Swinging was still a tricky one. You used to lose your balance when the demanded velocity was too much. Panic rushed over you, feeling like you would crash against a window or a fucking person, or another spider doing their own training.

“Trust your senses.” Miguel said to you every time you fell, and every time you death glared at him for that. He didn’t have one of the most important senses for spider people and he still managed to be better than anyone you could have known. You had them all, and they all seemed to be a mess when you tried to use them.

Soon enough, Miguel learned about a way to motivate you: Rewards. Most of the time was food, some others, the promise of letting you rest for more that five minutes was enough. For a week now, it had been a little bit different.

History. You loved it. And you changed any delicious and tasty food for hours listening to Miguel explaining everything about the multiverse and the tangled webs between all of you. He had told you about his first travels to other Earths at least three times, but you couldn’t seem to get tired.

You might not tell him how much his voice soothes you after a long day out, but it wasn’t necessary, he could see it. On the other hand, he definitely would never tell you how he glanced at you, completely asleep after another history session, memorizing every breath, every mole and freckle, counting every single one of your eyelashes like the stars on the sky above you.

No. You would never find out about that.

Today was supposed to be just like any other day: quiet, calm and premeditated. Nothing out of the routine you and Miguel had adopted for the past four weeks.

But with you, things were never that easy. Boredom was a dangerous thing for you, Miguel had learned it by now. The hard way. If something became not enough exciting for your restless self, you would look for that spark of adrenaline at any cost. It was part of your determination. Heart of a lion. He knew that. But it didn’t change the fact he would have to save you from breaking a few bones every once in a while.

“I’m sorry” You would say after he dropped you on the safe floor again. He would turn to look at you, fire running up his veins. Every time he wanted to yell at you, to snap and tell you it was the last time you do something like that. And every time he would sigh, pressing both finger on the bridge of his nose, finally grunting in a low voice:

“Desobedeciste deliberadamente.” A month was enough for you to know exactly what those words meant.

“I know.”

“You could have hurt yourself.”

“I know…” Then the bright eyes. Always the bright eyes. “But I have to try, I can’t depend on you forever. Getting hurt it’s just part of the way.”

He hated you were right. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got on his first years, of how many scars he still hides under his suit. Eventually, you would have to learn to stand up even if you’re bleeding. Even if you’re dying.

He is not mad at you for disobeying, that’s bullshit. He admired that of you, actually. You don’t act by fear, you do not fear him. You follow your heart even when you know you could get in trouble for it. No, he’s mad because every time he catches you before you hit the ground, all he can think about is that there’s going to be a moment where he won’t be there to do it. And the sound of your body crashing against the concrete, of your pain, would follow him till the darkest moments of the night, where he curses the day you’ll scream his name and he will be too far away to hear it.

“I want to change my reward for today.” You smile at him, both of your hands behind your back, making him suspicious of your teasing voice.

“You’re not going anywhere with Hobie.” He responds in a neutral voice, starting to walk in front of you.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head before getting in front of him and starting to walk backwards so you could keep facing him.

“It’s not that.” You insist. He doesn’t answer and you know that’s his way of telling you to go on. You sigh. “I want to see you without your mask.”

That makes him stop dead on his tracks. He tilts his head, questioning you with curious eyes. That’s all you wanted? No, you wanted that? Why?

Were you really that bored?

“I feel like everyone here has seen you at least one time, except for me. And it’s not fair.” You got a point on that. He spends most of his time training you, you share almost every meal together, he’s the last person you usually talk everyday because you’re too tired to do anything other than going to your room and sleep. You have spent entire days with him, you have cried and made a mess of yourself in front of his presence, and you didn’t even know his face.

You can deny the sting of irritation you get every time Hobie or Gwen, or any other come talking about what they said during the meeting before a mission, meetings where, you had learnt, Miguel used to take off his mask. Peter told you it wasn’t that big of a deal. You wanted to punch him.

“If that’s what you want.” Miguel crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “Now go tra-…”

You were gone before he could even finish his sentence. He sees your figure going around the building he chose for this particular session. Your swinging had gotten better over the last weeks and the confidence you had in yourself had also been improving, showing your true strength for him to see.

Jessica insisted on you being ready to train at the top levels with the others inside The Society training center, or at least to try. But Miguel profusely refused. He had designed many of the levels to train there, he knew the damage they could cause to someone not prepared to face them.

He blame it on his sense of responsibility over you the fact that he denied any attempt to put you on an unnecessary risk, but deep down, he knew that from the moment he stepped in front of you while you cried for that death he knew all too well now, and then observed how you wiped your tears and showed him your fists, ready to fight him despite everything… He was fucked.

You were the little thing he decided to protect even if it costed his life. The little thing that trusted his claws to hold at her, that puts its life on the line without a second thought. It is not his fault to have never experienced anything like this, to don’t know what to do, to act like a fool, to refuse to lose it… How they cannot understand?

“Done.” You jump in front of him, getting him out of his thoughts.

He looks up, seeing all of the targets on the building covered by a good layer of web. Your precision could be better, but you’re getting at it.

He sighs. He turns to face you completely before ordering his nanotechnology to uncover his face. Dark wavy hair falls onto his temples, brown skin glimmers under the heavy sun above you, full lips press against each other and two cold brown eyes glare down at you.

When you don’t say anything, he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?”

You nod without waiting for another question.

“I just wanted to see your eyes.” You answer confident, smiling softly at him.

It is enough to say he never wore his mask on around you ever again.

Miguel O'Hara isn’t good in what emotion management respects.

He knows it, but he doesn’t have the time or care to try to do something about it.

It wasn’t that big of a deal…

Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal until one specially busy morning where he couldn’t make it to your first training, he went on looking for you… And he couldn’t find you.

He went to your room, your favorite places; he went looking all around the city, praying to find you just jumping above some buildings. But you were nowhere to be found. And it wasn’t until one Peter took mercy on him that pointed the worst place to be pointed: The training center.

With his heart going a thousand miles per hour, he started to look for you inside the complex. And when he caught a glimpse of Jessica looking up with a proud smile, he knew exactly where you were.

“She’s doing even better than I could’ve imagined. You’re a great mentor, Miguel.”

“Why is she here?” He answered immediately. Jess raised an eyebrow at him, confused by the uneasiness on his voice.

“Does that really matter? Look at her, Miguel!” She pointed at you with her extended hand. “Aren’t you proud of her?”

Of course he was. But what he couldn’t stand was someone else messing and taking choices over the one and only thing he has. So instead of answering her question, he sentenced: “Don’t ever get close to her again.”

“Miguel…”

“You can mess around with any other, but there is a fucking line, Jess. You chose yours, and I respect them. Don’t mess with mine.”

When he finally appeared in front of you, you smiled brightly at him. He looked like any other day, completely unfazed and with a calmed expression you were so used to see by now.

“Time to call it a day, don’t you think?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You were sweating, you arms were trembling and you could barely control your breath by now, and still… You shook your head.

“I want to try this level one last time.” He was ready to talk you out of it but your pleading eyes made him look down at Jess, who, with a single movement, made him understand what she was talking about.

“Fine, but I’ll be with you every step of the way, got it?” His frustration made you giggle when you nodded.

You didn’t make it till the end of the level, but you tried, and that was all that mattered to you. To Miguel, having been able to take you to the wall before you crashed against a crystal under you was the main thing that mattered.

It had been a whole experience, but it remained like that. Enough time at least for him to push his way of react behind him. Until something made it snap again.

His eyes fly to all of the cameras in front of him, fixing his pupils in whatever screen he could catch a glimpse of your suit.

The threat they were expecting for your first mission ended up being a lot more aggressive and capable than hoped. You and your partner had already received a few good hits by the time Miguel reached for the Call button.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you hear when you press ‘answer’.

“Never better.” You reply, smiling at the interface of your pretty boss clenching his jaw.

“Need help?”

You immediately shake your head. “Not at all, we’re managing just fine.” Your figure distorts while you swing around. Heavy steps following you up close. “I gotta go, Miguel. See you back at home.”

“No, wai-…” He widens his eyes, trying to reach you before you end the call. His fists tighten and his eyes close, fighting to keep himself calm.

But our man can’t catch a break, because as soon as his breath starts to get back to its normal speed, a camera showing on one of the screens burst out with a big clatter, forcing his eyes open only to see his worst fear take form in front of him.

You were struggling against the anomaly, kicking your feet in the air and trying desperately to get his hands off your neck. Your partner was nowhere to be seen. You appear to lose you patience when you stop fighting and instead shoot webs to the creature’s eyes. The anomaly maddens, and throws you against the next building on the street.

Miguel's eyes follow your body across two cameras, watching in horror the blood dripping from your mouth when you cough after the blow, struggling to get on your feet again.

His hands move quicker than he can process, bringing all the information about the Earth you were on for him to see.

“Miguel.” Jessica calls from behind.

“Where the hell did you send her?” He whispers, reading the screen displayed. “I told you she wasn’t ready to go.”

“Miguel, look.” She insists, this time with a more demanding voice.

But the man can’t think of anything else more than you bleeding. Alone and injured.

“You said it was an easy one.” He growls in a low and dangerous voice.

“I’m…”

“I told you she wasn’t ready!” He snaps, looking back at her. His fangs pinch on his lower lip, so hard he can feel a drop of scarlet liquid running down his chin.

And it’s not until Jess takes a step back and Lyla calls his name that he realizes the way his claws had ripped the metal in front of him.

And then… A call.

He blinks out of his trance, looking up at the screen with your name on it. He hits ‘answer’ and your dirty suit and scratched face make an appearance.

His red eyes relax at the sight, returning to those soft brown irises and dark pleased pupils reserved only for you. He hides his fangs and his claws are no longer nowhere to see. Just you. It was just you again. And you were okay.

“Miguel, look!” You smile at him, pointing the camera on your watch for him to see your partner finishing to tie up the anomaly. “We got it!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see.” He can’t help but let out a small glimpse of a smile over his lips, nodding at your excitement.

“Oh, you’re smiling. Wait for me to come back, I wanna see it in person.” And just like that, his smile is gone.

“Don’t take any longer. Both of you, come back as soon as possible.”

And with that, the call is ended once again, leaving him in a room with heavy air and thick silence. He jumps off of the platform, still glaring at Jessica in silence.

“You know that wasn’t right.” She whispers. “The way you’re acting it isn’t right, Miguel.”

He shakes his head, slowing his movements until he remains still just a few feet away from the entrance.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He murmurs.

“Oh, now I don’t know?!” She opens her mouth with indignation, but Miguel doesn’t alter.

“It’s not like that and you know it.” He hisses. “I have lost everything in this world. I am utterly alone. And even between us, there a strings that doesn’t tangle. You have a husband and a soon to come baby, a family that awaits for you at home, but what do I have, Jess?”

The woman, for the first time, remains silent.

“I have her. I only have her.” He says. “Not a single thing in this world belongs to me but her. Everything else have been taken away from me, everything I once had has disappeared: my job, my life, my normal life. If she’s ripped from my hands, I have nothing left. And I cannot keep fighting for a life I don’t want to live. This is not only for her, Jess. If I lose her, I will tear the universe apart with my own hands.”

A single shiver ran down her spine, watching Miguel exiting the complex to find you arriving almost at the same moment.

She watched how his threat takes meaning when you wrap your arms around him and his eyes brighten at the sound of your laugh.

She knows that if they ever were to lose that light, the whole multiverse would dim with them.

Miguel wanted to own you.

He wasn’t good at hiding it.

His hands would come to your hips, grabbing your tights or caressing your waist under your clothes.

Your scent would drive him into his animalistic side at every given moment. Until the point he would have to step meters away from you during the meetings in order to keep himself from the smell of your hair and your soft skin.

But when he didn’t keep himself from you, he would come from behind you, embracing you with his whole body. His face would bury in the curve of your neck, sending shivers with his tongue coming out, tracing a single line till reaching your ear, where he would whisper what he wants, where he would ask you to let him touch you.

When you say yes, he would drop his head and sink your fingers on your tender skin, pressing his hips against your body when you throw your head back, allowing him to do as he wished so with you, to mark you as his as many times as he wanted.

“Miguel…” You sigh this time, feeling his hands clinging at your suit, desperate to touch your skin instead.

He had just returned from a mission that had kept him away from you three days. You had imagined he would’ve returned tired and ready to sleep for fifteen hours, but instead he took you straight into his bedroom and pushed you against the wall, where he now holds you still with both of his arms.

“Take it off.” He whispers, tugging again at your suit. He was being nice this time, and you thank him internally for that. You don’t have the strength to ask Lyla for another suit.

You complain with a happy humming, letting your body fully exposed before him except for your panties still covering your ass and pussy.

The man switches off his own suit, letting you see up close the tent under his boxers. His fingers grasp at your thighs, forcing your legs open for him. Two of his digits run along your folds over your panties for around ten seconds before he decides to tore away your undergarment and place his hand back at your sex.

You would have complained about his behavior but his fingers pressing down on your clit rip only a moan out of your throat. He plays with your sensitive bundle until you’re wet and seconds away from an orgasm he pretends to steal away when he stops his movements.

“No, please…” You cry out, your legs threatening to give up.

“Shhh, patience, mi amor, I’m not done yet.” With one hand he pushes you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his neck for support before he starts eating you out like a starved man.

You tighten your tights around his head, almost screaming at your over sensitive pussy being stimulated even more, with his tongue pushing in and out for a while until he takes it to your clit again, sucking in, ripping another hard cry out of you. You are so close. And when he finally joins in two of his fingers to curve inside of you, it’s your end.

You scream his name, clenching around his digits, making him growl enough to feel the vibration running down your skin. He guides you through all of it until you finally seem to catch your breath again.

But then, he takes out his fingers and drops his boxes to the floor. His dick throbbed painfully, making him hiss when he stroke it a few times before pressing against you, chest to chest, and bottoming out all the way with a single thrust.

“Fuck, Miguel!” You throw your head back as he does the contrary, sinking his fangs into your skin, trying not to lose control.

“May I move?” He asks, breathing heavily on your skin.

You nod.

“Yes, yes, please move.” He groan in pleasure at your words, starting to move your hips in and down to match the rhythm of his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against his ear while he pick up the pace. Soon enough, only the sound of skin slapping on skin could be heard around you, with nothing but your moans and gasps indicating him where he had to thrust, and his deep growls showing you how close he was.

“Cum for me.” He says, pushing your back back to the wall with his hand around your neck, squeezing you under his fingers. “I wanna see you cum.” He demands, making of his pace nothing but a mess of thrusts.

He was so close, he just needed…

“Miguel!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head, letting out desperate whimpers when your legs tremble around him and your walls clench around his cock, sending him so high he has to bite you again to avoid a throaty moan escape from him.

You could barely begin to feel your toes again when you feel him tightening his grip around you before walking out to the bed.

He was ready for the next round.

…

Thank you so much for coming all this way!

PD: I know Miguel fangs have paralyzing venom but let’s just pretend he can choose when to use it and when don’t.

This might not be good but I had the idea of this thread of story and I just wanted to write it.

I hope you have at least enjoyed some of it.

Love y’all. Sending a lot of love. See ya. <3

PD2: I’m trying to work now on a Sub!Miguel thing. It may be still a couple of days from it, but I want to be good. And I haven’t decided if it would be just porn or porn with plot. So let me know!

PD3: I’ll be doing cleaning and correction between today and tomorrow.

[morning-star-joy]

honey don't feed it, it will come back (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel x Sex Worker F!Reader

Summary: You run a brothel in the Boston QZ, devoting yourself to taking care of your girls. When the safety of one is threatened, you hire a bodyguard in the form of the surly Joel Miller to protect them. Little did you know that you were going to become his new favorite vice, and him your favorite addiction.

Warnings: MDNI Explicit Smut (oral f receiving, v fingering, Joel jacks off while going down on Reader, dirty talk, bit of a sir kink, bit of a brat tamer dynamic). Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart). Alcohol/drug use. Sex work (Joel listens to Reader). Age gap (20 years). Mentions of physical assault (towards minor characters, never from Joel. Not stated to be sexual assault but it can be inferred as such, so please take care of yourselves).

Wordcount: 9.6k (how the fuck)

joel miller masterlist

The world was fucked to all hell and back, and so what did men do in those circumstances?

“Oh fuck,” your customer was grunting as he fucked into you from behind, your hands on the headboard as it rocked against the wall to keep yourself up, breathy moans expertly leaving your lips to spur them on, even if you hadn’t felt an inkling of desire in years.

Yeah.

They fucked.

Fight or flight were often referred to in the first years following the Outbreak, a default of survival instinct that most everybody resorted to in order to survive.

But fucking was the much less talked about, incredibly prevalent third option.

It became clear in the Quarantine Zones that there was a need to be filled here, a way to satisfy that urge in a way that wouldn’t cause a barely held-together society inside high walls to erupt into chaos.

From this need, brothels made an appearance. While FEDRA had nothing to do with the establishments officially, they turned a very convenient blind eye to the street corners where women trying to make some kind of a living in the QZ took up their stations, tempting any lonely man who may wander by into a night of needed release.

It was a dangerous profession, in its own way. Contraceptives were long expired twenty years after the society collapsed, and even if a client pulled out at the best time and you were keeping track of your cycle, there was always the risk of being put out of work for around 9 months if you were unlucky.

And then came the obsession.

Clients could become far too eager far too quickly, addicted to the touch and feeling of a certain girl, mistaking lust for affection and lurking around those street corners before the night even came or, worse, outside the brothel doors.

You’d experienced it first-hand and through other girls, but it wasn’t until one of the younger ones came to you with a black eye and bruised jaw that you had had enough.

“Who did it?” you said in a low tone, breathing deeply in and out through your nose as you tried to control yourself, reigning yourself back in from the need to grab the gun you kept tucked in the top drawer of your rickety old nightstand and find who the fuck had laid their hands on one of your girls in such a way.

After years of being in the business, you had gone from only taking clients to keeping a watchful eye over the other women who made the same living you did. Your glory days were mostly behind you, but you still had your reputation, even after the incident that left you with a jagged scar that stretched vertically across the right side of your face, from above your eyebrow, down across your eye to just below your cheekbone.

Those clients you did still have preferred to fuck you with you facing away from them now, but you weren’t complaining. Not seeing their ugly faces as they used you to cum helped you dissociate, focus your thoughts on how well you were going to eat the next few days because of a few minutes of sacrifice.

The young woman whose lip was trembling as you held her hands gently in yours now was hardly past her early twenties, a sweet young thing who you had taken under your wing when she confessed needing a way to get some extra ration cards for her little brother who had gotten sick recently.

You had snuck Isabel some of your own ration cards with each of her payments, not caring that you had a bit less to eat each night, especially when she had come to you a couple weeks later with a bright smile and the news that her brother’s health had improved.

Now that smile that could light up the whole goddamn QZ was nowhere to be seen, an abject horror darkening her gaze, making her angelic face gaunt as you reached up to gently hold it, tilting it so you could assess the extent of the damage.

Her eyes, a deep honeyed brown that had drawn in the most clients your brothel had seen in years, were avoiding yours as you searched for her gaze, and you gently directed her face back towards you, voice softer as you implored her, “Isabel. Please, talk to me, babygirl.”

A choked sob was the first sound to leave her mouth then at the sound of your genuine affection. The world may be fucked, but protecting these girls was your purpose. And the thought of not being enough to protect them, for one of them to come to you like this…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as her petite form collapsed against yours, holding her close as you smoothed a hand over the tangles in her hair, gently combing them out with your fingers as your other hand rubbed at her back. “It’ll be okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Even as you assured her, a fear was creating pressure in the back of your mind, causing the first of many sleepless nights as you tried to figure out how to make sure this could never happen again.

You sat at your little makeshift desk in your tiny room on the top floor of the brothel, a cheap cigarette you had just gotten from a couple smugglers perched between your fingers as you slowly exhaled the smoke, staring down at your incoherent scribbled notes.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the desk, standing to cross over to the small window on the wall, gazing out in paranoia to make sure there were no dark shadows lingering nearby, waiting to get a hold of one of your girls if they didn’t want it.

Glancing back down at the lit cigarette, you pondered your few options.

FEDRA was not a viable source for protection. Yes, they turned a blind eye on your activities, but they would never risk their image by offering guards for your girls. Besides, you didn’t trust anybody in one of those uniforms within an inch of your life.

Fireflies weren’t a fucking option either. Those jackasses were so far up the proverbial ass of justice that they couldn’t see the actual struggles of the real people around them, subjecting them to be collateral in whatever useless statement they were making lately.

The cigarette was raised halfway to your lip when you paused, staring down at it as you suddenly had a small epiphany.

Who did you know that had not an ounce of a moral code, but a strong work ethic and determination to get the job done for a good deal that promised a stack of ration cards?

A smirk curled onto your lips then as you brought the cigarette back to them, placing it in your mouth as you took a long drag, exhaling it towards the window and watching it fog up the glass as you realized exactly who you were heading to.

“We don’t do protection,” your smuggling contact was saying, her voice as gruff and no-nonsense as always, and you sighed, meeting her sharp green eyes straight on as you shifted to cross your legs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Tess,” you said flatly back, your voice not harsh, but definitely firm, calling her out on her bluff even as you saw her ever-present guard dog shift a ways behind her at your tone. “You’ll do anything for a good trade. And I have that.”

“I don’t wanna fuck your girls,” Tess dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the thought away, and you rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t help a smirk, glancing at your associate with a small hint of mirth that matched her own.

“I’m not offering that,” you replied honestly, slowly drumming your fingers at the small table you were both seated at in one of the back alleys where these deals tended to go down. Public enough to avoid a shootout, but private enough to avoid FEDRA breathing down your backs. “My girls get paid for their work. So would you.”

Tess raised an eyebrow then, leaning in just a fraction, and you knew that you had captured just a fraction of her attention.

Good. You could work with that.

“What are we talking?” she asked in a low tone, voice still disinterested, gaze still closed off, but you knew that would change when you laid out the conditions of the deal.

When you did—offering a heft of ration cards (that they didn’t need to know was almost your entire cut of the brothel’s proceeds) for an able body to keep watch at your brothel during active business hours—Tess leaned back again, eyes flickering over your face as she processed the information.

“You know I’m good for it, Tess,” you implored, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into your tone now as you meet her gaze, hoping she would hear what you were asking for, woman to woman. “And these girls…they need it.”

She frowned then, sympathy flashing over her face as she glanced over yours, hearing what went unsaid.

Tess began to turn her head slightly over her shoulder, though she didn’t bother sparing a glance back as she called, “Joel.”

That was the first time you think you’d heard the name of her silent, watchful companion.

You knew that they were a package deal, but whenever you met with Tess, he lingered in the background, making sure you didn’t lay a hand on her.

Good, you thought to yourself, glancing over at him as he pushed himself off the wall and strolled over just at the unspoken order she gave for him to approach. If he’s who she has in mind, hopefully he does the same for the girls.

It was also the first time you really got a look at the man who Tess finally introduced you, explaining to the both of you how this was going to work at the same moment.

With those thick arms that could be around your neck as fast as you could blink, hardened dark eyes that were already measuring you up and calculating at least six ways to take you out before you could even open your mouth to say hello, you knew that just the sight of him in your brothel would strike fear into the depraved hearts of meeker, cowardly men.

He was older, too. Maybe had twenty years on you, and if somebody had lived that long in the apocalypse, they had to know how to get their hands fucking dirty if they needed to.

“I’ll take him,” you said back to Tess after appraising the man who would be your brothel’s bodyguard, your attention only pulled back to the hunk of muscles when you heard him scoff at your words. “There a problem?”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he grunted, expression flat as he stared at you, and you arched an eyebrow, unamused by his comment that came right after you and Tess had agreed to the terms of the deal.

“Hate to break it to you, but a bodyguard is nothing but that,” you replied as you gracefully uncrossed your legs, rising to your feet as Tess collected their first payment from you off the table, pushing it into her front pocket as she rose from her own seat as well. “Muscle that can drop a man at a moment’s notice.”

You watched as Joel’s strong jaw ticked, your other eyebrow rising with the first as you stepped around the table, getting closer to the man than you probably should, watching as his tense shoulders bunched up even more around his ears when you approached. 

“And now, you’re my muscle, Mr. Miller,” you said in a perfectly conversational tone, a practiced smile pulling onto your lips as Joel glanced down at them briefly before looking back into your eyes, his gaze narrowing as you added, “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Spinning on your heel, you strolled away from the smugglers towards the exit to the alley, but not without saying back over your shoulder before you got too far, “First shift’s an hour after curfew. Don’t be late.”

There was the sound of low grumbling behind you, followed by the smooth low tones of Tess’ voice, and you didn’t know why you felt the urge to laugh at that moment.

You didn’t know why, because you hadn’t laughed in years.

But you brushed that feeling aside, heading back towards your establishment to ready your girls for the change that would be coming in their worlds tonight, hoping that it would give them the peace of mind you all so desperately needed.

Whether you would be able to relax all depended on if Joel Miller could actually do his job.

He could.

One of the very first nights Joel had taken up station in the main hallway in the brothel that led off to private rooms, he had proven his worth, and then some.

You had been down the staircase in an instant when you heard the loud crash, heart racing in your chest, breath quickened from panic as you rounded down to see what had caused the loud sound.

Some thumps and bumps were common in an establishment like yours, but that sounded very much like a body not only hitting the ground, but being thrown down onto it.

What you saw then was an image that etched itself deep into your brain for the rest of your days.

Joel, your brand new, stoic bodyguard who hardly gave so much as a grunt to you or any of the girls he was hired to protect, had a half-naked man pressed to the old floorboards, knee digging right into his back to pin him down, a large hand keeping a tight grip on his neck to stop him from moving.

But what got your attention even more than the struggling client who Joel was snarling at as he roughly kept them down, was the girl who was standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself and subconsciously shifting to stay behind the bodyguard, eyes wide and relieved at the sight of him catching the out of hand customer.

You walked towards the scene that had drawn spectators in the form of clients and workers alike, peeking their heads out into the hallway to watch as you slowly knelt down in front of where the bastard was pinned so roughly to the ground that you weren’t sure he could even breathe.

Good.

You glanced up at Joel then, meeting his hard gaze with one of your own, and you gestured with a jerk of your chin towards the staircase leading down and out of your establishment that he could throw them out.

After rising to your feet, you paused next to Joel, watching from the corner of your eye as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking them to their feet and halting in his task only when you briefly laid your hand on his shoulder.

“Let him know not to come back,” you muttered under your breath, sending a sidelong glance full of unspoken things towards Joel, a tiny smirk curling onto your lips as the whimper of fear from the sick bastard and your bodyguard’s short nod let you know you’d been heard.

You walked straight towards your girl who had nearly been treated in a way you would not tolerate towards any of your women, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her against you, letting her sink into your warmth as you addressed the rest of the brothel that everything was fine, to resume their activities while Joel shoved the guy down the stairs as they started to beg for mercy.

Luckily, there weren’t many similar incidents after that one, letting you know the investment into a well-abled bodyguard for your girls had been more than worth it.

Because more than the concrete evidence of their safety, it was the palpable shift in energy at the brothel that reassured you that you had made the right choice not only in having a bodyguard, but in who you hired.

Joel never really warmed up to anybody, but all the girls had certainly grown fond of him. There were more than a few crushes on the emotionally unavailable older man who stood like a statue in the halls, ranging from innocent love to lustful fantasies.

There were a handful of times one of your girls had offered their services to him, some even trying to get him into a room free of charge, but Joel turned down every one—interestingly enough, it was never without kindness. Each time a proposition was offered, the detached bodyguard would give a slight shake of his head, mumbling a “no thank you, ma’am” in that deep Southern drawl that soon made almost every girl in that building buckle at the knees.

The fondness your girls had for Joel Miller became ingrained in the way the brothel functioned, and you knew that you couldn’t get rid of him even if you wanted to, even if that meant continuing to share a large portion of your personal livelihood with him.

And maybe you were crazy, but you thought that maybe Joel had a bit of warmth in that tiny, shriveled up heart for your girls, too. Sometimes he’d eye a client up and down before giving the girl with them a respectful nod and a polite murmur of their name as a greeting, and you didn’t know why the familiarity of the stoic man warmed your own barbed wire heart, but it did.

Maybe it was because after all the shit they’d gone through to survive long enough to reach this point, they deserved to experience an ounce of genuine kindness from a man, without having to think about what they had to offer him.

Still, Joel irritated you. Any hint of kindness he had for your girls was never shown towards you, but you didn’t let it get to you. You were his employer, and the only times you ever really interacted with each other were the few short seconds it took him to head up the stairs to your office, collect his payment with you and leave.

Besides, you weren’t exactly the most gentle with him either.

You’d taken up a habit of poking fun at your bodyguard, a little teasing here and there about things like his face getting stuck if he never unfurrowed his brow, a comment that only made him scowl further, the sight pulling forward again that urge from deep within your bones to laugh.

But you never laughed, even as you smirked up at him before turning on your heel and going on about your work keeping the place running smoothly.

That work mainly involved management and finances, but when you began to realize you soon wouldn’t be able to keep supporting yourself with keeping Joel on as a bodyguard, you knew you’d have to start doing something a little extra.

Time to go back to your roots.

For all his time working at the brothel, Joel had never seen you take a client.

In fact, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you in the hallways, only to check on a few of the girls from time to time.

But most of the time you were holed up in that small office upstairs, the one he entered for a minute or two at a time, long enough for you to gather his payment and give it to him so he could be out of your hair—or, more accurately, to get you out of his.

Because fuck, you were irritating. You knew exactly how to get on his nerves, and Joel suspected you actually enjoyed doing so, for whatever goddamned reason.

Still, the job paid well. He was living with a bit more comfort in the QZ than he ever had before with those cushy extra ration cards.

And besides, he was actually, maybe a little bit attached to the girls who worked these streets. They were kind, just making a living in the best way they could, and needed somebody to protect them.

Maybe there was also a part of Joel that needed somebody to protect.

He had to admit though, for all his aggravation towards your mere existence, Joel did respect you. You were the person who kept this place up and running, the one who looked after every need of each woman, the lady who had cared for them enough to search for a protector to keep them safe.

Joel had honestly assumed that you didn’t do sex work at all, just judging from how you were never in one of those rooms.

But tonight, you were walking up the staircase from the base floor instead of down from your office, drawing Joel’s attention and subsequent confusion when he saw what you were wearing.

Gone were the baggy jeans you usually wore around the brothel, replaced by thigh-highs that enveloped soft skin he had never seen before. There were just hints of lace at the top of the hosiery from where the tight black dress hugging your curves rode up with each step you took.

It had to have been one of the least scantily clad outfits he’d seen down these halls, but something about the sight of you wearing it caused a lump to form in Joel’s throat, an itch curling inside his veins that needed to be scratched when you turned your head back, offering a sly smile different from any you had sent him towards somebody behind you.

When you ascended to the top of the stairs, Joel saw the man following you, his back stiffening for more than one reason.

The first reason was that he knew this man. Not personally, but he had seen them around—on wanted posters, specifically. They were a higher up in the Fireflies, one who had their eyes on every covert deal around the city, a puppet master pulling the strings.

But it was clear now that you were pulling his, a coy batting of your cunning eyes tugging him after you down the hallway, your body turned slightly towards him in a way that accentuated every curve of your body in its side profile, illuminated in the lowlights of the hall.

When you passed by Joel, eyes meeting his as they shifted into something darker—not lustful, but with clear intent—he knew the other reason he had suddenly snapped to attention.

This man was your customer.

That look you had given Joel, it was an unspoken order to keep you safe in case anything went south with this considerably more…“exclusive” customer, for lack of a better term.

You didn’t spare another glance back as you moved to a door at the end of the hall, one Joel didn’t think he had ever seen another girl enter, slipping into the room as the man followed behind you, and the door quietly clicked shut.

Joel stared at the spot where you had just been in the hallway, feet frozen to the ground until he slowly stepped forward, moving down to lean against the wall next to the room you had entered, following your silent order to stay close and keep an eye out for trouble.

All his time working in a building full of the sounds and smell of sex at every moment, Joel had been unbothered. The moans, the grunts, the cries of “oh fuck” and “I’m coming!” that would echo through the halls, the overpowering scents of sweat and cum when a door next to him would open and a satisfied client would walk out—he couldn’t give less of a fuck. It neither bothered him, nor turned him on to any degree.

But at the very first soft, breathy moan of yours that drifted through the thin wall his back was pressed to, Joel’s breath was catching in his throat, entire body stiffening at the alluring sound.

A few seconds later, there was another moan, longer than the first, and Joel’s head tilted back, resting against the wall as his jaw clenched to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn’t care, he told himself.

Joel had never cared before, he didn’t care now.

But it had never been you before.

You, the stalwart image of the establishment, all business and no pleasure, putting every other person’s needs before your own.

So at the thought of you giving into pleasure now, satisfying your own needs as the sounds of slow, rhythmic squeaking of a bedframe carried towards him through the door, your whimpering echoing the steady echo of skin slapping against skin—

“Fuck,” Joel whispered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly loud moan of yours that reached his ears that had tuned in through the walls, and he snapped his eyes back open, straightening back up and realizing with a quiet groan from the movement how painfully hard he had grown in his jeans at the sounds of you being fucked.

He reminded himself then that this was your job. There was no guarantee you derived any real pleasure from it—to think that you did was a delusional male fantasy, and made him no better than the rest.

But his dick wasn’t listening to logic, only growing harder in his pants with the more lewd sounds that you made, and Joel sucked in a deep breath, rubbing a large palm over his face and shaking his head to himself.

You were no different from the others.

Just another girl to protect.

Joel didn’t want you.

“Oh, god, yes!” you were gasping in between keening moans now, and Joel bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling the chapped skin break and bleed a bit as his hand twitched at his side, the urge to do something about the erection straining against his pants so incredibly strong.

He could do it. None of the other girls were close to finishing with their clients. Joel could pull his cock from his pants right now and fuck into his own hand as he listened to you having sex, get himself off from the sounds you were making, imagining he was thrusting into you instead of his palm as you—

“Yes,” you whimpered, the sounds of skin slapping against skin rapid now, the bedframe inside your room slamming against the wall as you repeated yourself louder and louder, higher and higher, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Then you were crying out at the same time your client did, and Joel grunted, hips bucking up into his palm at the same moment he realized his hand had drifted there, subconsciously seeking relief from the ache of burning desire before he snapped his hand away.

“Fuck,” he huffed, shaking his head sharply and cursing himself at how he had nearly jacked himself off at the sound of you having sex without even realizing what he was doing. “Get it the fuck together.”

But his erection hardly eased up even as the minutes passed, and Joel had to fold his hands together, trying to casually hold them in front of the obvious bulge constrained by his jeans when your door opened.

The client walked out first, and Joel stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him, jaw clenching painfully once more as the man walked down the hallway, glancing back to send you a wave as you leaned against the doorframe, bending forward out of it to wiggle your fingers back towards him in goodbye.

Joel’s eyes snapped from how relaxed the gait of the man now was before looking over at you, sucking in a sharp breath at the tattered silk robe you were wearing, seeing the dip of your collarbone down to the soft curves of your cleavage, nearly catching a glimpse of the tempting pillows of your tits from the way you were leaning forward before he forced his gaze away.

You were watching him now—he could feel the familiar intensity of your gaze on him, and Joel resisted the urge to swallow thickly, struggling against the lump in his throat as you pushed yourself off the doorframe.

He expected you to head back up towards your office, preparing himself to keep his gaze off you when you walked past him in that temptation of thin fabric, when you surprised him by speaking.

“Want a smoke?”

Joel froze, his head tilting towards the sound of your voice subconsciously before your words even dawned on him.

When they did, he glanced towards you from the corner of his eye, seeing you were watching him with a thumb pointing back over your shoulder towards the room behind you.

The room you had just fucked a client in.

Oh fuck.

Joel cleared his throat, brows furrowed deeply as he looked back at you, and he half-expected you to make a comment about it like usual, but you were simply watching him with an impassive look, not a hint of emotion or motive he could try to decipher.

Before he knew what he was doing, Joel nodded, feet automatically moving after yours when you walked into the room.

“You can close it,” you said over your shoulder as you walked towards a nightstand next to the bed where—

Joel spun around, trying to control how rapidly he was breathing as he grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him before slowly turning back to face the room again.

He had never actually been in one of them before, but he still should have expected the smell to be so much stronger in one—especially right after it had been occupied.

Still, the scent of sex pulled his attention right back to the bed you stood next to as you perched a cigarette between your lips—one he thinks Tess got you, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind—and Joel’s eyes lingered on dark spots on the mattress, forgetting how to breathe for a moment before your voice brought him back.

“Mr. Miller?”

His head snapped forward, eyes meeting yours to see you looking at him in a question he didn’t know that you were asking.

“Huh?” he mumbled so eloquently, wincing internally as your lips twitched into a small smirk around the cigarette in your mouth before you pulled it out, blowing it into the heady air of the room, nicotine joining the smells of sex and making the space tighter, hotter, before you paced towards a window on one wall.

“I asked if you wanted one,” you said slowly, and Joel just then noticed how scratchy your voice was—from the cigarette, the moans you were making not that long before, or maybe both.

“Uh—no,” Joel shook his head, watching with bated breath as your smirk towards him grew. “No thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as you beckoned with the cigarette held delicately between your fingers for him to join you at the window. 

Joel did, almost automatically, cursing himself internally at his blunt eagerness to be beside you while you lifted the window to let some fresh air in, and he turned, resting his back against the open window pane, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you instead of observing the room any longer.

Not all that fresh, considering the perpetual staleness of the QZ air, but it did cut down on how overwhelming the aroma of sex currently was in that room.

If somebody was going to break the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you, Joel had expected it to be you, so he was surprised when the quiet words fell from his lips, “Didn’t know you took clients.”

You huffed out a laugh then, the stream of cigarette smoke leaving your plump lips in puffs with the action.

“The Mistress has to earn her keep somehow,” you muttered, pulling in another drag of nicotine to blow back out the open window, and Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you.

“The Mistress?” he repeated, eyes flickering over your face as he recognized that name in an instant.

Being a man in the Boston QZ, it was impossible not to hear about The Mistress. An elusive sex worker who was very selective about her clientele, but even still, the stories about her stretched far, the name representing the countless fantasies of every horny man who dreamed of a chance to get their cock wet with her.

His recognition must have been noticeable in the tone of his voice, because you lazily rolled your head back to look up at him, smirk growing fully across your lips, swollen from whatever you had been up to, and Joel nearly swore under his breath as he felt his cock stirring in his jeans again.

“You act like you’ve heard of me,” you murmured, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you placed the cigarette between them again, and Joel’s brain short-circuited for a moment before he could find the words to reply to you.

“I just—” Joel cut off, brows furrowed as he shook his head, as if trying to jumpstart his mind, get it to string coherent thoughts together again but Jesus fuck why were you looking at him like that, with dark hooded eyes he’d never seen from you before. “I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I didn’t think—”

“Why not?” you interrupted him before he could finish. The cigarette was back between your fingers, gesturing with it up towards the scar that stretched down one side of your face. “Because of this?”

Joel frowned then because, to his own surprise, he was offended that you would think he’d care about such a thing. That he’d judge your attractiveness off something as inconsequential as a scar, especially in such a time where such marks on your skin were proof of hard-earned survival.

Attractiveness. 

No, no, oh, fuck.

“Just didn’t know it was you,” Joel muttered gruffly, shrugging in a way that he knew must have looked incredibly stupid as he turned his face away from you, only to see the mess of shabby sheets on the bed, and those same dark stains on the fabric.

“Oh, so you have heard of me,” you were nearly goddamn purring the words now, in the same moment his mind was recalling those sweet, sweet moans you were making, the ones that had left your lips and resulted in the cum stains he was now staring at. “What have you heard?”

“They say you have the ti—” Joel cuts himself off again, feeling blood rushing towards his cheeks and somewhere lower, somewhere he should not be feeling any heat as he realized what he was about to say without thinking.

That you have the tightest, hottest cunt you could get in the whole QZ.

“They say I…?” you trailed off as you quietly repeated his words, and Joel’s attention flashed back to you to see you drifting closer to him, one arm crossed over your chest to prop up your elbow as you smoked your cigarette.

The way your arm pressed to yourself pushed your cleavage together to make an alluring dip, lifting your tits so they were almost spilling out of the open collar of the silk robe. Although the fabric was faded and tattered from the years it had survived, it may as well have been the richest texture in the world with the way it caressed your soft skin, taunting Joel as he struggled to look away.

When you shifted just an inch closer, one of the sleeves of the robe tumbled down your shoulder, and Joel sucked in an audible breath as more of your body was revealed, tempting him with how bare you were under that flimsy fabric.

He tried to look back up towards your eyes then, he really did, but the sleeve slipping down to hook around your elbow nearly revealed half of your chest to him. The only thing keeping him from seeing one of your tits completely was the way your forearm was pressed against your nipple.

Was it a peak right now? Were you as aroused as he was? Did you need him like he needed you?

Joel finally pulled his eyes up to yours, and when he saw the smug, knowing look in the heat of them, his desire flared into a fever pitch.

“They say you make sex an art,” his voice rumbled out from deep within his chest, and Joel hardly recognized it with the way his every word was coated in a thick need. “That your body feels like heaven, and you taste even better.”

You laughed at that, head tilting back with the action, and Joel was as distracted at the gentle, husky cadence that left your soft lips—how soft exactly, he wondered—as he was focused on the curve of your exposed neck as it led his eyes down your collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

There was a thin layer of sweat there, he just realized, and he wanted to dip his tongue between the soft pillows of flesh, tasting and tracing you, when your words pulled him out of his fantasizing that was quickly spiraling out of control the longer he was in this sex-tainted room with you.

“Those men don’t know a single fucking thing about how I taste,” you muttered, not bitterly, but simply matter-of-fact as you gazed out the window towards the dark lit streets of the QZ, taking another long drag of the cigarette.

Joel’s brow lifted, glancing over your side profile, noticing the way the deep red lipstick you had been wearing was almost completely faded, smeared a little at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, and coupled with the confession you had just made, he struggled with a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn’t name—or didn't want to, as it would surely become dangerous if he dared to entertain it.

“Seriously?” Joel found himself saying, and you turned back to him, your own eyebrows arching at the odd tone of his voice—almost appalled, but not towards you. “None of them?”

Your lips pulled back then, showing teeth in a grin that was nearly predatory, and Joel’s pulse raced as you answered with your own question, “You really think any man still alive wants to pay to go down on a woman?”

“I would,” Joel said in a heartbeat, and you blinked, surprise flashing through your eyes, and Joel hated the way his stomach flipped at the knowledge of catching you off-guard, as you were usually the one doing so to him.

“You’d pay for sex,” you repeated slowly, and although it was a question, you said it in a flat tone, disbelieving as you glanced up and down his body. “You. Mr. ‘I hate everybody and wish they were all fucking dead’ Miller?”

What surprised him the most out of everything tonight was the way you just made him laugh.

The sound was pulled from him so easily, tugged from his lungs towards you, and he sucked in a breath, as if trying to pull the sound back in as a dark look twinkled in your eyes from where they had fixed on the front of his jeans.

“Maybe you would pay for it, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, and Joel stiffened, his mind filling with a variety of curses in every language he still knew as you surely noticed his erection that still hadn’t fucking gone away.

Your eyes flashed back up to his, long eyelashes fluttering as you leaned forward, and Joel struggled to breathe as the forearm still covering the nipple of your almost completely revealed breast grazed against his chest.

“How would you prefer to take me, sir?” you asked breathily, and Joel’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, brushing with your own nearly exposed chest with every fast breath he took as he tried to reign himself in, even as you started fucking seducing him. “Are you a fan of foreplay? Would you take your time and go slow with me?”

Your head tilts oh so slightly, hair tumbling down in a way that begged Joel to wrap it around his fist, as you continued to mercilessly tease, “No, I don’t think you’re one for taking it slow. Are you, Mr. Miller?”

Fuck, if you kept calling him that, he was going to lose his goddamn mind and take you right against that window sill if you would let him. He’d pay you all the fucking food rations in the world for a taste, just a taste of how sweet you’d drip for him when you came.

Because if Joel was fucking you, you were going to come.

“You like it hard and fast,” you whispered, your arm finally dropping from your chest, and Joel swallowed down a strangled sound as he finally saw half of your chest completely, your nipple hardened in the air before you pressed it against him and fuck, oh Jesus fuck, “I bet you’re rough too. Big man like you, you like to be in control. Probably gets off on taming brats, hm?”

Goddammit if you didn’t shut up he was about to show you just how well he could tame you, shutting up that pretty mouth by making you come again, again, and again, until all you knew to do was cry out for him every time he wracked your body with pleasure.

“But you’re not a missionary man,” you shook your head as it tilted the other way, bringing your face to hover inches away from his neck, and Joel shivered, actually fucking shivered when he felt your breath caress his skin as you teased, “You like a cowgirl, don’t you, Joel?”

That was the first time his name fell from your lips.

And at the sound of it, Joel lost any ounce of self-control.

His hands were on you in an instant, enveloping your waist in his large palms as he pulled you flush against him at the same moment he turned to push you against the wall.

You gasped, the dwindling cigarette falling from your fingers, and Joel lifted a foot to stomp it out, using his knee to nudge your legs apart with the motion. When his hips nudged against yours, erection pressing against the spot between your open thighs, he moaned at the feeling of your heat against the impossibly tight fabric.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the robe you wore was completely open now, and your exposed cunt was pressed right up against his clothed erection, but his entire mind was focused on the way you also moaned at the same time he did.

“You keep running your mouth like that, I’ll show you how fucking good I can tame a brat,” he growled into your ear, one of his hands easily lifting your hip, dragging your folds across the bulge in his jeans, and he sighed as he felt wetness seep against the fabric. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, baby? Just from talking about how I’d fuck you?”

“I-I–”

Suddenly, no words were falling from your lips other than incoherent stuttering, and Joel smirked as he ducked his face against your neck, licking a path along the curve of it, groaning in need and irritation at the salt of sweat from your previous sex that still clung to it.

“Did you come for him?” Joel growled the question against your jaw, now directing your hips to grind against him in a way that put pressure to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft moan that left your lips—it sounded different than the ones he heard you make before, quieter, a bit huskier as opposed to so high-pitched—before he nipped at the skin just below your chin. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and Joel loosened his grip on your waist just a bit, wanting to see if you still chased that friction he had been providing against your clit.

When you did, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, Joel smirked against your jaw before asking his next question, “When’s the last time a man made you come, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips to fan across his face, and Joel pulled back, looking down at how blown-wide your pupils were, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face as you muttered, “I—long. Too long.”

Joel wanted to smile at how you were already struggling to form full sentences before he had even started with you, but the anger he felt at you going so long without feeling an ounce of pleasure from being with a man made his jaw tick as he frowned deeply instead.

“Do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel murmured, his calloused thumb finding your bottom lip to gently pull it out, caressing the wet inner part of your lip while he searched your gaze. “I need you to answer me, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything unless you want me to.”

“Yes, Joel,” your voice nearly broke with the husky whisper, head bobbing in an eager nod, but Joel still waited to hear you say it clearly before he began. “I want you. Want you to make me come, please.”

A shuddering breath left Joel then, and he returned your nod, brushing his thumb across your lip again before pulling it back and leaning down to replace the digit with his own lips.

You were both moaning from the first moment your lips touched, kissing in a way that was much like how you always acted around each other—a battle for dominance, adding gasoline to the fire, but with an underlying respect that neither of you could shake even if you wanted to try.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled when you allowed him access to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it with a quiet moan that you echoed with your own. “Taste so good already, sweetheart.”

Every time he tried to pull away, you brought him back in with your lips chasing his, trapping him in another hot kiss, passion he didn’t think he could ever feel again building between you until he needed to taste more.

Joel finally tore himself away from your mouth fully, hands finding the opening of your robe to make sure it was pushed open completely, giving him access to every inch of your soft skin as he pressed kisses down your neck towards the perfect, perky tits that had been taunting him since you leaned out into the hallway.

His large palms cupped them, fingers stroking the soft flesh as he pressed them around his face, groaning into your skin at the feeling of being surrounded by them before turning his face to lap a path up the curve of one with his tongue until he reached that goddamn nipple that had been pure torture to nearly catch a glimpse of during your entire conversation.

Joel flicked his tongue over it, hips nearly bucking up as you gasped at the sensation, back arching to press further against his tongue when he flattened it against the stiffened peak. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, your fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as you pushed his face further against you, and he moaned through a mouth full of your breast, teeth grazing against the sensitive peak before he pulled back to quickly do the same to the other.

Despite your teasing, he would take his time with you eventually. But tonight he was desperate, a drowning man gasping for air—but no, even that wasn’t accurate.

You were not the air Joel needed, but rather the unfathomable depths that he was drowning in.

He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, grunting quietly at the pain that ricocheted through his old bones at the action, but he couldn’t care less as he found himself facing your hot, dripping cunt.

Joel leaned forward, letting his breath fan across your sensitive folds as he lifted two fingers to run across your wet entrance, dragging the digits up to where you clit was already swollen with the need to be touched, to be pleased by him, and he smiled to himself at the sigh you exhaled above him from the sensation of his touch.

His fingers slid back to your entrance, dipping the rough pads of his fingertips into you just enough to collect more of your desire, spreading it along the lengths of his thick fingers as he swiped them up to your clit and began to rub in slow, tight circles.

You gasped quietly, hips rolling into his gentle ministrations, and Joel smiled against your skin when he ducked his face forward to press soft kisses along your inner thigh and up.

“Gonna take care of you, darlin’, don’t you worry,” Joel murmured against the mound of trimmed hair above where his fingers were slowly working at you, his lips moving down to replace them as he added breathlessly, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Your hips bucked against his face when his tongue found your clit, a louder, breathless moan tearing from your throat at the heady sensation of his hot, wet mouth sucking around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel,” you gasped, nails scraping against his scalp as you grabbed his hair tighter, and he groaned around your clit at the feeling, pulling a delicious whine that sounded so much more real, more feral, more needy than the perfect, practiced ones you had made through the wall. “I—oh, fuck, that’s so good…”

He hummed around your clit before flattening his tongue against it, alternating motions until he found the rhythm that made you grind yourself against his face, and his palms found your hips to pull you up against him further, encouraging you to ride his tongue until you found your high.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured in between the moments when he’d suckle your clit, teeth gently grazing it as he resisted the urge to palm himself at the steady stream of moans and muffled curses that were echoing above him. “You can do it, come on. Soak my face, wanna taste your sweet cum.”

When you did just as he told you, Joel thought he really did see the gates of heaven, a sight he was convinced would never grace him after the lifetime of hell he had lived and caused.

He lapped up every gush of wetness that dripped from your folds in your release, dipping his tongue inside your entrance to drink you up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing gently to prolong the waves of your pleasure.

Once the gyrations of your hips against his lapping tongue slowed, Joel pulled back from your cunt, your release glistening on his mouth and down his chin as he gazed up at your slack-jawed expression.

Your head tilted down, gaze meeting his as a lazy smile curled onto your lips, and Joel tried to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the sight combined with the feeling of your grip loosening on his hair, fingers combing gently through the strands.

“Good?” Joel mumbled, turning his face to press a soft kiss on your inner thigh, and your head dipped down in a nod, humming in satisfaction as Joel smirked against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth opened, teeth gently nipping at your soft flesh, pulling an endearing squeak of surprise from you as he rasped, “Not done with you yet, though, sweetheart.”

When his tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers went back to your entrance. This time, when he dipped one fingertip in, he didn’t stop, sinking into your tight, wet heat until the first knuckle, smiling against your swollen bundle of nerves as you rolled your hips into him at the sensation of his digit slowly filling you.

He gave a few slow pumps of his finger when he had sunk it in completely before pulling it out, chuckling around where he had sucked your clit back into his mouth at your whine at the loss of his finger before he added it back in with another.

“Fuck, can you feel you squeezing my fingers, darlin’,” Joel grunted against your cunt, lapping desperate licks against your clit, eating you out with increased fervor as his fingers pumped you faster at every mewling moan that left your lips, encouraged by the rolling of your hips to curl his fingers until he found the spot that nearly made your knees buckle.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, giving you support to stand while keeping you pressed to his face, not allowing you a moment of peace as his tongue worked mercilessly at you until you were coming around his fingers this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel was whimpering against your cunt this time as he continued to fingerfuck you through your high, sucking at your clit and drawing out every aftershock, his arm around your waist the only thing keeping you up now as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, fingers tugging at his hair again, and he pulled back to look up at you, his fingers stilling inside your cunt, but not sliding out of you just yet.

“What is it, darlin’?” he rasped, breath trembling as you stroked his lips with your thumb, collecting your own release combined with his saliva on it before raising it to your mouth to suck on, pulling a moan from Joel’s throat at the sight.

“Want you to touch yourself, sir,” you murmured, and Joel���s eyes widened, his fingers finally slipping out of your heat, reaching down to fumble with the button of his jeans at your permission he didn’t even know he was desperate for. “Make yourself cum just from the taste of me.”

“Jesus—” Joel couldn’t even finish whatever he was going to groan out as his hand wrapped around his cock once he pulled it out of its fabric constraints, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief of finally, finally doing something about the erection that had plagued him since he guarded you outside the room while you worked.

“Mouth on my pussy, Joel,” you ordered, and he was diving back into your folds without a second thought, sloppily thrusting his tongue inside your wet heat as his hand pumped his cock, your release still coating his fingers spreading across his length as he felt himself already rapidly approaching climax. “That’s it. You like the taste? You wanna come because I taste so good?”

Joel was nodding against your pussy, groaning into your folds as he lost any rhythm towards making you feel good now, but you didn’t seem to care, your hand in his hair still keeping him pressed to your cunt as you encouraged him this time around, “Do it then, Joel. I want to watch you cum for me.”

If you said anything else at that point, Joel couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing through his head as he came harder than he had in years.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt an orgasm so intense, his vision darkening at the edges as he sucked mindlessly at your wet folds, hips bucking up into his fist as his cum shot out to paint the wall behind you before leaking out steadily over his hand.

You loosened your grip on his hair, allowing him to pull back with a gasp, sucking in air he needed to not black out as Joel’s blurry vision focused back in on your face above him.

There was a small smile on your face, satisfied in more ways than one, and Joel couldn’t help but match it with his own half-smirk as he focused on catching his breath before slowly pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Mm,” Joel moaned quietly as his lips met yours in a lazy kiss, one he wasn’t sure who initiated as he mumbled against your mouth, “Heavenly.”

You laughed then, and he felt himself brighten at the sound, though he tried to ignore it as you gently pushed him away from you.

“Come on,” you sighed, straying away from the wall towards the door on shaky legs while you tied your robe back up, making yourself decent enough as he tucked his dick away and zipped up his jeans. “I’ll get you your payment for today.”

There was a brief moment where you made sure nobody was lingering in the hallway before beckoning him out, and you both made your way towards the staircase towards your office while Joel tried to ignore the foreign thrill at the chance of being caught with you after what you had done together.

When you passed his payment to him, he counted out a generous portion before holding it right back out, earning a scoff from you at the offer.

“You’re not paying me for making me come, Mr. Miller,” you said with a sly smirk, and Joel tried to ignore how oddly disappointing it felt for you to resort to calling him that after tonight. “That wasn’t work.”

Joel slowly arched his brow, but nodded at your insistence, tucking his payment in his back pocket before rumbling out a quiet question of, “One-time thing?”

It wasn’t an offer, nor was he insisting that you did or didn’t do it again.

In fact, he was secretly hoping it would happen again, and Joel felt the treacherous anticipation for even more of you when your exhilarated gaze met his.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

[periprose]

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

[foodiegoogie]

request for james potter x sunshine gf? like yapper x yapper <3

note: thank u for requesting my sanny angel <3 i was so excited to write this when i got ur req hehe :P thanks 4 being so patient as well !! hope u like this :P

paint me a picture

james potter x fem!reader ✮ 2.2k cw/tags: established relationship, that ‘couple paints each other’ trend on tiktok, MOO DENG CAMEO, tooth-rutting fluff mayhaps? and a lil crack :>

If you were ever put in a situation where you’re stuck in a room full of complete strangers, chances are that you’d strike up a conversation with one, two, or a handful of people no matter how off-putting they might seem as a stranger. You had a knack for talking people’s ears off, your mouth running faster than your brain ever did—spewing word after word before you could even finish your train of thought. 

Frankly speaking, you were well-aware that your talkativeness came across as annoying to most people. It was a hard pill for you to swallow, because you really, really liked to talk to people. You thrived in sharing your interests and whatever it was that came to your mind with other people. But the pressure was immense, and society—cruel, so you had to make do and shut your mouth if you could handle it. 

When you met James, however, it was like one of those cliché moments in movies—the ones about destiny and fate and soulmates. Because who knew that you’d find your match in being a chatterbox in someone as charming, and lovely as him? 

James Potter, in all his bumbling, comical, and boyish glory, did not stray away from you from the very first sign that gave away your talkative nature. 

And it appeared that he wasn’t planning on ever doing so in the near future. 

“Oh, but have you seen the one of her biting that zookeeper’s leg? She’s so adorable– I can’t!” You gushed as you filled in the gaps of James’ uncolored ears—the James in your portrait, not your actual James—with brush strokes of warm, chocolate brown paint.

The real-life James who sat across from you chuckled softly at your enthusiasm. “I know, right? She’s a little troublemaker, that one. I’d steal her away if I could.”

“Me too, me too,” Your vehement agreement amuses your boyfriend. “Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have a hippo as a pet!”

James’ nose wrinkles, as if in distaste, at your statement. “Wouldn’t that be hard though? They’re always covered in mucus, and they’re always underwater. Hippos are a little high-maintenance if you really think about it.” 

“Respectfully, James, I never asked for your opinion.” 

James’ mouth hangs open in shock, his hand frozen as it holds a paintbrush in front of his own canvas of his portrait of you. 

“I can’t believe you’d say that to me,” He fakes a sob, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought we had something special, love.” 

You sigh, going along with his act. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Jamie. You know how I feel about pets.”

“So that’s just it, then? You’re leaving me for a hippopotamus?” James cracks his voice at the end of his lamenting, hand flying up to cover his mouth, suppressing his “sobs.”

It was getting admittedly hard for you to keep up the act, though. But you persevere.

“It’s nothing personal, James. I swear,” Your voice wavers at the end, the start of an uprising laughter in your throat.

“Do you, actually?” 

You count what seems to be like five seconds of you and your boyfriend just staring at each other. It was almost as if James was challenging you to break. Ironically, you were starting to think that you were going to. 

But then he beats you there as you watch his face split into a wide grin, his canines doing nothing to quell his boyish handsomeness. Your boy always looked good, but he looked especially nicer when he was happy, smiling. 

Laughing, too, most of all. James had the kind of laughter that sounded like a wind chime when a breeze passed by, making you feel light and floaty as if on a cloud. He also had the kind of laughter that you just couldn’t help but join in, and share the moment with him.

“Absolutely nothing,” was what he would say whenever you asked him what you wanted to do together. 

But if you asked him what you’d want to talk about? James would say, “Absolutely everything.”

“Now I can’t remember what I was supposed to do!” You exclaimed, your laughter dying down to soft, involuntary chuckles as the lighthearted air of James’ relentless quips lingers between you both. “If my portrait turns out wonky, I’m blaming you.”

James’ grin could only grow with pride. He always loved to make you laugh. “Hey, that’s not fair. I only asked if–”

“No, don’t start again!” You rushed to stop him, pursing your lips to contain yourself.

“I haven’t even said anything,” He beamed at you, unashamed of how cheeky he was being. 

“You were gonna!” 

Your boyfriend shakes his head resolutely, pushing his glasses up his nose with a careful finger. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Top ten things a liar would say.”

James scoffs, affronted. “Top ten things an unfair person would say.”

You tut, shaking your head disapprovingly. “You need to come up with your own comebacks, you know.”

“Well, hey– it’s not my fault I decided to date the loveliest, most creative, most swell girl ever in the entire world,” Your boyfriend reasons, his million-dollar smile ever present on his lips.

You feel your face grow warm by his words. Even after a year (and counting) of being with James romantically, you could never quite get used to his praising you. But that had been the deal—if you couldn’t get used to it, then he’d have to do it more often so that you would eventually get used to it.

So, you clear your throat, returning your attention back to the task at hand: painting a portrait of your boyfriend. James can see right through your feigned indifference, but mirrors your actions with his own painting. 

“‘Swell?’” You place the finishing touches of your painting of James on your canvas. There’s colours of red, brown, orange, yellow, and all its shades from the most subtle to the most vibrant. You’re not really a painter, you’re more of an appreciator of paintings. But you hoped that the message would get through to your boyfriend—to you, he was love and warmth personified. 

He shrugs in response, eyes glimmering with mirth as he works on his own portrait of you. You couldn’t help but wonder what he had drawn and painted of you. The anticipation was high. “Yeah, you’re swell.” 

“Where’d you get that from?” 

“Er,” James scratches behind his ear with his free hand. “Sirius.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I knew it.” 

Your boyfriend spares you a glance over his canvas, and you meet eyes with your smiles mirroring each other. James hears you snicker as you turn back to your painting, and the dimples in his cheeks deepen.

“Alright, I think… I’m done,” You lean back against your chair, observing your portrait of James with criticising eyes—though not necessarily criticising the muse of your painting, but rather the painting you’d done yourself. 

Real-life James from across you makes a humming sound. “I think… I am, too.” 

“So, who’s going first?” The pair of you chorus, then laugh.

“Ladies first?” Your boyfriend asked.

You consider it for a moment, eyes never leaving your painting as you continue to observe it. You were afraid of mucking it up further than how messy it looked now to you, so you refrain from making any more adjustments. 

“Uh… no. I think it’s best if you go first,” A rueful smile graces your lips. 

James sighs, and you just know he’s downplaying his own efforts before the painting is even shown to you. “Alright, then. Here we–”

“—Also because I think we should save the best for last,” You rushed to say, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him.

Your boyfriend’s eyes go comically wide, and as you do your evil cackling, he scoffs indignantly. “I see how it is. Well, feast your eyes upon my greatest creation of all time–!”

James grabs his canvas by the sides with careful hands, then flips it around so the front of his painting is finally facing you. 

Behind the canvas, the artist—your boy—has his gaze fixed on your face, waiting for any sign of a reaction. In truth, he’d be devastated if you didn’t crack a smile or gasp! “This is amazing, James! I love you with my whole heart!” 

But he’s also aware that he wasn’t Van Gogh or Picasso, so he should be cutting himself some slack. But damn it all if he doesn’t get your stamp of approval on his painting of you—the most beautiful work of art he’s ever seen. 

Said “beautiful work of art he’s ever seen” now sits across from him, rendered speechless—which was out of the ordinary, so you had James worried. You did expect something “humble” to come out of his work, something worth placing in the Louvre museum that would rival the Mona Lisa, and something you’d both argue over like, “James, this is amazing!” and he’d respond, “Nah, I could do better.” 

Well, your expectations were met, but they had exceeded you by a lot. A lot, a lot. 

The background of the portrait is painted in a pastel, sky blue colour, adorned with symmetrically shaped clouds in white. And there’s that sun in the corner of the canvas, a smiley face drawn on it, too—a staple in a child’s painting. 

But it didn’t stop there; alongside the clouds were some painted flowers. There were daisies, your favourite. Tulips, also your favourite. There were little bees and butterflies and hearts all around, there was so much going on in the background of the painting that you didn’t know which to pay attention to.

Though you did know, realistically, which to pay attention to. It wasn’t in the birds and the bees painted haphazardly across the background—in the middle of the painting was a rather messier variant of you. You in your candid, cozy glory, donning your jumper. The curve of your jaw, the size of your eyes. James had managed to capture you in your likeness. You could see yourself in the painting. 

Most of all, however, you’re speechless of the fact he’d managed to capture you beautifully. Have you always looked like this to him? Is this what he sees every time he looks at you? Is this what he sees now as he looks at you?

“Erm, do you–“ James clears his throat, his fingers drumming against the sides of his canvas as he held it up in front of you. He was anxious because you still hadn’t shown any reaction whatsoever in the span of half a minute. “is it that bad?” 

A lighthearted jest. Probably to dissuade the brewing anxiety in his mind from your lack of a reaction. His leg was already starting to bounce restlessly from under the table. He’s thankful that you’re unable to see that, at least. 

“‘Bad?’” 

“Yes, ‘bad.’” A beat passes. “Is it?” 

You shake your head at once, having gathered your bearings after all. A smile slowly starts to make its way onto your face. “It’s not bad. Not at all, James, this is–“ 

James doesn’t know what to do now, if he’s being honest. He wishes you could just come out and say it in his face that he was a trash painter, and that his portrait belonged in the dumps. He’d rather that than wait in agony—

“It’s so nice,” You finally manage to say, your voice dripping with fondness for him. His heart skips a beat at the sight of your smile—all sweet and pretty and lovely, so lovely. So loving. 

“Really?” James gains a smidge of his confidence back with your reactions. “You like it?” 

“Like it? I love it!” You abandon your chair, rounding the table to tackle him into a hug, planting a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. “You made me look so pretty! Best boyfriend ever!” 

Said boyfriend feels like he could melt in your arms right now, but he returns your affections by tightening his own arms around your waist, pulling you down so that you sit on his lap. 

“‘Best boyfriend ever?’ Now that’s a title I can get behind,” He chuckles, grinning widely up at you as you did the same at him. Two birds of a feather, their love mirrored in one another’s eyes, and hearts. 

Long story short, when you show your portrait to James, he makes sure to let you know that he loves it. Absolutely, indubitably adores it. He declares that he’ll frame it and hang it up in his room. He’ll contact local historians to let them know that, “Hey, I think we’ve got another revolutionary artist in our time and it’s my girl.” 

(He also makes a few comments of how you “didn’t quite get his nose right” and how “his hair looked exaggerated in your painting” and that that was “hair-racist.” What?)

At the very end of your date night, the pair of you decide to paint another picture—a third to add to your collection—but this time around, it included the two of you, with a grubby look of a house beside you both, three other little people, some dogs here, some cats there, and then some. 

ty for reading \(￣︶￣*\)) likes, replies, n reblogs r always appreciated !! <3

[hs-is-loml]

Defending. (x.t)

PART ONE OF TWO

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: wednesday tells you about her suspicions about xavier but you come to his defense and are determined to find proof to prove her wrong

Warnings: mentions of making a small cut, very little like a drop of blood, hydes? (those ugly mfs) NOT PROOFREAD

a/n: this is going to be in two parts, but part two will be posted late 12/1 or early 12/2 depending on when i finish writing it! it's basically a smut fic for part two which is why i decided to split it up in case people are not comfortable with it!

masterlist - part two

“Now, this is too far,” you said to Wednesday as she told you about her suspicions about Xavier being the monster.

“All the evidence points to him.”

 “Wednesday, it’s not him.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re in a relationship with him,” the girl argued back with her.

“No shit, Wednesday. I know him enough to know he’s not. You think I wouldn’t notice by now if he were going around town killing people?”

“You’re letting this blind your judgment,” Wednesday stated. 

“NEWS FLASH WEDNESDAY HE’S NOT THE HYDE! WOULD IT KILL YOU THINK FOR ANYONE BUT YOURSELF?!” you yelled at the girl who just raised her eyebrows back at you.

“What are you going to do when you find out he is?”

“Nothing,” you answered softly you could feel a headache coming from yelling, “There’s nothing to find out.” You walked back inside from the balcony and exited the room before you felt like destroying anything, and Enid would get mad at the mess later.

You wandered around the school before you came upon the statute of Edgar Allen Poe. You sat down near the statute wanting to clear your mind for a second before you looked up and realized the mark beneath the book he was holding. You tried to recall what your mom would always tell you as a kid about the Nightshade Society. 

“He was notorious for his riddles. For it was not one alone, but each line was individual. One to remember is, ‘The answer will give a sharp cracking sound,’ that will help you once you find it,” was something she always mentioned when she talked about Nevermore. 

“A sharp cracking sound,” you repeated as you stood from your spot and it clicked, or more so snapped into place. You raised your right arm and snapped two times. “Thank you, Nightshade Society.”

You walked down the staircase into the dimly lit library. The portraits that hung on the wall of old members caught your eye as you looked about the room. At the end of the portraits you find your parents, they tell you to make a name for yourself, but how could you live up to them? 

“You put that bag over my head, I will choke you with that very rope in your hands,” you warned the people who stood behind you as you looked for your mom’s diary knowing that would be the only thing you could find answers in. “You should know to not mess with a witch with heightened senses.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n, we were just trying to have fun,” Kent joked causing the other to mutter in agreement. 

“I WASN’T GOING TO DO ANYTHING I SWEAR,” Xavier yelped once he notice it was you and threw the bag in his hands to Ajax.

“Someone’s in the dog house tonight…” Yoko teased. Kent and a couple of the others gave a couple howls joining in the joke.

“You know Xavier you could’ve told me about this,” you said as you finally found your mother’s diary. 

“Babe, if I could, I would’ve-”

“He’s sworn to secrecy,” Bianca pointed out as she gave you a dirty look when you walked to a desk with the diary in your arms.

You pulled it out to see she sealed it with magic though not any kind of magic, blood magic. “My family was a part of the Nightshades long before you, although I thought it to be disbanded.”

“Yeah, the group kind of lost its charter 30 years ago after some normie kid died,” Xavier explained which answered your thoughts as he walked up to you noticing that you were looking for something. 

“But we have a lot of wealthy alumni, so Weems looks the other way as long as nobody makes any waves,” Yoko added on. 

“What are you looking for anyways?” Xavier questioned you.

“If you’re trying to open your mom’s diary, you can’t,” Bianca told you cockingly. 

“Maybe you can’t,” you retorted just when you noticed a letter opener sitting at the corner of the table. 

You reached over and grabbed it seeing that it had a sharp edge. You noticed from your peripheral vision that the group was crowding around you to see what you were doing. Xavier was right next to you with his attention on the knife you held in your hand. You lifted your right hand over the book and took the knife to your palm just before it touched your skin you heard shouts from around the room.

“Y/N!”

“Woah, girl, no need to prove a point.”

“No need for bloodshed-”

“What are you doing?!”

“No, no, no, no, absolutely not,” you heard Xavier say as he tried to grab for the knife, but it was too late. “Oh my god, only you. Literally, you’re the only one who would do this.”

You sliced the inside of your palm and allowed for the knife to drop down onto the table as you felt the sting in your palm. You closed your fist and put it directly above the lock on the book. You felt the blood sweep down near the bottom of your fist before it dropped down into the lock. 

“Blood magic?” Yoko asked in amazement when she saw the lock unlatch and you opened to the front page that held your mom’s portrait along with her signature. 

“Only the very best for mother dearest,” you remark sarcastically.

“That explains a lot!” Kent said from behind as Xavier looked around for a first aid kit. “Bianca was trying to open that months ago and nothing would work!” right as the words left his mouth, Bianca smacked him in the back of the head causing him to groan in pain, “Well, ow.”

When Xavier finally found a first aid kit that looked like it could be decades old, he went back to your side and held out his palm to you. Putting your sliced palm in his hand without him even having to ask you. 

“I couldn’t find any actual alcohol to disinfect it, so vodka will have to do,” he unscrewed the bottle with one hand and looked back into your eyes before you gave him a slight nod telling him it was okay for him to do it. “This might sting.”

“Oh shit, I can’t watch,” Ajax gagged as the vodka was poured onto your palm and the blood washed away with it. 

“Makes the both of us,” another member said.

“Stop being babies, people would think you’re the one with the cut palm,” you told them off as taking in the pain with no reaction. “At least I have a hot doctor patching me up,” you smirked.

“Only for you,” Xavier muttered as he focused on wrapping the bandage around your hand. At this point, almost all the members already left not wanting to see what you and Xavier get up to.

“Thanks, babe,” giving him a kiss on the cheek before returning your attention back to your mother’s diary. 

“What was so important that you have to look into your mom’s diary?” he asked you. “You’re looking for answers, but for what?”

“Any information about hydes.”

“That’s the monster, Wednesday was talking about right?”

“The same one she believes you to be, yes.” you look up from the diary to see his confused expression.

“Wait, me?” he wondered aloud.

“I told her it wasn’t you though, but that girl is the most stubborn person I have ever met,” you informed him taking one of his hands in your non-injured one to give it a tight squeeze in reassurance. “You have to be careful, I know you’re not the Hyde, but she is going to do everything she can to prove her point.”

“I love you.” he blurted out to you. “You could’ve easily believed her, but you didn’t.”

“I know you, Xavier. There’s no damn way in hell, I’m going to let you be falsely accused for something you so obviously are not,” you stated. “And, I love you, that’s why I’m trying to see if my mother knew anything about Hydes during her time here,” you smiled at him.

You turned to put the diary back onto the desk as you hurriedly flipped through the pages scanning for any kind of information on the damn monster. You were about to turn to another page just before you noticed a name you’ve heard of before. Francois Sylvanne. Xavier moved to stand behind you leaning over your shoulder to read the diary as well. He placed his hands on your hips to steady himself causing you to lean back into him.

“Seems like Wednesday’s little boy toy just got way more interesting,” you pointed to the name on the page for Xavier to read. 

“Who is she?”

“His mother. The same one he goes to therapy for, I heard she died a while back, and apparently the sheriff isn’t only bad at his job but bad at parenting too,” you explained as you read more of your mom’s writing.

There’s something about this girl. She keeps to herself. Quiet. Distance. Truly an Outcast. I have a feeling something is going on with her or at least something will. I’m going to keep a close eye on her, but she is graduating this year.

“Weird, your mom always has good intuition, I wonder if she’s right about this one too,” Xavier said after he read your mother’s entry. 

You flipped through more pages of the book and found nothing. You looked at every line on the pages, and your mother never mentioned her once again. It wasn’t until you got to the last page of the diary to see a quite messier version of your mother’s writing.

THAT GIRL IS A HYDE. FRANCOIS IS A HYDE. HIDDEN AWAY WITH A NORMIE IN THE TOWN. 

“No,” you gaped as you turned to see nothing more and reached the end of the book.

“Do you think Tyler’s the Hyde?” he whispered into your ear.

“It’s the only way. It makes sense too,” you claimed, “But the question is why?” 

[suikung]

may i request some shikamaru x lil!sis headcanons?

| Brother!Shikamaru

| TW. Incest

Shikamaru was the prized sibling in the family, and the Nara clan. From the moment he started in the academy, his genius was noticed. Your parents equally loved you, however you could tell they knew you weren’t as gifted as Shikamaru. And Shikamaru obviously knew that. But to him, it’d be better for it to stay that way.

You started the academy a year after him, and immediately the instructors could tell a difference between your brother and you. They held you to such high standards because of him, and when they weren’t met, all you would receive was a look of disappointment. It crushed you to know you’d never be as good as him. But it didn’t deter you from training hard day and night.

He didn’t allow you to have friends, even if he did. It was always something along the lines of “They’re just a drag you know. No need to concern yourself with them.” It almost felt he took all the friends for himself so there wouldn’t be none left over for you.

He was and continues to be the biggest manipulator. His words might seem innocent to any pair of ears, but he knew to yours, they would crush your self esteem. “Come on, why train so hard? Just accept the way you are.” They might seem as if he encouraged self acceptance but in reality he was firm on the belief you’d never advance.

As the years went on, his words only weighed heavier. He tried his best to convince you not to take the chunin exams. Wasn’t being a genin enough for you? You already were assigned missions. And he hated it. You now needed to uphold a responsibility to the village and he sadly couldn’t keep you at home. Couldn’t you see he was doing this all for your safety.

When Asuma-sensei died, it further showed to him the cruelties of this shinobi world. And soon he know that the King, was not the Hokage or Feudal lord, but you. Just like the knight, he’d work even harder to protect you. Conveniently for him, you’d been dispatched on a mission and had come back severely injured. While he vowed to find those who did this to you, he also petitioned with Lady Tsunade to have you relieved of being a shinobi. “She’s not capable of continuing to do this Lady Tsunade. I say this with her best interest in mind.” Just like that, you had returned to being a normal civilian.

During the 4th Great Ninja war, you stayed home. Despite the village needing all the power they could get, Shikamaru did not let you join. “You haven’t done anything in forever. Do you seriously think joining the war would result in you coming back alive?” He was right. Your brother was always right, so you stayed home. You waited for both him and your father to return, however only Shikamaru came back. The loss of your father weighing so heavily on the family, your mother shortly followed suit.

Now he had nothing but you. He had lost the people who would always talk sense into him, give him a guiding push in life when his path might stray. But now? He had no one to tell him what he might do is wrong. So he let his instincts take over. His feelings suppressed for so many years, he could finally let them over when the time was right. And that time would be when you turned 18.

Shikamaru was now 19, you 18. He led the clan on his own after the war. But he needed someone to do it with him. You had now become his wife. Nothing out of the ordinary in this society. Pure bred clans were a normal things. However now he possessed so much more control over you.

Immediately you were left to uphold a traditional housewife life. He was cunning, already he kept you inside as much as he could but now as his wife he could finally put his ultimate move on the board. You had fallen pregnant.

Now he controlled every single thing in your life. What time you ate. What you ate. Who you were around, what if they caused you stress and in turn harmed the baby? But to him most importantly, when you went outside. He was still a Shinobi, he couldn’t be around you 24/7. But this allowed him to keep you inside, for what seemed like forever. Only ever being outside when he couldn’t take your begging and crying anymore to be free. But his plan worked. And if he had to, he’d continue to keep you pregnant if it meant you’d never have to step foot outside again.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/n I love him and his fucked up hairlime

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Part of your world

---

Pairing: Miguel o'hara x female reader

Word count: 4500

Warnings: none

Content: soulmates, longing, loneliness

---

“Why hasn’t she shown up for her assignment yet?”, Miguel questioned his AI assistant, tapping his fingers away as he scheduled another spiderman to take up your work.

“Didn’t you hear?”, LYLA asked him.

 “Hear about what?”, he turned to her feeling confused.

“She quit.”, LYLA spoke to him as she filed her nails.

“Why didn’t I know about this?”, he grew tense.

“Wait, it’s your job to tell me these things.”, he was annoyed, sure, you skipped out on your task but not having you around him somehow felt more worse.

“I did.”, LYLA yawned feeling unenthused by this conversation.

“You didn’t seem to fret about it too much?”, she continued hopping around him studying expression.

He slumped back into his chair, how had it slipped his mind?

“I sanction the resignations, why wasn’t it passed by me?”, he questioned further. Was there a flaw in the system he didn't know about?

“Because she had a valid reason.”, LYLA searched through her storage to bring up your video.

“I’ve found him, at last. Now I want to embrace a quieter life with him, one that is without all this madness.”, he watched you speak, gesturing to his monitors behind you. His sleep ridden eyes latched onto your face in the recording as though the very sight of you was the remedy for his aching heart.

He could feel his claws take shape, he wanted to go berserk, to trash everything that was in front of him. But seeing the way you sighed, like you had enough, his heart only softened more.

“Tell Miguel I’m sorry.”, was the last he heard your voice before his screen flashed to black. Leaving him to sit in the silence, with the inevitable truth that you had left. You didn’t choose spider society. You didn’t choose him. He hung his head, after years, after being the very reason he set out to enter the multiverse, he didn’t get the only desire he longed for.

He reached for his vial and took a shot, his shoulder stinging with pain, he had to rest or much rather forget. He got up and left, with less vigour than when he arrived, than when he thought he had a chance. Now it was all lost, again, over and over, why couldn’t he have one good lasting moment before it got ripped away from him.

Entering his apartment, he embraced the darkness as he trudged into his room. His suit deactivating to expose his skin to the cold, he didn’t want the warmth, it reminded him of you. But ever since he had seen you, his dreams were replaced with nightmares. Every time he slept, he would wake up in a realm where you were next to him. His dreams of Gabriella and his time as a father was now replaced with his longing for love.

You wouldn’t let him sleep, every move you made he would feel it as though it was real, as though this was his life with your fingers on his cheeks, your body looping in and out of his bed sheets. Your hair spread out on his chest, his heart always skipping a beat when you lifted your head to see him. But he could never hold you close or stop you from leaving.

Nightmares. Like now, your siren like voice telling him to find you, your lips saying sweet nothings as you kissed his forehead and the ease he felt as you ran your fingers through his hair. He was going to go mad at this rate and no amount of his green vials could save him.

He woke up gasping for air as cold sweat dripped from his forehead. He took a few seconds to calm down as he sat in the dark room, alone, pulled away from your touch,  the only light coming through the window from the city that never slept, just like him, kept alive by your neon lights. He hid his face in his hands. Desperate, he couldn’t settle or digest the fact that he was going to be lonely, forever.

That is, only if he could find you again. He stopped himself. The fear gripped him. He had already done it before, jumping universes in search of a better life and it ended with him losing his daughter. If he were to try again and as a result lose you completely. His eyes widened, he didn’t know how he would continue to exist.

Atleast now, he looked out at the view, you were happy in someone else’s arms. So he settled into his pillows again, you were better off without having to be with him. But one gnawing question chewed on his self control. Who was this mystery man? This ordinary fool who was lucky to have you?

He retracted and detracted his claws as he couldn’t seem to find an answer instead a solution arose in his mind. He could never live in peace if this question was left unanswered. So knowing the pain that he would carry coming to know that he couldn’t be the one, he needed closure. He got up, activating his suit in the dead of night to grab his gadget and head to where you were.

Your city was quaint, it was unlike Nueva York. He could begin to understand the appeal, as he quietly swung over the roof line, it had a suburbian aspect to it,most of the lights were out, the neighborhood was sleeping and as he got closer to your house, he breathed a sigh of relief. The lights in your living room were turned on. But as he approached the slope of your roof, he spotted another parked car outside your house. It was a utility vehicle with soil bags and horse food in it’s truck. So you fell in love with a farmer. That was the complete opposite of who he was.

Taking in a deep breath, he prepared himself as he got closer to an open window, and there you were. In the warm glow of your lamp, seated on your comfy couch, speaking to this man.

Could Nueva York ever offer you a semblance of the beauty you had here?

The more he watched your mannerisms, it was clear you were having an argument of some kind.

“I gave up the mantle.”, he could hear the agony in your voice.

“Isn’t that enough?”, you held onto the edge of this man’s sleeve.

“I don’t want you to stop being you just so you can be with me, amor.”, he heard the man speak and his heart stopped.

He leaned in and there he was, a version of him, the one who lived in this universe. An ordinary version of himself. You had fallen in love with him, just in another world, he touched the glass as though it was a barrier.

“But you know it’s more than that.”, his version spoke as he pulled away your hands from him to hold it together.

“I just don’t feel the same.”, he placed them on your lap as he took his car keys.

“No, just give it time.”, you got up along with him.

“Just give us time.”, you pleaded but it was falling on deaf ears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Watching him leave and take with him the future you desired.

He hugged you and you were the only one who was an emotional mess. He kissed your forehead and whispered goodbye, leaving you to stand in the middle of your living room like a ghost as the door closed softly while you kept thinking this wasn’t how it was to be. But as the clock struck twelve, you let the sorrow take you as you fell to the ground, weeping.

He wanted to run to you, to hold you and tell you that he did love you, that he would give you all the time in the world. But this was how it was, like the glass layer separating him from you, he will always be outside looking in and never by your side. He heard the vehicle drive away and all he could think was that the version of him who was here had to be the stupidest.

Maybe he could convince his version to come back.

But with the silent night stretching on and your quiet sobs breaking his heart, he wanted to intervene, even when his mind was telling no. He wouldn’t alter your story by involving himself in it. He stilled when an idea came to him.

If he pretended to be this other version … no

He couldn’t pretend anymore, that was what got him into this mess.

But maybe just long enough to ease you. Maybe. Definitely. He swung away in search of a change of clothes, which he found outside someone’s house that was kept out to be taken. He then purchased a roll of bandage from the pharmacy, to put the hand his gadget was on in a cast to disguise it.

He stood outside your door, suddenly nervous to knock, he paused to muse his hair, trying his best to look like the man you had fallen in love with because he knew he was nothing like him.

He knocked and heard you run to the door. It opened to the sound of your voice calling his name and he forgot why he was here. As he crossed the threshold, he could tell this was what his dreams were about, that he too unknowingly had longed for an ordinary life with you. His distant eyes were brought back when he felt you wrap him in a hug. He relaxed into your hold.

“You came back?”, he heard you ask and the breath in his lungs vanished as the warmth of your body seeped through him. This was real.

“I was an idiot.”, he replied.

An idiot to have not told you sooner about your significance in his life.

“I realized the moment you weren’t in my life, oscureció cada rincón de mi universo.”, he let his hand hold you close. All this was his own truth.

“A few seconds away and you’ve turned into a poet.”, you sniffed pushing away from him to see his face again. He was never this eloquent before.

But you brushed it aside, intertwining your fingers with his as you led him to the couch to only then see the cast. “Were you in an accident?”, you asked worriedly.

“No.”, he looked like he was new to your place, observant of your surroundings, of you.

“Just pulled a muscle as I slammed the car door.”, he explained but you could sense that something wasn’t right. The timing of when he left, he would have been half way across the city by now and it would be impossible for him to make a return trip so soon. You leaned towards your blinds and peeked outside, the road was empty. He had walked to your house.

“So you’ve changed your mind?”, you asked him. His eyes now on you as if they were alive with adoration.

“I’ve loved you since the beginning, what is there to change?”, he said lost in the proximity and the color of your eyes. You were caught in a moment and almost felt your soul stir before his eyes widened as though he remembered something and leaned away.

“I mean, what I said before I left doesn’t hold true anymore.”, he clarified himself as he cleared his throat.

You hummed, placing your hand on his cheek to trace your thumb over his top lip, he froze under your touch.

“Where’s your scar gone?”, you asked, now sure about who this was.

“What scar?”, he furrowed his brows and it only confirmed your suspicions.

You reached forward and ripped the bandage to see the multiverse portal gadget on his hand, leaving you both in a state of shock.

“Do you think this is funny?”, you grew tense, but your frustration had found it's breaking point.

“No let me explain – you cut him off.

"For a second I almost believed you.", you pushed away from him as he tried to reach for you, your eyes turning cold and distant.

"Hold on that was the truth – he began to argue but you had no interest to listen to him. This would end in a disaster if he kept popping up into your life.

"I want you to leave,", you walk back to him.

"Go back to Nueva York.", you said as you reached for his gadget to set the coordinates but he pulled away his hand.

"What?", he asked looking baffled.

"Leave. I don’t want you here.", you seethed but you were fighting back tears.

"After what I witnessed? That you were in love with a version of me?", he reached for your hand again, his eyes searching yours.

"No.", he said resolutely.

"Why won’t you just leave me alone?", you pulled away from his touch afraid that it might set of a world ending event.

"Because without you in my life, it withers away.", he said in an outburst which caused you to freeze. Your eyes widened as clutched the side of his head in pain.

"I feel like I’ve told you this before.", he winced and you but you lip.

"You did.", you said softly.

"But I made you forget, in the hopes my departure would not break you.", you found his eyes and you had to look away because they shimmered with the hurt of having been betrayed.

"You did what?", he gasped as he asked.

"Miguel, you are all about the canon. We, are not canon.", you wrapped your arms around you.

He got up and slowly approached you.

"But we are.", he said softly, like that was the reason for everything in his life.

"We are, when we fall in love within our respective universes.", you sniffed, trying to push away the utter hopeless you felt,

"You knew?", he asked with a hint of surprise in his voice, to which you nodded.

"So find my version in your universe and let go of me.", you looked up at him and watched him crumble.

"I can’t.", he said, the edges of his eyes glistening.

"You don’t exist in my universe, the first time that has happened.", he looked away as he explained.

"How do you know?", you asked.

"Cause you were the reason I made this.", he pointed to the gadget in his wrist, your eyes widening at his words.

"To come find you, but when I couldn’t, I settled for a life in another universe that I thought would soothe me, instead I lost it too.", A small tear drop ran down his cheek, breaking to utter bits.

"My logic was right, but his heart wasn’t it in. It’s the first time this has happened too, you rejecting me.", you reached up to wipe his tear, when

"Give me a chance.", he whispered.

You couldn't help but scoff because you knew the life he had to offer.

"You can’t give me something you don’t have?", you told him maintaining eye contact.

"And what is that?", he furrowed his brows.

"A chance to enjoy the mundane.", you replied, now impatient to put this conversation to an end. It had caused enough hurt for the both of you. But he didn't stop.

"Come back with me and I’ll show you", he held out his hand for you, as though it was only your to take.

"Miguel", you tried to protest but he was adamant.

"Just one day.", he pleaded.

"And by the end of it, tell me you felt nothing and I’ll bring you back.", he was being honest.

You looked at his out stretched hand, the hope in his eyes and the years of longing with which he said,

"Just, please.", he took a step closer to you.

You knew how he truly felt about you, because he appeared one night outside your balcony as you were watching the night sky to tell all of it. To tell you that you made his nights torturous with your presence invading his mind. You felt it too, that connection, the tug on your heart everytime he entered the room almost as if there was a thread that pulled you to him.

He was lonely, so were you. Tired of trying to find the other in your own worlds when in the sleepy state you were in, you let yourself lean into his touch. So he pulled you in, his warm body keeping away the chillness of the night. You knew this was going to be a mistake, the stake of the universe hanging over your head. The monitor on your desk had come back with no results, in your search for his version in your universe.

So maybe being here in his arms was the closest you could get. And after endless days craving for him to arrive in your life, maybe you could just enjoy this second. So you pulled him close and kissed him.

Desperate hearts finding solace in the warmth of the other.

But after that, one thing led to another, he carried you as he undid your buttons, you kissed him not wanting to be anywhere else. You had spent the night together and that was the first time you had seen him sleep so peacefully, his hand resting on your back as you rested your head on his chest.

Nothing had happened, the universe didn’t collapse but maybe it was because you hadn’t told him that you loved him. But as you were contemplating on trying it out, you monitor beeped. It's search result coming back with one positive result. And it was brutal the pain you felt, as though it was separating two souls that were one, to leave him behind, to pull away from his arms. But it had to be, your story was never meant to intersect with his.

So you did the most heart breaking thing you had ever done. He had to forget this, forget you, so you placed your finger on his forehead as he stirred awake. His eyes lighting up the moment they spotted you, his mouth opening to tell you that he loved you but you couldn’t let it happen. Not now after you knew this was going to break the canon storyline. You activated your telepathic powers and watched as his words turned into a whisper as he was put into another sleep. When he woke up again, he would have no recollection of all this.

But now as he stood before you, with the same agonizing expression, you couldn’t find the strength to tell him no. Not when after everything, you were both alone again.

“Fine. One day.”, you said subduing your fears as to what the outcome might be.

All you craved now was to just be by his side and as you took his hand, there it was, that resurgence within you, that spark, one you did not feel with his version in your world.

The moment you got back, he was pulled away for work and so were you. But he didn’t let go of you, he had you next to him as he slotted the assignments while you both enjoyed a late brunch to take out noodles. He was laughing, making jokes, and the very essence of his joy lightened you up as well. Swiftly using his chopsticks, he held out a piece of honey chicken up to you, as if this was how it had always been. You and him sitting in his office whiling away time. You leaned in to take a bite, you were sure he never shared his meals with anyone else before.

Overseeing spider society’s progress demanded he got out of his office and so he took you with him. Although you were both indulged in doing your jobs, it felt fun doing it together. He instructed the new recruits while you pointed them towards their allotted sections. As he spoke to them, he would sneak glances at you, reminding himself of your presence and that was enough to get him going.

The latter part of the day was spent catching criminals here in Nueva York and a couple anomalies from a few other universes. But it was different than what you had thought it would have been, a life with him. It was well balanced. Sweet in the slow moments, thrilling in the adventurous journeys and mostly, less lonely. That in his soft touches and murmurs, you could feel your heart had found a home in his.

The day was coming to an end. He didn’t need to remind himself of it, because you hadn’t told him of your decision yet. So he got you some ice cream before he took you to the highest point in Nueva York, so that your final moment could just be with him.

It was surprising, he knew everything about you, what you liked, what you disliked and unlike the menacing image he had instilled in everyone’s mind, he showed you his truest nature. One that was gentle, kind and nurturing. All your favourite qualities. The city looked tiny below you as he found his spot next to you. The sky a painting of orange and pink as you thought of what you were going to do.

“Why did you make me forget?”, he turned to you.

You popped the end of your waffle cone into your mouth as you told him, “I kissed you and I didn't want to hurt you.”

He gave you a nod, his eyes looking away at the distant view before finding yours again.

“Right and I,”, he paused, his gaze well aware of what had happened between you two. You nodded in response, dusting your hands.

“It's all coming back to me now.”, he said softly and it reopened the hurt you felt.

“I didn’t mean to erase our time together, Miguel.”, you inched closer to him.

“I was sure it was you, but then that was when I had found him and I was scared,”, you couldn’t face him, you couldn't finish the sentence.

“You were scared you would destabilize the universe.”, he held his hands together.

“I've been there.”, he sighed.

“How cruel,”, you laughed pushing away his wind swept hair.

“Fated but just but of reach.”, you said to which e huffed a laugh too as his expression sobered when his eyes found yours.

The sun was now a red ball of fire descending into the horizon as his hand inched closer his pinky finger touching yours.

“So what’s it going to be?”, he asked turning to you, asking you how you felt about this day, if was enough to give you a taste of everything he had to offer.

“I… I liked today.”, you said sheepishly but there was line you couldn't cross.

“Maybe we could be friends?”, you suggested, to which he vehemently declined.

“That won’t do.”, he smiled.

“I want you constantly. In my arms, in my head, in my bed, everywhere.”, he gestured with his hands, as though being high in the sky deemed him confident enough to spill his secrets.

“Ah then I’m afraid the canon universe is going to crumble.”, you bumped his shoulder with yours.

“I’m afraid so.”, he said with a sad smile.

As the stars began to descent into the twilight sky, he just couldn’t seem to let you go. If that kid got away with breaking canon events and did his own thing.

What’s to say he couldn’t?

He looked at you, he wasn’t doing anything too drastic. A sense of resolve settled over him. He took your hand in his. This felt good and solid and true. So maybe, it was just his own thinking that was stopping him.

“But what if we did?”, he asked.

You didn’t want to leave, this was the life you were trying to mimic, back in your universe but you couldn’t happened because it needed him, the man who held your hand as his eyes mirrored the sky.

“What?”, you asked not quite following his train of thought.

“See where this goes?”, he answered to which you laughed.

“Miguel o’hara wants to break the canon, LYLA would have a fit of she could hear this.”, you continued.

“I’m being serious.”, he got you to look at him as you stilled.

Maybe you had gotten it wrong. You had kissed him and nothing had happened. He said he loved you and the world didn’t end. So maybe, you were searching for the wrong man. Maybe he had been right in front of you this whole time.

“And what is your reason to wreck the universe this time?”, you smiled as you caressed his cheek. His eyes softening as he felt your touch.

“I just really want to kiss you.”, he whispered and with the he guided your chin towards him to place his lips on yours.

Your heart was in your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut, afraid that if you opened them you might see him vanish. He held your hand tight, as though you were the only one that could offer him solace in his fears. A few seconds passed and he pulled away to see you, to check if everything was lost. But it hadn't, everything remained the same. The soft wind rustling your hair, the gentle moonlight illuminating his face as the night sky provided you with the cover to truly enjoy the meaning of this revelation.

That you were meant for each other.

“The world is still intact?”, he asked holding onto the side of your face.

“I believe so.”, you mumbled, now only wanting to crawl up into his arms.

He hummed as he picked you up in joy. To then seat you on his lap to face him, this was how it had been that night, irresistibly drawn to each other because your hearts were tied together. Now there was no need to run.

“No sabes lo feliz que me hace oírte decir eso.”, his hand found the back of you neck while you leaned closer to seal any gap between you and him. Your hands sprawled across his chest as he pulled you in.

“I might had an idea.”, you smiled and that small gesture was enough for him to find your lips again in a passionate kiss, because he wasn’t going to be alone anymore, all his sacrifices had led him to you.

“I’ve always longed to be a part of your world.”, he spoke in between his kisses, as he continued till he sat back breathless.

You looked down at his flushed cheeks as he gasped for air but didn't want to let go as though he didn’t want to waste another second of this new found life.

You didn’t want to either, so you pulled him by the collar of his suit and kissed him again beneath the starlit sky.

[bloodandthestars]

HOLY FUDGE NUGGETS!! Why is Miguel so beautiful.. 😭

Can I request a Miguel O’Hara x Madam-Web reader? Like maybe she’s well known for being the “Mom” on campus in the Spider-Society, with her and Miguel having a “will they, won’t they” flirty vibe going on?

And she verbally beats his fine a$s for how horrible he treated Miles (who was undoubtedly a victim of circumstance, just like most all Spider-Men) but Miguel can’t really focus on what she’s saying because he just finds her “Mama bear” attitude Hot as hell.. and she can sense it..

Reader: *blank stare*.. horny a$s vampspider~ 😒

Miguel: … 😏

Petter B: guys PLEASE! Not infront of the kids!!!

⸗ 𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄

tags: NO SPOILERS!, spouse! spanish speaking! gn reader

author’s note: hello lovie! you’re my first request ever! i hope you’ll enjoy this, since i had to tweak it due to me not seeing the movie yet and having a few ideas that made me want to write this IMMEDIATELY. translations at the bottom of the post!

wc :: 1.4k masterlist

Spider-man 2099, Miguel O’hara to differentiate him from the rest. The leader and creator of the Spider Society. In the protection of the multiverse, he’s dedicated his life to it. Unwavering, unmoving, if there was an obstacle, he intends to removes it.

“No! It’s not up for discussion.” He snaps back to the group behind him. Peter B., Miles, and Gwen follow behind him in his furious stride to his control center. His voice could echo amongst the society’s campus. Some of the spider-people wince at the boom of his voice. It was easy for them to conclude that it was another day, another problem to handle.

“Oh come on, Miguel.” Peter B. says with a groan. “It’s not a big deal. You can let him off the hook!”

“Having someone watching over like some kind of-” Gwen sputters to find her words. “-parole officer isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Well you said it, not me.” The larger man huffs, causing the trio to roll their eyes.

The doors of his control center slide open with a hiss. Miguel can’t help the scowl on his face, all the more natural with his work. He continues to walk, head turning over his shoulder to speak to them. “I told him and you, if he wants a spot back here he had to earn it-”

Miles frowns. It feels like they’ve been going in endless circles about him coming back into the society and leaving him close to exhausted. “But I-”

“Enough, he’s doing it my way or not at-”

“Uh…Miguel…?” Peter B. trails off with a finger pointing behind him.

“What-?!”

Turning to his vast data center, he stops immediately in his tracks just to practically feel his heart fall into his ass.

You had your arms crossed, a crease to mesh your brows together furiously. Peter B. grimaces at the stern look on your face, knowing it all too well from his own spouse back in his universe. Miles is surprised to witness Miguel drop his hardened expression and voice in an instant. Your husband lets go of his startled state, arms out as he walks towards you. “Dios mío- ¿mi amor? What’s with that look on your face?”

“You went after Miles?!”

The boom in your voice causes the trio to cringe back. Behind his intelligent mind that oversaw the Spider society, you were right beside him in every step. It was a large part of both of your lives, with highs and lows and plenty of difficulties. But it was for the greater good, for a connection of people who’ve been the victims of circumstances. You’d defend your fellow heroines with your heart, including from the wrath of your husband’s stubbornness. Miguel goes up the small step with a sigh. “I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for good reason.”

“Good reason? Right, go ahead. Tell me.”

“It was for protecting you! Protecting everyone!”

“At the cost of some of someone so young?!” Your tone shifts. “¡Vas a lastimar a alguien! O tú mismo!”

Miles’s wide eyes shit to the floor. Your switch reminded of his mom, going into Spanish on the phone to let others around her know that their conversation was not for them. You were more charged than her in these circumstances.

He feels eyes on him, and turns to see Peter B. and Gwen spare him a glance from their awkward stance. Peter B. motions with his head towards the couple, eyes darting back and forth with an muffled cough. Miles eventually gives in and sighs. “…they’re saying that he could have gotten someone hurt, or himself.”

“¡No, no lo estoy! El destino del-” Miguel implores.

You groan. “I swear to God if you mention-”

“-the fate of the universe-“ The three spider people behind him join you in unison.

“-one more time-”

The two of you drone on for a bit, with Miles trying his best to whisper translations to Gwen and Peter B.

“This is serious stuff, [name]. And I mean that with my body and soul.” Miguel grabs both your hands at his emphasis, holding them gently despite your heated discussion. “Eres mi vida, él lo puso en riesgo.”

Miles’s eyes go down to the floor, eyes saddened along with his voice. “He said I put them at risk.”

Peter B. and Gwen soften, eyes going back to you both. You look at your hands together. Gold bands shined in the various blues and reds of the room, the diamond on your ring leaving fluorescent reflection on skin. He watched as your lips press together. You look up to him, “He wouldn’t do it on purpose.”

“You don’t know that-we didn’t know that-“

You shake your head, snatching your hands away to point a finger in his face. “No zip it, Miguel!”

He leans back with his eyes wide. The others react in shock as well as you fall back into Spanish to speak to your husband. Peter B. didn’t need a translator to know the man was being reprimanded, cringing back when your emphasis got aggressive. Gwen looks to him, then to Miles— too speechless to keep translating. Peter B. looks to Miguel, slowly squinting at his demeanor. The longer you spoke, the shock dissipated into something else. His eyes were softer, arms holding one another as he leaned further to listen. You didn’t take notice, still chewing him out.

“-esto es ridículo, Miguel! Eres un hombre maduro, no tienes que actuar así. ¿No crees que puede haber un malentendido?”

When you ask him the tantalizing question, he’s in a moment of pause. The man takes a step further to you. You look at him with unwavering eyes, expecting another long speech about your protection that you were all too familiar with. Instead, his fingers curl to brush under your chin, voice dropping to speak to you. “Eres guapa cuando estás enfadada.”

You’re beautiful when you’re angry. Your eyes widen, heat creeping up your back. Was he even listening to a word you said? You know he wouldn’t just ignore you or your opinions. It only took you a minute to realize that distant look on his face the whole time was to focus on your lips as you spoke. Your brows furrow, muttering to him in attempts to hold on to your reprimand. “…No cambies de tema.”

Don’t change the subject. He gives you a slight smile. With a tilt of his head, Miguel brushes his fingers under your chin again, stepping closer. “¿Por qué, no cuando cada uno de mis pensamientos gira en torno a ti?”

You give him a look, though your shoulders loose their tension. “Cabrón descarado…”Despite your words, the ends of your lips quirk up without thinking. His smirk only widens at the sight. “Y todo el tuyo también.”

Peter B. looks between you both with an expression of confusion. Weren’t you just- fighting? He takes his attention to the way you both look at each other. His brows loosen, raising to the sky when the realization hits. Turning to Miles and Gwen, he grabs both their shoulders and turn them around. The pair are forced to walk towards the entrance, eyes in a perpetually widened state.

“Alright!” The father explains. “Time to go, yep, let’s just-”

“But what about-”

Peter hunches down to aggressively whisper to them. “Guys. This is a free get out of jail card.” His head drops for a moment before looking back up. “A scarring one but nonetheless.”

Miguel thought them as out of sight and out of mind, eyes attentive to your frustrated look. How could he pays attention anything else with the way you got? The determination in your eyes and voice, how you would step to him knowing that many rarely could. You were passionate and he’d fall for it every time. The man wouldn’t have anyone else with him. He understood your words, took them in, but god did your lips too good not to take.

Your lips were captured in a plush embrace, eyes fluttering shut when he does so. The fingers under your chin turn to cup your cheek. Your hand goes to his side to invite him to come closer. Tension in your body left in an instant. Your husband lets out a soft sigh, mind enthralled in your presence. He pulls away with a slow blink of his eyes. Your eyes open, your smile now soft.

“Esto no ha terminado.” You mutter with a hand on top of his, thumb brushing over the back of it.

He chuckles darkly, caressing your cheek with a look in his eye. “Cuento con eso.”

translations: “¡vas a lastimar a alguien! o tú mismo!” (you could have gotten someone hurt! or yourself!)

“¡no, no lo estoy! el destino del-” (no i’m not! the fate of the-)

“eres mi vida, él lo puso en riesgo.” (you are my life, he put that at risk.)

“-esto es ridículo, Miguel! Eres un hombre maduro, no tienes que actuar así. ¿No crees que puede haber un malentendido?” (this is ridiculous, Miguel! you are a grown ass man, you don’t have to act like this. don’t you think there may be a misunderstanding?)

“¿por qué, no cuando cada uno de mis pensamientos gira en torno a ti?” (why not when each of my thoughts revolve around you?)

“cabrón descarado…” (cheeky bastard...), “y todo el tuyo también.” (and all yours too.)

“esto no ha terminado.” (this isn’t over), “cuento con eso.” (i’m counting on that)

taglist: @manchuria @mezzke @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @coleseyebrows @deputy-videogamer @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up

[roses-r-rosie3]

Hey soo angst right?

So Miguel x male reader where they have a fight because of miles and miguel just gets really angry and says and or does something that hurts the reader. The reader isn't a spider person but is still important to tge universe. Because of the fight the reader decides to leave because he does want to deal with miguel anymore, and he dicise to just help miles and all

You can end it with fluff or angst, whatever you want :)

Put It Straight

Miguel O’Hara x M!Reader

[Part 2]

Warnings: angst and swearing

Quote: “This is none of your business! So just go home!”

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Y/n was one the few non-spider people working at the spider society. He worked as Miguel’s right hand man because Miguel couldn’t stand leaving y/n alone by himself and because they were dating.

It was a “normal” day in the beginning, but Miguel went off to a meeting, while y/n was on his break. But all of a sudden an alarm went off and everyone got an alert to go after Miles. Y/n knew about the kid, Gwen talked about him all the time. Y/n would occasionally tease her about it.

There were hundreds of different variants of Spider-Man chasing Miles, but one stood out from the rest, Miguel. Miguel seemed ruthless, like he wanted to kill the kid, and y/n was concerned. But what made y/n snap was when Miguel sent Gwen back to her universe.

When Miguel turned around, he saw a fuming y/n.

“Miguel what the fuck was that!” Yelled y/n.

Y/n was one of the only people who could yell at Miguel like that. If anyone else dared to talk to Miguel that way, they were bound to either be dead or in the Er.

“Baby, Not now” Miguel Said.

He was clearly frustrated but didn’t want to yell at y/n.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Not now? You just sent the kid home, where her own father is trying to arrest her! And you see nothing wrong with that!” Y/n yelled.

“Y/n you don’t get it” Miguel said.

“I don’t get it!? First you chased Miles throughout the whole city! And now you sent Gwen home where she could possibly be in danger!” Y/n said.

“He wasn’t supposed to even be here! Because of him, the universe could be destroyed! He found out that his dad was going to die! So he tried to prevent that! He could have destroyed the universe! And for Gwen, she is the whole reason why he is even here to begin with! There! You happy?!” Miguel snapped in anger.

“So you’re saying that he is trying to prevent his dad from dying and you’re trying to stop him?!” Y/n yelled with just as much anger.

“It has happened to all of us! And it’s the consequences of his actions! If he hadn’t followed Gwen then all of this wouldn’t have happened!” Miguel yelled.

“So you’re just going to let the kid’s dad die?! Hasn’t he been through enough, he had to watch his uncle die and now you want him to watch his dad die too?!” Y/n said.

“This is none of your business! So just go home!” Miguel said.

“Weren’t you the one begging for me to come here to work with you? And now it’s none of my business!” Y/n said.

“Y/n- watch who you’re talking to like that, don’t think for one second that I won’t-”

“You won’t what Miguel O’Hara?! I tried, I really tried to understand why you acted like this! I’m sorry, but I’m leaving to go help the kid” Y/n said as he walked away.

“And how exactly do you plan on traveling other universes? You don’t even have a watch!” Miguel said.

“With this” y/n held out a watch while still walking.

Miguel immediately looked at his wrist and noticed that his watch was gone, and started to look y/n and realized y/n took his watch as y/n opened a portal.

“Y/n don’t! You could get killed!” Miguel yelled.

Y/n turned to look back at Miguel one last time with tears in his eyes.

“I love you Miguel” y/n said as he walked inside of the portal.

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[Edit]: I'm considering making a part 2 if there is a lot of demand for it

[dev1lm4n]

all glory

masterlist | kofi (support me here!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel has been feeling insecure, finding it hard to come to terms that he's indeed aging. tommy suggests a clever solution: a post-apocalyptic glory hole

word count: 4.8k of pure filth

warnings: minors dni (18+), post-outbreak, joel is 56 here hehe hot old men, insecurities, glory hole, fingering, unsafe piv, slight breeding kink, no pregnancy stuff tho cuz im terrified of that, reader calls him sir, pet name (darling)

note: i decided to create a kofi bcs im a broke college student lol. anyways hope yall enjoy this, do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :)

Joel Miller had always been a man of confidence.

Being left as a single father for Sarah at an early age, he’s been through thick and thin, trying his best to make ends meet so that they wouldn’t have to end up in one of those run-down shelters. But never once did he question his ability to attract women. 

He’s always had it in him. With a mere glance from his expressive eyes, he can ensnare hearts and leave an everlasting impression on anyone fortunate enough to encounter him. Rugged masculinity and striking refinement; a deathly mix that kept girls swarming after him like bees. After the world descended into chaos, he’s not much different either. Perhaps the bone-deep trauma had left him looking eternally exhausted with sunken eyebags, or that gray filaments started becoming a welcomed addition to his beard, but all in all he’s still charming.

He didn’t have to seek, because people seek for him. Joel had plenty of erotic rendezvous in times where society crumbled and the rule of law eroded, more so now that everyday could be his last and he didn’t have the privilege to take it slow like a true Southern gentleman. He’s done it everywhere. Inside a stuffy closet while hiding from a clicking monstrosity, behind a thin wall while her husband sat cluelessly on the other side, and even taking sexual compensation for his little business. Joel Miller wasn’t a saint. Neither he one for God and he’d like to make it obvious.

Nowadays though, within the tall foreboding walls of Jackson City, that type of attention has faded away. He’s no longer getting those longing stares from across the floor, no longer being begged to corrupt just for some extra wad of cards, no longer being flirted and fawned over like a goddamn stud. Joel didn’t have any problem with it at first. He’s growing old. Instead of those naughty strands of white peeking out of his head, he’s now a complete mix of salt and pepper. Instead of just having a fun smile line, forehead rolls and crows’ feet are now imprinted deep into every crevice. Joel wasn’t the man he used to be. 

He’s weathered away, he thought, unsuited for fun and adventure.

Perhaps it had something to do with his daughter as well. Even when Ellie’s not from his actual blood, everyone in town viewed her that way. He’s her father. Thus, everyone seemed to perceive and treat him as merely a father and not as an actual person that has his own needs and wants. Joel loved his daughter. Terribly so in ways he couldn’t decipher. A part of him has made up his mind that this would be how he should spend the rest of his life: in celibacy. Though the retirement of his sexual and romantic life has slowly taken a toll towards his self-esteem. Tommy, who’s always known to be rather slow and imperceptive, was surprisingly the first one to take notice of his gradual change.

“Maria told me you might be here.”

Tommy’s gruff voice brought him out of his trance. Joel looked up, meeting the familiar figure crouch to get into his little workshop. It was his newfound hobby these days, becoming a hermit and isolating himself from the community. He’d craft a wooden figure or two each night while he relived each and every one of his memories. Good and bad. Of death and of birth. Then by the end of the night he’d feel mildly satisfied with a wooden sculpture shaped like memorabilia from the old world. Joel couldn’t admit it outloud, but insecurity had taken over him. It festered deep into his soul that he couldn’t even bear looking at himself in the mirror anymore or present himself to society.

“Yeah, just..” he paused to ponder on a better way to answer. “Just doin’ my own thing.”

“You skippin’ dinner again?” Tommy’s curiosity sounded oddly suspicious, enough that Joel already knew he’s about to say something obnoxious or entirely uncalled for. The older quirked his thick eyebrows in return.

“Made myself my own plate,” Joel cocked his head towards where a lone plate sat. Judging from the crimson stain smeared on top, it must’ve been one of those canned pastas that he picked out.

“Brother..” Tommy started out, visibly nervous of how his brother would take it. “Is there something wrong?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No, not that I could think of,” Joel hummed. “I ain’t bitten or anythin’, why are ya asking such a dumb question anyway?”

“You’re just different these days,” Tommy reasoned with a small frown. “You barely come out of your house and if you do, you’re huddled up in this place, carving things for hours on end.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to be alone. Is there?” he challenged.

“No, but you’re.. different. Almost like your mind’s troubled for once.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Tommy,” he insisted.

Joel was actively avoiding the accusations. He stood up from where he’s been perched upon for hours on end, bringing his half-carved wooden slab with him to set it on one of the displays he had. He’s grown quite the collection. It’s been going on far longer than he’d expected, the crippling fear of being undesirable and hideous, and it brought up an immense feeling of embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly admit such things to Tommy, could he? Tommy was different from him. His first child was on its way to be birthed, but girls still chatter about his charming smile and strong figure. They’d still gossip and make dirty guesses about his size. How long he endured such activities, the position he enjoyed best, and how sweet he was to his partner.

Tommy couldn’t possibly understand his fear.

“You can’t help me even if I told ya,” he grumbled.

“Put some trust in me, will ya?” Tommy chuckled as he spun around his seat to follow Joel’s every move. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, big brother.”

“They don’t look at me the same way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The ladies,” Joel muttered.

His words were barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as if he saw the phenomenon as something humiliating, up to the point where he couldn’t even look Tommy in the eye in fear of having him laugh. He’s never talked about this with anyone else. It didn’t help that he truly didn’t have anyone to talk to in general aside from the few acquaintances his brother introduced him to and well.. Ellie. But none of them seem to be the right person to talk to regarding this. 

Regarding his failure in masculinity. His unspoken worries that he didn’t have any of the strong, chiseled jawline or any of the tightly packed abdomen with six separate squares to admire. He’s grown old and weak. Five years ago, he could’ve probably still sweet-talk his way into a woman's heart, but now he couldn’t even look one in the eye without the fear of being put to shame.

“They still do, Joel,” Tommy assured him. He’s telling the truth. Joel knew that Tommy didn’t have it in him to lie, he’d have sounded like a strangled bird or a squeaky dog’s toy if he did. But his mind couldn’t believe it one bit.

“I don’t know, Tommy..” he muttered. “They don’t look at me the same way. They don’t look at me at all even.. and I’m fine with that I 'spose. I ain’t a whorin’ bastard who couldn’t accept that he’s agin’..”

“But they do, Joel.”

“I’m old,” he sucked in the air. “Lately there are these moments where I.. where I’d look a girl in the eye and all I could feel was humiliation.”

“Humiliation?”

“Like they’re lookin’ at me as if I’m some.. some sort of repulsive creature,” he whispered. “I feel like I could hear ‘em gigglin’ with their girlfriends on how shameless I am.”

Tommy was deduced into silence. Time ticked by as he cranked up his brain to figure out the best way to aid his older brother out of his misery. It’s all in his head, Tommy knew that Joel knew that as well, but it’s easier patching up an oozing wound than a troubled mind. He brought his hand together on top of his jeans as he waited for the younger to make another comment, whether of comfort or of a harsh reality.

“I’ll offer you a solution,” Tommy spoke up. “But you gotta promise not to lose your head over it.”

“It ain’t drugs, is it?”

“No, no..” Tommy chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m open to anythin’” Joel dropped his arms to his side as he curiously eyed Tommy.

“Have you ever heard of a glory hole?”

Joel’s expression contorted in such a way that the younger Miller couldn’t possibly read what he’s thinking any longer.

“I ain’t goin’ outside those borders just to go to some sketchy brothel, Tommy. That’d be pathetic.”

“Well, the thing is this whole operation ain’t sketchy,” Tommy reasoned. “The girls were tested and approved by the local doctor before..”

“Local doctor? You tellin’ me this is happenin’ within Jackson?”

“I operate it, Joel,” he sighed, knowing he’s about to be bombarded with a handful of questions. “And before you ask, no this ain’t considered prostitution as there’s no material exchange.”

“You mean..”

“Yes. The girls do it for free. Volunteers. They do it for their own pleasure and I help make their dreams come true.”

Joel looked at his own brother as if he was a mad man. Who wouldn’t? When he’s just told him that they had an actual glory hole installed without most of the public knowing. Or perhaps they knew, they were just not talking about it in front of Joel.

“Ten to twelve. There’s a small house across the sheep field. One girl every Friday night.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Maria knows about this?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

“No, but it’s better off she doesn’t.”

Joel felt his morals set askew for a second. This sounded like a terrible idea, despite the fact that he’s confirmed it himself that it’d be the safest a glory hole could possibly be. He scratched his beard and took it into deep consideration.

In the quiet stillness of a winter’s night, the world was wrapped in a soft, white blanket of snow. The moon hung low in the dark sky - a beacon towards those who chose to travel in the deepest hours of nighttime. Joel blew puffs of warm air onto his gloved fingertips, hoping it’d satiate the coolness that made his joints ache and his skin itch. The air was crisp and biting, each breath producing a frosty cloud which quickly amalgamated into the air. He watched as gentle snowflakes, alike to elegant ballet dancers, fell from the heavens up above and twirled and swirled into an intricate pattern. He’s been waiting for way too long.

“So what are ya sayin’? Are you gonna let me take you tomorrow night?” Tommy broke the silence.

Tommy promised to meet him on the edge of the sheep field, where they’d herd livestocks all throughout the warmer times of the year, but he’s yet to see his tall nose and dark hair from any of the cardinal directions. He’s been waiting for too long to keep the same mindset Tommy’s trained him into, that this was simply a beneficial exchange for every party involved and that he shouldn’t feel shameful for something so instinctive. Waiting gave him time to weigh out the cons, how this was naturally an act of debauchery that wounded both his moral values and beliefs. He ain’t a God preacher, but he’s sure to keep some of those Southern manners.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

None of Tommy’s ideas are ever well thought out. Starting from his sudden gravitation towards the military, to his desires to hand over his entire life towards the Fireflies, and now this. He knew his younger brother wasn’t the brightest of men, but creating an entire glory hole to keep the town’s morale up might be the stupidest one he’s heard yet. Especially when Maria’s not aware of it. He feared for the day when the beans spilled out of its jar, but tonight wasn’t that day. During the time in which he contemplated his decisions, Joel didn’t notice the crunching of snow against thick boots. Tommy was here and he looked far too calm for a self-made procucer.

Tommy beckoned him to follow the path his boots had made. Joel sucked in some of that painfully cold air into his lungs, before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started trailing along. There were a few street lamps across the field, a ruddy glow emanating from them as they were adorned with a light dusting of snow. He kept his guards up while he scanned through the whistling field of crop, that traumatized part of him always keeping in check of abrupt movements and unsettling sceneries. After a quiet walk for a good three minutes, they finally arrived. The house fronts looked dark enough, and the windows even darker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs.

There was snow piling up outside as well, dirtier ones whose last deposit had been plowed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons. He scrutinized over the tracks, wondering if this was meant to be used as a makeshift grain tower. If it was, then Tommy must’ve been a great scheming asshole to turn such a place into his own little heaven. Not one soul was around, which confused Joel even more. Wasn’t this supposed to be a public glory hole? Weren’t it supposed to be disgustingly packed with sweating men, adorned with walls covered in left-over spurts of cum and other bodily fluids, and smelled like sex itself?

Joel continued to pursue Tommy even when he’s overly skeptical about this entirely new scene. His boots were scuffed as he was dragging his feet through the front door, a fight against his defense system that’s begging him to flee out the door at the unfamiliarity. The establishment consisted of a long narrow hallway that eventually led up to an imposing door. Wooden, large, and mysterious.

To his surprise, what was beyond that door wasn’t some tacky sex dungeon with rattling chains and leather whips, it was a modest looking box. Square, he’d assume one meter wide and half a meter tall. He took in the wood it was made from. His pointer finger slowly traced the circumference out of habit. Oak, he concluded, making it sturdy and cool even in the warmer weather. What he failed to notice from the get-go was a pair of legs that were stretched open, chained onto the wall from the considerably-sized gap. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach, he forgot for an entire minute what he was planning to do, and he’s starting to get cold feet.

“Darlin’, I’ve got someone for you,” Tommy cooed.

“You do, Tommy?”

Normally, people acquire hobbies in order to soothe their brief but occasional boredom, though you have discovered a unique way to tackle long hours of the night. This brilliant discovery of yours was birthed from a fated moment. One where you accidentally stumble across the conversation Tommy had with one of his patrol friends. It began a fantasy in your head. One you didn’t believe could come true until you overheard a passionate storytelling session one of the barmaids gave their friend. Only then did you gather enough courage to talk to Tommy about it. Despite his initial disapproval, saying things like you look too good and gentle to be doing such things, you managed to convince him with a week's worth of nagging.

“Mhm, one of my good friends here,” he hummed. “You’ll let him use you like a good fucking girl, won’t you?”

Goosebumps trailed from your backbone down to where your legs spread wide. Your nervousness made you flinch, effectively causing your legs to rattle against the metal restraints.

“Yes, I will, Tommy.”

When did you get so.. obedient?

“Alright then. I’ll see you in um.. twenty?”

“Thirty,” the foreign voice spoke up, masculine with a twinge of accent.

“Thirty it is.”

The entire room went quiet for an entire minute, only then did you finally hear the door slammed back shut. You swallowed back the throbbing fear in your heart, pushing back those persistent thoughts constantly warning you of the dangers. Even if you trusted Tommy with all your life, you didn’t trust the random strangers Tommy’s picked out. How could you trust them when you didn’t know who they were for sure? They could’ve been someone you see on the daily. The friendly guards, the cafeteria guy who’d always beam a sweet smile your way and give out more bread than standard, or even.. Tommy’s hunk of a brother. The same one who wouldn’t even spare you a look when you’re obviously sending heart eyes his way.

“Darlin’ is your name, ain’t that right?”

There was something so.. alluring about his voice. The type that makes your knees buckle inevitably, despite your best efforts to push it apart.

“That’s right,” you squeaked out.

“Darlin’, it’s been a long long time since I’ve done this, so let me indulge in you alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out unsurely.

Your eyes instinctively followed the direction of the hushed voice, but all you could see from the dim box was a piece of dark fabric that was hung from above the hole. It was to keep your identity a secret so that the patrons across from you could only see you from the belly button down. Though now you felt more inclined than ever to pull on the draping and meet this man’s eyes. Your thoughts soon diminished when you felt a large hand over your inner thighs. Nowhere dangerous, just resting below where your kneecaps sat. You closed your eyes to try and envision the kind of hands touching you.

Were they soft and unsullied like a baby’s bum? Or were they rough and ridged with years of work?

That large hand traveled down South, inching with an irritatingly slow pace down towards where you ached the most. He was a fair man. He treated both of your thighs in the same manner before the two gathered together in a v-shape over your cotton panties. You wondered if you should’ve worn something more enticing, something which suited a person like you - someone willing to spread their legs for a true stranger. But the man on the other side didn’t seem to have a problem. He didn’t seem like he was bothered by the simplicity of your presentation, instead he was keen on pressing his thumb down the center.

They were the latter. 

His fingers were textured and it felt too good to be true. At the briefest touch, you followed after his movement, hips reaching further up to chase after his departing touch. You whined. Frustrated that he’s cruel enough to press your sensitive clit and leave you all hot and bothered. He let out a deep chuckle, one that came out from the depth of his stomach as he placed his thumb back where it belonged. Your hole clenched and unclenched at the stimulating sensation. Your cotton panties seemed to be a great aid for your needy clit. It felt similar to grinding over a pillow, just this time, it felt a lot more real and animated.

“How long have you been doin’ this, darlin’?”

“Doin’ what, sir?”

So polite. It’s laughable the fact that you’re so soft spoken. Your lips spilled out a gentle moan as his thumb dug deeper into that sensitive spot.

“Lettin’ strangers fuck you,” he was frank with his words that’s for sure.

“This is my first time.. in the box that is,” your voice cracked almost immediately under pressure. “Been thinking of this for a long long time though.”

The gruff man hummed noncommittally as he continued to please you with his thumb. You used to be shy when it comes to being reactive during intercourse, but with the box, it almost felt like you could finally be your true primal self with your utmost carnal desires. He slowly eased your stained panties to the side once he saw an increasingly growing wetness, knowing that it’s time to move on to his next way of torture. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air immediately, it felt like the air was nipping at the sensitive skin all around. He took his two fingers - his middle and pointer finger being his favorite choice despite the controversy - and slowly dragged it atop the slick canal.

“A pretty girl like you gettin’ all wet from a little touchin’,” he chided. “You haven’t been fucked well or somethin’?”

What a considerate man. He called you pretty when he could barely tell what you look like.

“No, maybe, I-” you were flustered. You’ve never had to exchange proper talk when someone’s touching your dirty, wet cunt. “None of Jackson’s men did good. That’s why I hoped..”

Your voice trailed off into a garble of nonsense when he teased at your entrance, trying to decide whether you’re soaked enough to push a finger in comfortably. You whined, louder this time, as your legs fought against the uncomfortable metal cuffs wrapped around your ankle. He decided to play nice for once and made your dreams come true by inserting that thick finger of his. Fingering has never felt good for you, it always felt like an intrusion rather than a welcomed feeling, but he’s making it feel like heaven on earth.

“Hoped a stranger would fuck me well enough,” you took awhile to finish that statement.

He let out one of those noises of disapproval, at your skewed moral direction perhaps or at the tone of desperation your voice must’ve let out. You could only suck in a shallow breath when he started making proper, continuous motions with his finger. He pushed upwards to poke the tip of his finger onto that squishy part, playing around to find out where exactly made you react the most. You loved how he’s patient. You’re half-expecting the men to just stuff their cocks in you like you’re some sex doll instead of taking their time, which you don’t mind either. Half the pleasure was from being treated like nothing.

“Dirty gal,” he degraded, which you found both surprising and exciting. “Just wanted her pussy stuffed with any cock she could have, hm?”

Your hips thrusted up at a larger interruption. This time, the man managed to insert two of his thick fingers inside your eased cunt. He twisted it one-hundred-eighty degrees to the left, then back to the right, before he curled it in a come-here motion. The motion had left you dumb. A combination of ah ah ah’s and unfinished pleads for him to keep still. The man never once fully removed his fingers out of you. He’d slowly pull back to only have a single knuckle stuck inside before pushing it all the way in once more. For once, someone didn’t finger you like you’re a pizza dough waiting to be pounded.

“A-ah, sir. I really.. mmh- I really like that,” you moaned out shamelessly. “Feels really good in my.. in my pussy.”

“You like what, darlin’?”

“Like your fingers.. fingers in my ah- ah pussy!” you whined when he deepened his reach by rotating his wrist upwards. “Something- fuck- something’s coming! Please.. Please don’t sto-”

You warned him like a goddamn virgin and there it was, you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the way your pussy squelched around his finger at the new wave of sticky fluids. The noises were filthy and lewd that you were embarrassed for the first time that night. It coated your throbbing cunt and slowly ebbed out of your hole, dribbling down onto the wooden floor boards under. Strings of almost translucent thickness proof of his success. It’s pretty. The way you gaped around his fingers, tightened and relaxed at his fingers that still kept you full.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

He must be experienced, because he was quick to rub your clit precisely as you went through the throes of orgasm. His broad palm never missed where that bundle of nerves were, until you’re dripping all over the place. Only when you’re right towards the end did he land a small smack atop your pussy, keeping pressure where your womb is to maintain the pleasure for as long as you could. It felt like this wasn’t a shit place for once. It felt like this stranger could surely turn the flesh-eating monsters into a field of rainbows and flowers from how good he’s making you feel.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered. “Someone ever told you that?”

It took you a while to notice that his fingers weren’t there to stuff you full. He was busy tasting you. You could imagine him on the other side of the room, rough fingers deep in his mouth, drenched in your arousal. The thought made you squirm, growing wet once more. You shook your head as his hand slid back up. His fingers ran over your clit with one long stroke before they stayed there. His thumb sat right atop the throbbing spot, unmoving. 

"Perfect little thing, ain't ya?” he asked, and you nodded, your muscles tense as anticipation ran high. "Gonna fill you up real nice."

As soon as the dull tip of his cock prodded against your entrance, your whole body convulsed. Tears slowly crept into your eyes, frustrated, you might as well cry out a pathetic plea if he kept on stalling. Your palms banged flat against the side of the box. Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he purposefully missed your weeping hole. His length slid upwards, the warm tip rubbed against your clit from below before it shied away once more. Your toes curled and he must’ve taken the hint from behind the curtains.

The perfect stranger pushed himself up to where his mushroom-like tip ended, allowing you to adjust to the dimensions of his cock before he eased himself deeper.

You let out a strained moan. 

You almost bump the top of your head on the oak boards when he forced his way in. His cock was fully inside you at last. You were ecstatic. Eyes shut close as you bit into your bottom lip, flesh tearing beneath your canines. It was too much all of a sudden. Too good. Too large. Too full. You could hear the loud squelching noise your spongy hole made as he pulled back and stuffed himself back in.

“Fuck,” he groaned silently. “Don’t squeeze around me, darlin’. You're gonna get me in big trouble.”

He chuckled and fuck did it sound so hot.

You felt his fingers gently reach for the width of your hips. His grip was tight and harsh as he guided your every movement with them. He thrusted like a man on a shooting range, with much precision and prowess. You liked this. Liked feeling as if you’re just a doll for people to use and dump their loads in, especially when it's for someone like him. His cock made you writhe and fight against the metal cuffs holding your legs up. Eager to have him speed up to meet your desires yet he was persistent in keeping a stable speed. The sensation was growing. Slowly but surely.

“A-ah.. mmph.. oh God!”

“God ain’t here to save you, darlin’. It’s just this old man right here,” he cooed crudely. 

He made sure to keep you full at all times. Never once did his perfectly-sized cock leave your sloppy hole, it just kept on twitching and growing in size with the help of your warm embrace. “You like this, don’t ya?”

“Oh- oh yes. I like it. Love your..,” he stopped your lewd confession by placing his thumb back atop your once neglected clit, drawing lazily with what’s left of your wetness. You could feel him starting to seep. A tinge of his own arousal mixing in with yours. “Cock! Love your c- cock.”

His heavy pants started to intensify in volume, such a lovely melody when combined with your pathetic whimpers. He’s close.

“Gonna cum in you, darlin’” he muttered out breathlessly. “Gonna make sure you’re all fucked out with my cum.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when you’re on a highway to heaven. Your little hole tightened, so eager to milk him dry.

“Yeah, you’d like that, won’t you?”

“O-oh.. oh yes. Please.. fuck,”

“Please?”

“Please fill me up.”

His tip started oozing out ribbons after ribbons of cum, quickly filling you up relentlessly. Though he hasn’t stopped bottoming himself up into you. His load sloshed around, coated his length a perfect milky shade, and dribbled down your rear deliciously. Did you really just let a complete stranger fill you up to the top? Did you truly just let him pour his seed up your needy hole?

Maybe you did.

And maybe it’s reckless.

But oddly enough, you don’t feel too bad about it.

[sinsolstice]

★ 彡 ACROSS FOR COMFORT. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA

oneshot ❥ when he feels that the weight of the world is crushing him, miguel can only think of one person he can go to and unravel his biggest fears. he'd go to you even though you are far away from across the multiverse.

❥ tropes: star-crossed pining, hurt/comfort ❥ pairing: spiderman 2099 + afab reader ❥ extras: divider creds: cafekitsune. ❥ wc: 2,148

Miguel knew that he divided the Spider Society the moment he let everyone know that they would not stop until Miles Morales was brought back to him. 

Anger coursed through his veins when the young Spider-Man managed to slip through his fingers and escape from the Society again. He’s been defeated by a sixteen year old boy, who only had a year experience as a vigilante, who didn’t know much about the big sacrifices all Spider-Heroes had to make. And yet, he managed to draw everyone out of headquarters so that he can escape where no one can find him. 

But Miguel will make sure that Miles is found, even if he has to take drastic measures in order to protect the Multiverse. 

The boy wasn’t supposed to be Spider-Man, and yet Miles managed to outsmart him single-handedly. Outsmarted himself, Spider-Man 2099. Who has been protecting the multiverse for years with more experiences compared to the young hero. Who has never seen how fragile the universe is. Who made one mistake that caused the ruins of other people’s lives, wiping their existences off the arachnid humanoid poly multiverse (yes, that name does sound a little far-fetched, but he will always refer to the multiverse as that). Miles Morales reminds him of himself, and Miguel hates it. The one who thought that he can have the best of both worlds; saving lives and having the people close to them alive.  

I thought we were supposed to be the good guys? 

We are, he told Gwen. They still protect the multiverse, saving people’s lives. He was keeping the universe together. And yet, he couldn’t get her words out of his head that echoed in the back of his mind. Miguel knows that the weight of his words and actions have divided the Society, but what was he supposed to do when he tried to explain the situation to Miles calmly and it didn’t work out? And the possibility of another multiverse wiping off its existence can happen again? 

Miles Morales reminds him of himself, believing that Spider-Man can have everything in his life. The reality of it is that they can’t. No matter how hard he tried and the consequences led to severe destruction because of him—it was selfish of Miguel to think he could have it all. 

Miguel sneers when a couple of the Spider-Heroes give their updates that they couldn’t find Miles Morales in the universe they’re assigned to. His fangs bare under his mask, the tone of his voice edge command and hint of desperation as he commands the heroes to continue their search on the young vigilante. The multiverse is large and he knew that Miles could be anywhere. But the boy wouldn’t be able to hide and escape away from him for too long. Miguel knows that—he’ll make sure to find Miles Morales and confinement will have to be done. 

Setting up coordinates to a certain dimension, he strode into the wormhole and reappeared at the end of the time tunnel. The rain has stopped and he’s greeted to a new environment. It was pitch black, quiet and the full moon brightens up the dark canvas of the skies. Feeling the serenity in the air, calmness begins to settle in him, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He scouted the multiverse, taking notes of which universes he visited so that he could look for Miles. Earth-223 is no different; his mission is still to catch the young boy. But a thought crosses his mind when he comes to this universe, and his heart starts to race a little faster. 

Miguel hasn’t visited Earth-223 in a while and his stomach curls as he overlooks a part of the city. He glances down at his gizmo and as he suspected, there are no energy levels of anomalies on Earth-223. He has a job to do—to protect the multiverse—but at that moment, his mind is drawn to one thing that he’s been hoping to do since his arrival. 

He moves and swings swiftly from one place to another, going to a place that he had in mind. With one last jump, Miguel lands on top of a roof building perfectly, landing on his feet and rising up to stand. He overlooks a particular street apartment that he’s been looking for. His eyes look down at the street and observe the citizens that walk past by. Miguel knows that he shouldn’t be doing this but a part of him couldn’t help himself to go along with the plan. To find someone from this universe that he knows well. 

And within his view, there you were. Walking down the streets of where your apartment complex is. Seeing how late it is at night, you must have just got off work, ready to return back to your home. He watches as you approach the apartment’s main entrance, taking out your keys and watching you enter the building. 

Miguel lets out a breath that he didn’t realise that he was holding back. You live on the fifth floor of the building and he contemplates on if he should do what he’s been wanting to do with you. In the apartment, he has a hunch that you’re walking up the stairs to your flat. It should take less than five minutes at least and his mind races as he debates on whether he should take the leap or not.  

“Lyla,” Miguel speaks up. “Call them.” 

“A-are... are you sure you want to do that?” Lyla questions. You should be on the way up to your place, maybe walking down the corridor as you prepare to get your keys out to get inside. He knows your routine like the back of his hand. 

“Just do it,” his voice firms. “Call them.” 

Lyla doesn’t argue and she tells him that she’s connecting his earpiece  to your phone number. Through the window of your apartment complex, he can see that the front door unlocks and opens. You step in, put down your bag and take off your coat to hang it up. Miguel sees that you stop midway and your hands pat down to your side pockets. He knows that his call is ringing on your phone because a smile appeared on your face despite how tired your day must have been. “Hey,” 

“Hey,” Miguel responds back. He notices you move around in your apartment, going to the kitchen. Your voice speaks to him on your end of the line, asking about what he has been up to with that calm and cheerful tone of yours. He keeps it brief about his day because he would rather hear about yours, than to remember the crisis he is currently facing. The mask on him disappears away as Miguel listens to you. His free hand rubs against the pad of his fingers together, sometimes running through his dark brown hair. His eyes never leave your sight as he sees you walking around in your kitchen, listening to you talk his ear off that he welcomes deeply. 

“When are you ever going to stop calling me that?” Miguel half jokes. The corner of his mouth curves up into a half smile. Though his words come across displeasure, his heart races at the nickname you made.  Please never stop calling me that. “Miguelito? Really?”

“Well, you never complain.” You tease back. There’s a moment of pause before he hears you speak up again. “Hey, I can tell something is bothering you. You okay?”

Miguel realises that he can never escape from your skepticalism, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. You’re the only civilian who knows about his identity and what he does, even if he isn’t the Spider-Man from your Earth. He knows better than to let anyone in but when it comes to you, he couldn’t stay away. Drawn to you like a moth to flame. Maybe in truth, the reason he is on your Earth is not to find Miles Morales. But rather, to look for you.

“I don’t know if what I did was the right thing to do.” Miguel’s voice wavers. 

Quietness settles between the two of you, and he allows himself to lower his guard down as his voice guides him. “I know that I have to be the one to do it. But I just… don’t know where I am going with this. I thought I knew what it takes to carry this burden.” 

Miguel sighs, the weight of his thoughts and words prior tightens in his chest. He finds it a struggle to downright say that he wants to express at times. He stayed silent and exhaled out slowly, his chest deflated. Miguel’s eyes clock on your figure by the window and though he could only see a side profile of you, he catches a small glimpse of you quietly as well. Not long after, you speak up. “I’m really sorry that you’re having a rough time.” 

“I feel that I did this to myself. Always so… rigid.” A solemn expression etched on his face. 

“True but you have gone through a lot.” 

“There’s this new kid who isn’t like the rest. Different. Which worries me.” Miguel begins. “I told him about the predicament of the future of all Spider-Man—that we will all lose someone close to us. And, Miles wouldn’t accept that.” 

“I see.” You say. “Who is he predicted to lose?” 

“His father, a Captain.” Miguel says. “Miles is trying to change the future and I can’t let that happen.” His voice sterns for a brief moment. “Or else he’s making the same mistake as I did. Have the same guilt that I carry.” 

 The invisible weight he feels in his mind and chest lightens somehow when he tells you what’s going on. You’re quiet when he’s done talking and there’s a moment of pause lingering between you two. 

“I don’t really know much about the effects of messing up timelines,” you say. “But from an outsider’s perspective, it seems that Miles would go against the predicted fates because he would rather give all he’s got than do nothing. Even if he’d get hurt by messing up the timeline, I think Miles would be even more hurt and guilt-ridden if he didn’t give it a try for himself to save someone.” 

Miguel stays quiet. There is something in your words that reaches him, anchoring him to see things differently. You’ve always been good at putting things into a different perspective. 

“I know you care for the kid, Miggy.” You continue. “Even though you have an odd way of demonstrating that.” 

He could imagine the corner of your mouth curving up into a smile as you chuckle softly at your end of the line. And he does the same; cracking a smile on his face for once since the mess of the Spider Society everything happened. Miguel allows himself to venture with the idea of a peaceful life with you; a life where he would return home to you on his good and bad days, and you would be the one he is excited to come home to. He wants to be comforted by you. To hold you in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. 

He wishes he could just be with you. To him, you are his world. But he knows that you’re only a tiny fraction of this multiverse he swore to protect, even if it means keeping his distance away from you. 

“Miguel? Are you still there?” Your voice speaks through the earpiece. 

He cleared his throat, breaking away his thoughts of a life he knew that he couldn’t really have. “Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Thought I lost you for a moment, there,” you say. Miguel sees you moving around in your living room and settles to sit in the middle of your sofa. You cross your legs in a lotus position and he couldn’t help but watch you, feeling himself strained to stop the smile from forming. But he couldn’t help it, not when you look so carefree and safe. 

“Anyways, are you free to swing by? I made an extra batch of food to share.” You said. “Feel like I cooked a bit too much this time.”

“Not this time I’m afraid.” Miguel says. “Work’s getting intense.” 

“That’s a shame,” you tell him. “Well, I don’t know where you are but that doesn’t mean you can’t escape from me telling you off. And to remind you to look after yourself.” He sees you stuff a spoonful of food into your mouth. He gives you a moment to eat but still manages to talk to him. “Or else who am I going to ramble someone’s ear off but yours?” 

You are what he is protecting, and he’ll do anything to make sure the world you’re in is safe. 

[jarofstyles]

Illicit 9

Hello my loves... we are nearing the end of the main Illicit story, but we will have tons of extra one shots for them. Flashbacks, memories, looks into the future etc. We have one more part left for the main series, but here is an intense part... :-)

WC- 4.8k

Check out our Patreon for early access and 150+ exclusive writings

Illicit Masterlist

Warnings- home break in, weapons, guns, knives, injuries, stabbing, mean harry, crazy Katherine, hospital/medical scene and mention of treatment, stitches, talk of concussions and wounds...

————-

It was too quiet. 

Harry arrived home, paper bag in hand but the entire way up there had been unease in his stomach.  Something wasn’t right and he had felt it in his gut. 

He’d gotten word that Katherine had been spotted a few streets over just a few days prior and he knew he’d been on edge when the cops had said they’d tried to follow but she’d gone to the wind again. It unsettled him to know she was seen outside the coffee shop Y/N frequented, more than anything. He’d upped security again, but when he entered the penthouse he couldn’t see the guard supposedly meant to be in the foyer. His stomach dropped, hand dropping to his waistband to feel for the gun he had stuffed in there since she had gotten back. 

It was insane to him. How a deal had been so dumb, but made into such a big deal that he had to worry about the safety of his home and his lover. That a wannabe socialite had managed to fuck with him just because he didn’t want her. He’d never led her on, making sure to be as brutally honest as possible, but it seemed like that didn’t matter when she was disturbed. 

It was stiffly quiet in the house but when he stood still and listened he could hear the classical music drifting from up the stairs. The unusual chill settled down his spine as he tiptoed across the foyer- only to be stopped in his tracks. 

The guard was knocked clean out on the floor. Eyes closed, gun across the room and blood trickling from the side of his head. A cleaning cart was parked by the edge of the stairs, making his hackles rise and stomach sink. He knew exactly how she had gotten into the place, and she was a lot crazier than he expected. Of course she would pull this sort of desperate thing, he’d half expected it, but he’d been so hopeful that it would happen at his job. Somewhere his love wasn’t around to bear witness to. She’d been so stressed, and he had failed to keep her safe.  Y/N was home. He knew she was, he’d texted her not even an hour and half prior to confirm he’d bring home the bagels she wanted. The paper bag he had carefully set down, weapon drawn as he crouched down to take the pulse of the guard. 

It was there. He was alive, just unconscious- thank god. Harry didn’t want anyone to die on his dime. He didn't have time to waste, taking his phone out and hurriedly typing the SOS signal into the message system to the other guards along with telling them to be as quiet as humanly possible coming inside. 

He tried to be silent as he scaled the steps, holding his weapon out in front of him. If this was indeed Katherine or someone who had sent her? Who knew what they had on them. What state they’d be in. He could only pray that Y/N was unscathed, that she’d target him and him alone. It was his fault, after all. 

This was what he had been afraid of since Katherine had disappeared. Obviously in order to break and enter along with taking intimate photos of people in their own home, there had to be something wrong with her- but he had hoped that maybe Y/N’s shiny optimism had been correct, that she’d gone away to lick her wounds and would restart somewhere else. He should have known she wouldn’t go down that easy. The woman had gone through so much effort in order to really sell the idea that she was in a relationship with Harry despite his uninterested gaze, barely looking at her- let alone touch. She had seen him as her ticket up in the society she was desperate to be the queen bee of and Harry had been the perfect goal she had thought she acquired. 

Of course when it came tumbling down she would lose it. The difference between Harry and his lover is that he didn’t have any empathy for her. While Y/N may frown and empathize with the fact she had been stripped of everything, Harry was pleased. She’d been a thorn in his side for ages, always clingy and managed to be a true annoyance for him. She was entitled, bratty, vapid, loud, desperate for approval and obsessed with validation. Everything he disliked rolled into one. She had fucked around with his business and wasted his time, not to mention the fact that Harry had resentment over her being unwilling to cut the deal so he could be with Y/N in an easier way. He’d brave any storm for her, of course he would, but  he’d prefer smooth roads rather than bumpy ones. 

His heart pounded in his chest so hard it hurt, mouth dry and rage boiling in his stomach as he got up to the second floor where the music got louder. Of course, the one room with the door open a smidge was his office. He couldn’t see or hear Y/N, but he couldn’t chance opening another door when he was a shadow pass under the open door. The closer he got, though, he could hear mumbling under the music. 

“You really didn’t need to tie me up.” Y/N. He could hear her now, the tiniest wave of relief washing over him knowing the was awake, talking. 

“I really did.” The sneer belonged to her. To Katherine. His spine stiffened as he tried to be as silent as possible, keeping his breathing as even as he could as he slowly approached his office. “You’re a snake. Taking people’s boyfriends from under their noses. Homewrecker.” The woman hissed like a snake, Harry’s stomach rolling as he heard the sharp sound of a slap. There was nothing else said for a moment, making Katherine growl in rage. 

“God, you disgust me. I can’t believe you were the one to steal him away from me. You're no one.” Her voice sounded a bit more unhinged as he listened to it, hearing pacing in the room. He braved a glance in, the crazy woman’s back to him as she paced in front of Y/N. His heart hurt as he saw blood smeared on her cheek and her hair was messy, falling mostly out of the messy bun she had styled. “You don’t have any reason to date a man like him. What can you offer him? Hm? You’ve got no assets besides your family’s money, and that’s pathetic in comparison to both his and mine. You don’t have any appeal to pop culture. You just… what? Make your stupid, ugly art? How do you think you’re going to keep him?” 

“I love him.” Y/N said softly, trying not to lose her cool. “I’d love him if he was bankrupt tomorrow. I’d love him if he was a mechanic, a farmer, a pop star, if he was a stripper. I don’t care too much about his money. He’s got plenty because he’s a good worker but, when he comes home…” She frowned. “When he comes home, he likes tea because he drinks coffee all day at work. He likes his house shoes and would wear them all the time if it was fashionable. He takes cold plunges often, he likes broccoli but not cauliflower. He has a tense neck and pretends its fine but falls asleep when I massage it. I offer him stability, Katherine.” Y/N wasn’t being rude, but talking to her with an even tone. “You have to understand that my money, my social power means nothing to me. Harry has someone who he can rely on to take care of him when he’s sick, to be honest and vulnerable with. Not someone who calls paparazzi for a surprise ambush. If you paid a lick of attention to him, you’d know he hates cameras. Despises having his photo taken most of the time. He wasn’t the man for you, but there are a lot of men who would love to be with you.”

“Stop fucking pandering to me.” Katherine hissed again, striking Y/N again on her cheek. It was too much for him, watching her head snap to the side and the ring on Katherine’s hand tear at the skin near her lip. “You don’t know anything! You stole him from me. He was going to give in! He was going to love me!”

“No I wasn’t.” Harry held his gun out in front of him, kicking the door open as he looked at them with eyes darker than either woman had ever seen them. He was seething, rage visible on his form. There was no doubt about it. “I was never going to love you. I was never going to give in, you are just fucking insane.” His disdain was visible on his face but he could see that Y/N was tied up, blood on her face making his stomach hurt. She was going to have a swollen eye from the hit on her right cheek, the hit having cut her right underneath it. 

Harry had never felt more livid in his life. 

The relief on her face was the only thing that settled him slightly, glad that she still trusted him despite the fact he was the reason she was in the situation to begin with. 

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” Katherine was quick to show the knife she had, approaching Y/N until he aimed the weapon a few inches from her feet and let off a warning shot. It punctured a splintered hole on the bottom of his desk but it made the both of them scream, Katherine scrambling away but still holding the knife up- as if it was going to intimidate him. 

“Because you’re psychotic, because you’ve tied my woman up, you’ve broken into my house a number of times and you just don’t seem to be getting the fucking hint. Pick a number.” He grunted. The smell of the residue the shot had left making his throat tight, but he didn’t care. The approach was slow, the whole idea to get her away from Y/N. “I’m the one you’re mad at. Why the fuck are you here, hurting her? Think she stole you away from you when I’ve never belonged to you in the first place. I’ve always been hers.” He sneered, moving his body in front of Y/N’s. At least there was a barrier now. 

“No!” The growl that left her was a bit chilling. She sounded possessed, huffing and puffing as she pointed the knife at him. “You were mine! You signed the contract and you had to take me on dates. You had to have liked me. We had sex!” The crazed tone to her voice returned with a fierceness, making him wonder just how far she was willing to take this. “We were the power couple, you were falling in love with me and she ruined it!” There was pure hatred in her crazed eyes as she tried to catch a glance at his girlfriend. 

“No. Look at me, not at her.” He barked. “I’m telling you now, I didn’t want to date you. I’ve told you this countless times. I have never wanted you, the only reason people called us an it couple is because you were pathetic and lied about me buying you gifts and sending you flowers that you bought yourself and hung all over me like a desperate bitch when I was forced to be out in public with you. The sex was subpar at best, you sounded like a dying fucking cat and there’s a reason I didn’t want to look at you during.” Yeah, he was being a dick, but he didn’t care. She needed to get it through her thick skull. “Y/N is and always has been the love of my life since I met her. If I knew her before being offered the contract you’d never have gotten a breath of my air. But that was because of me and me alone. I never wanted you, and I’m the one you should be angry at.” No matter how desperately he wanted to turn around and check on Y/N when he heard her sniffling behind him, no matter how panicked he felt internally and how bad his heart hurt, he kept his eye on the danger. 

“You’re lying!” She screeched, trying to lunge at him but he aimed to the side and shot again- this time into the wall. As much as he wanted her to suffer, Harry didn’t like the idea of Y/N being here and witnessing something extremely violent. He wanted Katherine to rot in jail, wanted her to go insane all alone. He didn’t feel like hiring someone to scrub the floors and his carpet either. “What the fuck! Are you trying to kill me?” Her face had paled as she turned to look at the bullet lodged into the wall. 

“I should, but I won’t. You invaded my home multiple times, put hands on my woman, caused emotional and physical distress. Tried to fucking hide from police and your father alike because you knew I was going to destroy you. I don’t know how you’ve turned it into some delusion, thinking that if you hurt Y/N that I’d somehow want you but I never have. I never will. I want to see you rot behind bars, miserable. A bullet in you would be an easy way out.” Maybe Harry was…. Slightly crazy as well. But he didn’t run around kidnapping people, breaking in places, and he sure as hell didn’t waste his time trying to humiliate himself over someone who clearly didn’t want him and never had. “For every fucking scratch, bruise, and tear that comes from her, I’m going to pour more and more money onto the lawyers that will get you the longest possible sentence. I know you’ll do terribly there, and that’s what I’m looking forward to.” His own evil smirk rose to his lips as he heard the guards enter the room, more footsteps following up and the police announcing their presence. “You are nothing to me, you never have been. Now I’m going to make sure you pay for the shit you did. I know she’s nicer than I am, but I disagree.” He hissed. “Hope you find a lover in prison, because that’s the only hope you have now.” 

Harry sort of expected it, but he hadn’t expected the quickness. Katherine screamed in rage, lunging at him and slicing the side of his arm and shirt with the blade. He barely recognized the pain, more focused on yanking her knife out of her hand to throw to the side before handling arms and forcing her to the floor. Her body thrashed, screeching out insults as the guards came in quickly, taking over and keeping her restrained as they clipped handcuffs on her. She spit and kicked, looking like a rabid animal as she somehow called out for Harry to help her as they lifted her up to carry her out of the room. 

“Harr-Harry!” Y/N’s voice sobbed as he turned to her again, finding one of the other guards cutting the rope off of her. Her teary eyes looked towards his now blood soaked shirt and jacket, shaky hands gently grabbing it and pulling the latter off of his form. “Oh my god, are you okay? She stabbed you!” Her breathing was frantic and he could feel her trembling as she grabbed the other side of the jacket and applied pressure to the wound. He didn’t feel the pain quite yet, adrenaline still going strong. All he could focus on was her own injuries. “Can someone call an ambulance? Please?” She choked on her sob. “For him and f-for.. She knocked him out downstairs, I heard it. I hope he’s okay, we… Please?” She pleaded to the guard who nodded with his phone to his ear already.

“Hey… I’m okay.” He whispered to her, his uninjured hand reaching up to hold her chin. “I’m okay, love. S’a scrape. Promise. I’m completely fine. I’m worried about you.” His face was full of that concern, scanning over her injuries. Seeing them up closer made his stomach turn, almost like he was about to be sick all over himself. “M’sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes burned. “I promised she wouldn’t hurt you. And now you’re all bloody.” There were a few marks and he wondered how many times she had slapped Y/N around. One scrape on her forehead that was bleeding a lot more than the face ones, bruising already forming around her eye. “Where else are you hurt? What happened?” He pulled her into his form, ignoring any warning about being careful with his arm as she still tried to apply the pressure. 

“I’m fine. She- she hit me with a book, back of the head to stun me. My vision went wonky and I blacked out a little, came to all tied up. I heard her coming upstairs after the stuff downstairs but I wasn’t quick enough to lock the door.” She sniffled, feeling his lips press against the top of her head. His shirt was ruined, bloodied and torn at the arm but he didn’t give a shit about the clothing. He wanted her as close as possible. 

“Fuck.” Voice wrecked, he held her tight. “Okay. We need to get you checked out first, please. You probably have a concussion or worse. I need to… I’m not letting you out of my sight.” This was going to be an issue later on down the line, but he didn’t care. He was going to exercise every bit of his money privilege to make sure Y/N got the best care possible and every single thing was taken care of. He failed her once, and he wasn’t going to do it again. 

—----

Harry had fought to ride in the same ambulance as her. He’d fought hard, cussing and snarling but ultimately was forced to be calmed by her gentle words and the contact they had at the hospital insuring that they’d be in the same ER room together. The man was terrified to leave her side and Y/N could see it. Despite his cold and hard look, his anger coating his words, the venom in his tone, it was all out of fear. It’s how his anxiety manifested when it came to her and she knew all too well. 

So he’d given in and gave her a slow kiss, promising that he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to her- all before threatening the poor EMS pair in charge of Y/N with their jobs if something happened to her. She had to make sure they knew they would be fine as soon as the door closed and Harry was wrangled onto his own ride, which she could hear grumbling and complaining as he did so. Y/N loved her grumpy man so much. 

He arrived first to the hospital which meant he had demanded to wait for her to be wheeled in, making sure she went first. There was triage, which meant a knife wound would be looked at first, but he barely flinched as they sat in their room with the door closed, two separate teams looking over their injuries. A set of the guards were outside said doors, taking updates about the one who had been injured on the job and ensuring no one else got in or out other than approved medical staff. Harry wasn’t stupid and he knew the media would catch wind as soon as it leaked. It couldn’t be too long now considering he knew Katherine must have continued her tantrum all the way down to the police cruiser. 

“Is she okay? What’s going on?” He asked across the room, trying to look over shoulders to see the doctor looking over her injuries. The frantic beat of his heart had been a slight cause of concern when they took his vitals but then again, who would be calm after a situation like that? 

“Mr. Styles, please stay still so we can properly stitch.” The poor woman working on him most definitely had her work cut out for her and he felt bad only slightly considering he liked to be a good patient, but Y/N was more important to him than the stupid fucking stitches. Luckily it really had only been a cut. There wasn’t a lot of muscle damage, and it was even on his arm without tattoos. If he was going to be in a knife fight this was the luckiest outcome someone could hope for. 

“Harry, please.” Y/N shot him a tired look. “I’m okay. I promise. Let them stitch you up so you have the best chance at healing. It would make me happy.” 

“My goal is to always make you happy, my love, but I know it’s serious when you black out.” He stressed. For his own good, he should have been calming down but it was hard to when they hadn’t told him much yet.

“Can I disclose to Mr. Styles of your condition, Miss?” The doctor asked, which normally would have made him happy to know he respected her privacy- but his blood pressure was rising by the second with the lack of information. 

“Of course.” She murmured, giving him a softer look as one of the nurses began to clean the cuts on her face. Even still, she was his beautiful girl. He was going to push for the most harsh charges he could for that evil bitch. Y/N didn’t deserve that. He definitely did. 

“Well, the cuts are going to heal just fine. They don’t need stitching as they aren’t too deep, a few are just scrapes. The one on her head was a bit deeper but headwounds tend to bleed more, so it looked worse than met the eye. Shouldn’t scar badly, if at all.” He explained, making a bit of relief flood his body. “However, I do believe she has a concussion. We were discussing sending her for a CAT scan to ensure there was no further damage, but I don’t think there will be. She’s a lucky girl.” 

Harry bristled, lip curling in a snarl. “Lucky? Having your home invaded and being tied up and abused is lucky to you? Who the fuck are you to say-” His defense was calmed by a call of his name, a frown on his love’s face as she shook her head. 

“H, you know he didn’t mean it that way.” She looked towards the paling doctor. Harry’s bark was very mean, and his bite was meaner. The fear was understood but she would make sure her lover relaxed. “He means that for what could have happened, it’s good. Just like how you could have been stabbed in a worse place. He isn’t minimizing what happened to me.” It was difficult because she couldn’t physically touch him with them being in separate hospital beds across the private room, but the words had the desired effect. 

His eyes narrowed at the doctor as he set his jaw, deciding to leave it for her sake. “Get her in there immediately. I want every person qualified to look at the results to ensure there's nothing missed.” Harry didn’t swing his name and money around in this sort of setting too often, but it seemed necessary. “Or I’ll make sure my father pulls funding for those very nice golf retreats for the staff.” There was a Styles wing here, after all. There had been for years. 

“Y-Yes, I’m going to call over to them now. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Make it fast.” He snipped, eyes only softening when he left the room and he locked gazes with Y/N. The man had no clue how he was going to possibly make it up to her. It was extremely rare that he ever felt genuine, punch in the gut guilt, but seeing her smile at him only made it worse. How was she not angry at him right now? He had gotten a human angel, that’s for sure. 

How would he make her feel safe in their penthouse again? He knew it wasn’t a forever home but it was the first place they’d cemented themselves as a couple. He was going to do anything he could to ensure she felt safe again, though he knew it was probably going to be a while after Katherine was locked up. He’d be looking at a new building regardless after finding out that she had been cleared by the building security to go in the back entrance. She’d apparently been deranged enough to find out the shit changes and hopped into what had to be the only unmonitored elevator ride that day. She had a valid key card to get into their place and had snuck up on the in house guard, making her efforts very apparent. Katherine been plotting for a while.

As soon as his stitches were finished and they gave him some pain relief, he walked over to her bed and sat himself down in it. There was no semblance of personal space, frown on his face as his fingers traced over the gauze on her forehead cut. She looked sleepy, his poor girl, but they’d still have to wait for the tests on her and they wanted to monitor his heart rate for a bit. Their stay wasn’t over quite yet. 

“M’gonna get us out of here for a bit, as soon as you’re okay to travel.” He whispered, closing them into their own private little bubble. They finally had a minute alone. “Wherever you want to go. Think on it.” He tipped her chin up to place a few kisses to her lips, needing the comfort for his own sake. A shaky exhale made him pull back, eyes burning as she lifted her hand to cup his cheek, thumb brushing the hot skin. 

“Anywhere with you.” Y/N smiled, her own pain meds kicking in. “Probably can’t go on a plane with a concussion for a bit. I dunno, m’not the doctor. But… maybe we can go to the lake house for a bit?” Laying on her side, she scooted over so Harry could properly be comfortable on the small hospital bed. It wasn’t built for two but they made it work. “It’ll be a bit of a drive but I think it would be nice to get out of the city for a little bit. Just spend time with you alone.” 

In all honesty, Harry knew he’d sort of dropped the ball with Y/N. He hadn’t given her every single thing she deserved and he’d been limited by the stupid deal. Now that it was over, though? He wasn’t going to pull back any of the things he wanted to do. She deserved a vacation, his uninterrupted attention and a true break from work. As much of a workaholic as he was, the only thing he loved more was the girl in his arm. If he didn’t think they’d scold him for popping stitches he would use both of them to tug her on top of him. 

“I think that’s a lovely idea, my love.” He approved, the softest smile he could mange painting his lips. “I know things are going to be a bit hectic for a while but m’gonna take care of you. S’all I want to do. You’re my favorite person and… I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be with. Know I failed at keeping you safe, but m’a bit too selfish to let you go.” His eyes shined, trying not to let too much emotion out in here. “I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life taking care of you and making sure every bit of your body is safe. You’re the most important thing in the world to me. My heart.” The soft croon was rewarded with her shy smile, a little peck placed to his lips as a secondary bonus. Butterflies were the last sensation the grump of a man ever expected to feel in his life, but Y/N had lit up his life. “It’s a forever thing, you and me. Just have to wait and see.”

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Caught in 4k by KizuKatana

🔒💙 Caught in 4k

by KizuKatana (@kizukatana)

E, Series, WIP, 184k, Wangxian

Summary: A night-hunt goes wrong, and Wei Wuxian is scapegoated for the death of the Jiang Sect Leader and the destroyed core of the Jiang Sect Heir. As punishment, his core is taken and given to Jiang Cheng, and he is stripped of his cultivation credentials and expelled from the sect. What everyone forgot was that Wei Wuxian was wearing the standard issue body camera that each cultivator wore on training missions and high-risk night-hunts. Struggling to make ends meet, Wei Wuxian finds his way to Caiyi Town with the doctor who performed the surgery, a partial core still secretly in place. His application to work at Cloud Recesses is summarily rejected by the hard-edged Second Jade of Lan after an unfortunate initial encounter. But things change when someone hacks into the Jiang systems and releases the footage of what happened. Kay's comments: The series is still a WIP, but the main story is complete! I am so weak for Kizu's modern AUs with cultivation, they are great. Especially the world building and how the cultivation society might function in a modern AU shines in this story. Definitely not a story for fans of the Jiang family, but a story for everyone who wants to see some retribution for the things Wei Wuxian went through. Here, Jiang Fengmian dies during a night-hunt accident where Jiang Cheng's golden core gets destroyed and Madam Yu makes Wei Wuxian give his golden core to him, unfortunately for her, his body-cam is still filming everything. Wei Wuxian finds himself taken in by Wen Qing and her family and we get the sweetest found family and Dadxian vibes here and then meets Lan Wangji as well, who's highly judgemental at first but soon finds himself drawn to Wei Wuxian as well. This story really got it all, the drama, the horny, the softness, the restitution & humor. Excerpt: Still Wei Wuxian forced himself to at least try one last time. “You could also interview me. Have me talk to your best talisman experts,” Wei Wuxian said, forcing himself to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Interviews are scheduled based on receipt of proper credentials and references.” “I don’t have any, at least not right now. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be a great teacher.” “No references, no interview.” “Come on. Look, ask me anything about talismans. You’re an experienced cultivator, right? So you must know enough to at least interview me to see if I know what I’m talking about.” “Simply ‘knowing about something’ is not sufficient. Our lecturers are renown cultivators, and masters in their fields. No references, no interview.” Wei Wuxian felt frustration well up in him, especially at the reminder that Lan Wangji didn’t see him as a cultivator. No one would, in his current condition. Why would they? He didn’t have a functional core, which was the main scale against which all cultivation efforts were measured. He thought he had done a good job of not getting his hopes up about the teaching position, but the suffocating feeling constricting his chest was calling him out for being a liar. He should have known better. Why did he never learn? Some people had luck on their said, but Wei Wuxian had never been one of them. “Right. Of course. Because it would be impossible for someone who wasn’t born to the fucking clan nobility to ever actually be good at something, and the cost of taking the mastery test makes sure that other people can’t do it!” Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly, like he might say something, but his expression was as opaque and emotionless as before. Wei Wuxian didn’t need to sit around and listen to him defend the clan system. “Good to know that the Lan are just the same as all the other sects,” Wei Wuxian continued, his lips twisting into a sarcastic smile. “Thanks for making that clear.”

pov alternating, modern setting, modern with magic, yu ziyuan being an asshole, dysfunctional jiang family, jiang family bashing, canon divergence, golden core reveal, burial mounds ensemble as family, golden core transfer, golden core transfer fix-it, top lan wangji/bottom wei wuxian, dual cultivation, strangers to lovers, misunderstandings, meet ugly, families of choice, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[cobaltperun]

Woe out the Storm (8) - What have you done

Wednesday Addams x female Reader

Summary: It took some time, but eventually you came to realize only Wednesday Addams could look at the raging storm of chaos and destruction and make a home out of it. Only she could listen to the cacophony of the roaring thunder and hear a melody.

Story warnings: Wednesday Addams, violence, slow burn

Story Masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

Word count: 4.9k

-There's a curse between us, between me and you-

Wednesday could admit her interests weren't ordinary, she could admit that neither she nor her family conformed to the norms of the society. She believed in different values; she ranked those values in a way most people wouldn’t. Not choosing violence was, for example, ranked very lowly. And she wasn’t opposed to murder and torture either.

Truthfully, it wasn’t the fact that her father was accused of murder that bothered her, it was the fact that she heard about it from a stranger. He was supposed to be an open book, honest with her, with their family and her mother was supposed to be the same. Despite that, they hid the truth from her.

When she set those piranhas loose, fully intending to kill Pugsley’s bully as an act of revenge, she openly told her parents about it. She expected the same openness from them. The society rejected them, deemed them too morbid and weird to be seen as normal; being an Addams meant only relying on select few, mostly family. So, she valued being honest and trusting those select few above nearly anything else.

And they, for their own reasons, betrayed that trust and put her in a position to learn about it in the worst way possible.

To make matters even worse, her father refused to be open with her yet again. He still wouldn’t tell her the truth about what happened, even now that he was behind bars.

Somehow, perhaps against her better judgment, she ended up in front of your shed. It was the first time she came here, the first time she’d step inside. She heard laughter from within and froze just as she was about to reach out for the doorknob. Of course. It was the Parents’ weekend, and you were with your mother. Enid mentioned in passing that you had a good relationship with your mother, that the two of you were close and that you missed her.

You maintained a close relationship with your mother, something Wednesday wasn’t capable of doing, even if she did deeply care about her family and despite knowing they loved her just as much. So, instead of interrupting you and asking you to help her find more clues that could help her prove her father’s innocence, she turned around and left. She’d have to go to her mother after all.

As she walked away, she began to wonder why she wanted you to help her, and truthfully, she didn’t quite understand it. She was perfectly capable of handling this on her own. Maybe it was because you just accepted her, never demanding from her to change, yet still being unapologetically you even when it meant you pushed Wednesday out of her comfort zone, like when you wiped that paint off her hands and face last week.

Or maybe it was as simple as you being honest with her, not once hiding the truth and in turn being frustrated by her own lack of honesty when she didn’t tell you she asked Xavier to go to the dance with her. While Wednesday couldn’t say you ranked honesty as high as she did, she could say you valued it.

If she was completely honest, even with just herself, she might have had it in her to admit the vision she had during Rave’N and what happened with Eugene had a lot to do with that as well. Somehow, deep down, Wednesday convinced herself that if she was there, close to you, maybe that vision wouldn’t come true, and she wouldn’t have to visit you at the hospital or attend your funeral.

~X~

You didn’t always understand how lucky you were. Oftentimes as a child you wondered why you couldn’t have a regular family, with two parents present in your life. Dad was with you a few days a year, around your birthday, and always secretly. Your mom did everything she could, even back then you guessed she did more for you than most single mothers could, but you had some resentment toward your dad.

‘Why couldn’t he be normal, or any other kind of outcast? Why did he have to be a raiju?!’ that’s what you wondered for years, despising the restrictions being a raiju brought to your life. Fear and hatred caused you to separate the beast from yourself, you were a raiju, but the beast was, in your mind, the entirely different being, a creature that had nothing to do with you. The beast was dangerous, uncontrollable, and you despised it for what it could do to your loved ones or innocent bystanders.

The truth was that you should have begun going to Nevermore much earlier, the moment you showed the first signs of lightning, actually. But you cried and screamed at the mere thought of leaving your mother’s side, and she refused to even consider sending you to Nevermore, or anywhere else, unless you wanted to go. You were eight and she was the only real family you had.

‘Do not underestimate my child,’ she’d say whenever someone told her it was too dangerous to keep you outside of Nevermore, that you’d lose control and hurt or kill someone. Neither side was right though.

It was more of a miracle, than anything else, that dad was home when there was a huge storm when you were twelve, otherwise you really could have hurt someone. That was when your resentment toward your dad began fading away, when he calmed you down, when he taught you how to better control your lightning, when he made sure you didn’t hurt anyone, especially your mom. That was also when you finally agreed to go to Nevermore, because you could no longer risk it.

In the four years that followed your relationship with your dad improved, he dropped by more often, whenever you truly needed him. When you shifted for the first time, or when you really wanted to talk to him, he wouldn’t arrive immediately, but he’d come and see you. So, when you saw Enid’s parents you just decided that you were lucky, that you had a loving mom that accepted you for who and what you were, and that your dad, while not always there, was by your side when you needed him.

And he would come now as well.

So, that was your family, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

With those thoughts filling your head you stepped into your room with a bounce to your steps. That energy dropped to a more usual intensity when you saw Enid, lying with her arms spread on her bed. “You’re not a disappointment,” you immediately said as you went over to her side of the room and sat down next to her.

“Tell that to my mother,” she sighed and looked to the side. This wasn’t Enid’s usual mood, even when she was upset, she made sure everyone knew that. Her energy was more similar to Wednesday, if Wednesday ever sulked. And it really made you wish you could help her, actually help her and not just stand by her and offer support when she needed it.

“I will if you let me,” and you were completely serious, if only Enid allowed it, you would gladly have a long chat with Esther Sinclair.

Enid smiled a bit and reached out to you. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You smiled back, taking her hand and squeezing it, offering Enid at least some small comfort.

“How come you aren’t with Wednesday?” she asked out of blue, and you had to resist an urge to facepalm at that. Your eye still twitched, and she probably noticed. “I’m not teasing, she was just looking for you, she even asked me where your shed is!”

That was odd. “Why? Isn’t she with her family?”

Enid sat up, now realizing you really didn’t see Wednesday since this morning. “Her dad got arrested for murder and I think she plans to prove he is innocent,” Enid caught you up to speed with what happened.

You couldn’t help but get a bad feeling in your bones. “Murder + family matters + Wednesday? Yeah, she’s going to do something illegal and morally even more questionable, isn’t she?” you sighed, looking at the goth girl’s part of the room.

Enid laughed uncomfortably. “I mean…” she trialed off, she really didn’t need to finish her sentence, you could figure it out yourself.

“She’s going to dig the victim up, isn’t she?” you were just about ready to run headfirst into a wall and pretend you didn’t know she was probably going to get into trouble.

“Maybe sit this one out?” Enid offered, and if you were at least a bit logical and driven by reason you would have listened to her.

You weren’t. You were driven by emotions and much like lightning those were difficult to control sometimes. Especially the ones connected to Wednesday Addams. “If I get locked up for this, don’t break me out. I’ll deserve every second of my punishment for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“On the brighter side,” Enid’s smirk was already terrifying enough. “You could break you and Wednesday out and go into hiding,” she laughed as your eyes widened and you looked at her incredulously. “She might actually love that!”

“I hate you,” you grumbled as you stood up and took a few deep breaths, you’d prefer to avoid living the rest of your life on the run. Dad being on the run from someone was already one family member living like that too many. You didn’t even know who he was hiding from. You just knew it was serious enough for you to be given your mom’s last name instead of his.

~X~

Wednesday was, indeed, digging up a grave, in fact, she was nearly done when you ran up to her and her mother. “Please tell me you are nearly done,” you whisper-yelled at her. “Hello, Mrs. Addams, it’s good to see you again,” you politely greeted her mother, who nodded with a smile, and then you immediately turned back to Wednesday. “There’s no way this can end well, you know?” it wasn’t even about what she was doing, Wednesday was going to be Wednesday and there was nothing you could do about that, you just wished she would have done it when it was even less risky. Like, way past midnight, with you there to watch out for the police, not like this, just before midnight and without you to stand watch.

“We’ll need to show it as evidence anyway, and they’ll figure out it was us no matter what we do,” Wednesday pointed out and you opened your mouth to respond, but you really couldn’t argue with that logic.

Well, at least she already opened the coffin before you showed up. “Right,” you frowned and stepped down, inspecting the coffin. “If you want me to, I think I can magnetize it and pull it out. Maybe. I never tried to do it with anything this heavy,” and just as you reached down bright light shined on all three of you. “Either the ground swallows me right now, or dad will ground me for the rest of my life,” you just raised your hands in surrender as police arrived.

“There’s a hole right here,” Wednesday suggested.

“I’m not sharing unless it’s with you, Addams,” you deadpanned, missing the way Wednesday’s eyes widened, and the way her breath hitched, and the way her cheeks darkened just a bit.

“Oh my, how awfully unhinged,” Morticia commented, and you’ve been around Wednesday and Thing long enough to figure out that wasn’t meant to mean what it usually meant. So, you just gave a thumbs up as you got out of the grave, earning a graceful, elegant smile from the older woman.

~X~

Well, at least you weren’t all alone, that was a positive, right? Nope! Because Wednesday’s parents couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and there were bars between them! Suddenly, you understood exactly why Wednesday would be averse to shows of affection and the idea of a relationship. They were unapologetically in love, and very passionate about showing that love, and you could admire that, to an extent, but still!

“Not even the long arm of law could keep us apart!” Gomez went right back to kissing Morticia.

“At least we’ll have one last night together!” maybe breaking out wasn’t the worst idea, because you doubted you could listen to them all night.

And Wednesday was right there!

“I’ve seen jackals with more self-control than you two,” Wednesday somehow managed to get them to stop, though they didn’t properly separate. “Neither one of you is strong enough to serve hard time. And thanks to me you won’t have to,” she said.

“I’ll pretend I’m not included in that. The strong enough part,” you grinned a bit.

“You especially aren’t strong enough to serve hard time,” she shut you down without even a hint of hesitation.

Well, you guessed that was fair.

“I knew our little jailbird will have an escape plan,” Gomez exclaimed as she showed a finger to the three of you wrapped in a black handkerchief.

“It’s a souvenir from our outing, I borrowed it from Garrett, he died from nightshade poisoning,” she explained as her mom took the finger.

“How come the police didn’t find it?” and then you remembered this was Wednesday you were talking about, she probably glared, and they locked her up without even searching her. ”Yeah, don’t answer that one.

The very corner of her lip twitched up as she glanced at you, as if pleased by your realization. “The remarkable preservation of soft tissue and blue tint confirms it.”

“Which means Garrett was dying-” her mom realized.

“-before you stabbed him,” Wednesday finished.

Her parents looked at one another. “You look even more ravishing as an innocent woman,” and they were back to kissing.

“I’m not entirely sure that’s how this situation works, but sure,” you looked away. You guessed poison being there proved self-defense though, and that might just be enough to drop charges. Although, knowing Wednesday she had something else up her sleeve as well.

“For once could you two get off of each other and focus?” Wednesday asked and reached out for the finger. The moment she touched it a vision struck her, and you were immediately behind her, holding her up.

You looked at her parents and saw they recognized what happened to Wednesday, which was a relief. Though, there was some surprise on their faces. She probably never mentioned her visions to either of them.

“Wednesday,” her mom leaned in a bit as Wednesday woke up from her vision. “Did you have a vision? What happened? What did you see?”

You stepped to the side, no longer worried that she might fall. Sometimes she fell, sometimes she didn’t, you really couldn’t be too cautious.

“The night Garrett died he had a vial of nightshade poison that broke in his pocket. He wasn’t just trying to kill father, he was going to use the nightshade poison to murder the entire school,” she explained.

~X~

“The sweet taste of freedom! How I missed you!” you exclaimed when you were finally set free. At the same time as Gomez, actually, maybe the sheriff was being petty over you electrocuting his son last year, in which case you could get behind that. “I don’t think we met, I’m Y/N,” you raised your hand to greet Wednesday’s brother.

He nodded, smiling a bit. “I’m Pugsley, thanks for going to jail with Wednesday,” he said sheepishly, though he took cover behind a rather tall man when Wednesday glared at him.

You grinned a bit at that and contemplated just leaving so the family could have a moment on their own.

“Don’t even think about leaving, we’ll go back to Nevermore together,” Wednesday said before you could even consider that idea properly.

“You’re the boss, Wednesday,” you grinned cheekily, much to her annoyance.

You still stood aside, giving them enough space and privacy. You still smiled when Wednesday accepted a family hug.

And then your blood ran cold.

You felt the hair on the back of your neck stand up as the chill ran down your spine. You could recognize the electricity in the air, and you knew it was too late. "I'm going to be grounded for the rest of my teenage life," you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and if this was an anime or a cartoon you were sure you'd have cartoonish tears falling down your cheeks.

He appeared in a burst of lightning, as in control as ever, with that bright orange lightning surrounding him and moving to his will. "Gomez! Why is my daughter in prison, Gomez?!" your dad was pissed, he was beyond angry as he stomped over to Gomez and pointed a finger at his chest. "How did you being accused of murder get her in jail?! Oh, hello Morticia, you look amazing as always," how he flipped between nearly yelling at Gomez to politely complimenting Morticia in a split second you would never understand. You could never.

"You look good as well, Elijah, it's nice to see you after all these years," Morticia greeted him with grace that shouldn't have been a part of her ordinary behavior, yet here you were.

You slowly took a few steps back, hoping to flee while he was distracted by Wednesday's parents.

Wait…

He knew Wednesday’s parents?

"Y/N is your daughter?" Gomez and Morticia seemed to be genuinely surprised. You couldn't blame them, with the different last name and everything.

"My pride and joy, yes," your dad said, momentarily forgetting about the issue at hand and grinning proudly.

It made you stop as you took in the pride in his gaze. You didn’t think five words could have such an effect on you. Despite his absence, when he was there he was a great father, and to hear that he was proud of you made you smile.

“So, about my daughter being in jail,” apparently, he wasn’t going to drop it, so you slowly began backing away again. “Now where do you think you are going, Y/N?” well, so much for escaping silently.

“I just remembered something! See you later, Wednesday!” you were just about to turn into lightning when bright orange lightning circled you.

“Don’t even think about that, kid,” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Now that’s just unfair,” your eyes changed back from red to your usual eye color and you slumped to the ground, defeated. Of course he’d use his stronger lightning to prevent you from using your own lightning.

“Elijah, Y/N was there for our Wednesday, don’t be too strict with her,” Morticia came to your defense, and you felt like you’d eternally be grateful to the woman if it worked.

“Your Wednesday?” your dad repeated and blinked a few times, his eyes changing into their natural color, the same eye color you had. He glanced down, right at Wednesday who seemed to be genuinely interested in him. “Ah, Anna did mention a new roommate,” he was piecing together whatever information he had. “The fuck is this Gomez? Another Addams-raiju roommate situation?”

Your jaw dropped at that and you looked at Wednesday only to see well-concealed but definitely there shock on her face too. The two of you looked at each other and then at your fathers. “What the?!” you couldn’t help but yell.

Gomez laughed at that. “It looks like that’s exactly the case,” he agreed as the lightning around you disappeared and you approached the group.

“Wait, the roommate you told me about was Wednesday’s dad?” you asked, still unable to fully process the new information.

Your dad nodded. “Yeah, something like that,” he turned to Wednesday. “Uh, there was a storm, and I lost control for a bit while Gomez and Fester were there, luckily I didn’t hurt them, but, I could have,” he looked away, ashamed of losing control like that.

Wednesday took that information in and looked at you as if she just figured something out. You didn’t like that look on her face.

“Elijah left Nevermore after that, and we haven’t seen or heard from him since. I never made the connection between Y/N and him,” Morticia said, mostly to Wednesday.

“Anna and I figured it was safer for Y/N to take Anna’s last name,” your dad explained. “Not that it helped you to stay out of jail, you little troublemaker,” he pulled you in, ruffling your hair.

You pulled away, annoyed that he kept that habit. “No comment,” you rolled your eyes.

“Just be happy I convinced Weems not to call Anna,” your dad said and took a few steps back. “Come on, now, say goodbyes and follow me, Y/N,” his eyes turned orange once again. “Gomez, Morticia, it was good seeing you and your family. Wednesday, thank you,” and he burst into lightning and went in the direction of the woods.

“Does he not realize that I can’t do that?” you just watched the spot where he was standing moments ago.

“Why did he thank me?” Wednesday asked you.

You lightly rubbed the side of your neck. “Uh, don’t worry about it. Dad can be a bit random at times,” you sighed and pulled out your lucky knife. “I’ll see you later!” and off you went, one burst of lightning at a time.

~X~

You were out of breath and on your hands and knees when you caught up with your dad and he didn’t look even a bit tired. Guess you still had a long way to go. No shit, your lightning was still red, Still, his was orange, and that was just one level stronger than your own. Just how strong would a raiju with yellow let alone blue lightning be? You moved so you could sit down and hung your head low, still trying to catch your breath.

“You did good, that was faster than I expected,” he still praised you, smiling proudly as he sat with his back against a tree.

You shook your head. “It’s not nearly as fast as it should be,” you rejected the compliment.

He sighed, standing up and approaching you. He sat down on the ground a few feet from you. “I don’t care about how things should be, Y/N, I just want you to be happy and healthy,” he said softly.

“I know,” you smiled, having heard those words plenty of times. It was still hard to believe in them. Not because he ever did anything to make you doubt those words, but because it simply felt too good to be true. Just look at Enid’s parents, you couldn’t imagine them, especially Esther, saying something like that to Enid. Although, Wednesday’s parents seemed content with Wednesday just being happy in her own way as well.

“This,” he gathered some lightning between his palms and raised his hands toward you. “it’s not a curse, Y/N, and neither are our beast forms.”

The smile fell off your face as you raised your head to glare at him. “Don’t give me that. Not after you left this place because you were also afraid of these powers, of hurting people!” you yelled, red sparks dancing around you almost out of control.

And then his eyes turned yellow, and you jumped to your feet and put at least some distance between the two of you. Yellow lightning raged around him and he roared, loud and powerful, and animalistic, and moments later a huge golden bear stood in his place. He was much bigger than even a grizzly bear, as it was usually the case with raiju. There was barely any lightning coming from his body and you could only stare in awe. The less lightning there was, the more in control the person was, and your dad only had lightning coming from his eyes and front paws. He growled, though there was no threat in it, as if telling you to shift as well.

“I can’t, I can’t control it,” you refused, closing your eyes and turning away from him.

“This is your best chance. While I’m here everything will be fine even if you lose control,” he shifted back. “You’re at your limit. You’ve been restraining it for over two years, and the more you restrain it, the more painful it gets. It might be the next time there’s a storm, or on the fifth, or even tenth storm from today, but you will shift no matter how much you discharge,” he sighed, firmly grasping your shoulder. “Fear isn’t bad, Y/N, but don’t be afraid of yourself. If you aren’t ready to shift now, it’s fine, but give me a call when you feel like you’re ready,” it was the reassurance you needed. His words, his control over his beast form, it eased your worries, even if only a little bit. It gave you hope that maybe you could eventually control your own beast form.

“Okay, I’ll call you when I’m ready,” you promised and hugged him.

He hugged you back, sighing. “I don’t want to scare you, but you need to know one thing. With how inexperienced you are, no matter what happens, do not shift twice in a row. Even if you stay in control the first time, you won’t be able to control it the second time,” his words were definitive, there was no doubt there, for him, or for you.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

“We’re not separate from that form, it’s as much a part of us as the lightning,” and lightning couldn’t do anything but destroy, it was too powerful to contain, direct and use for anything but battle. That was what lightning was, and that was what made it so frightening to take a form of a beast made of lightning.

~X~

The Parents’ weekend was coming to a close, her parents, Pugsley and Lurch were leaving. Your father already left, as did most of the families. You were close to her, seeing as you just said goodbye to your father and he wanted to say goodbye to her parents one more time, and meet Pugsley this time. So, even after your father left, you stayed nearby, waiting for Wednesday so the two of you could go back to your room.

You wouldn’t be waiting for much longer, her mother said her goodbyes, showing Wednesday affection in a way Wednesday was comfortable with, with air kisses and turning to leave.

Wednesday paused, contemplating her choices. Finally, the need to understand, the need to be aware of potential effects it could have on you pushed her to say. "Mother," she called out, getting her mother's attention.

Her mother halted, turning around with just a subtle hint of surprise on her face. "Yes, Darling?"

"Goody told me to use the raiju," she said, she didn't want to admit it, but the choice of words and what she saw, especially after what her mother said about Goody, it just felt wrong.

Her mother sighed, a heavy, foreboding sigh Wednesday rarely heard. "Once in every generation an Addams forms a deep bond with a raiju," her mother revealed, just for a moment looking in your direction. "It can be friendship or love, many believe Goody was in love with her raiju."

Wednesday's eyes widened, and the way her heart began beating just a bit faster made her uncomfortable. "I've never heard of a raiju in our family," she argued, trying to, at the very least, remove love from the equation.

"Because there wasn't any. Despite all the times an Addams fell in love with a raiju. Those bonds always end in a tragedy, but especially when there was love involved, the raiju always died for their Addams. They are powerful, and that power makes them reckless," this time Wednesday was the one who looked at you, and as if you felt her eyes on you, you looked up and grinned at her. It made her feel nauseous for a moment.

"Her father is still alive," she tried to argue once again and for once didn't mind her mother placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Friendships sometimes ended up with raiju no longer capable of living a normal life. Maybe that's why Y/N carries her mother's last name, or maybe they broke the cycle," her mother paused for a moment. "Or perhaps you and Y/N will."

Wednesday clenched her fists. "I don't feel that way about Y/N," she claimed, even if her actions spoke otherwise. "Especially if it's tied to some kind of fate or a curse," she didn't want to feel like she wasn't in control, especially over her own emotions.

"Darling, even if it was fate, would that make those feelings any less genuine? Regardless of the nature of those feelings?" Wednesday remained silent, not quite able to put into words how she felt.

She just looked at you again. Death was never something she feared, she was even excited about it. The idea of you dying for her, however, wasn't thrilling to her. It made her feel dread and not a good kind of dread. She made a mistake, staying close to you wouldn’t prevent that vision from coming true, staying away from you would prevent it. So, Wednesday made a decision, you would no longer be involved with her investigation. When she looked away from you she pretended not to see the smile on her mother's face.

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