#but heres what has been on my mind so far | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loganlermanstanaccount · 3 days ago

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 11)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 10, Part 12

summary: You and Miguel spend the day together. You get a surprise visit.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of microaggressions and racism in the workplace (projecting bc my ass is tired)

a/n: uhhhhh. heyyy.... so i took a cute little break 👉 👈

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cracks in clay, poured over

Cold. The slow drip of an IV seems to echo in that little room.

She feels cold; the kind that drapes over her like a second skin - slimy, slick, and it makes him shiver. Pale; her hands barely have enough strength to curl around his anymore. His little girl, and he watches as she takes shuddering breaths. In, out. In, out. The shaky rise and fall of her chest and it’s all he can do to watch, hunched over metal railing with a certain kind of dedication. His eyes creak. His back groans.

There’s an emptiness to hospital hallways, he thinks. That thought comes with traitorous relief - balled up like chewed gum at the pit of his stomach. He wants her to rest; to take a breath that isn’t heavy with the weight of living. Even in a tangle of wires and tubes, and the steady metronome of a heart monitor to punctuate a mess of thoughts, she still looks like his. When he blinks, he sees her: rosy cheeks and chubby fingers entwined with his. He curls into them now, with rough palms softened by love - which he will dirty just to keep her safe.

Gabriella is a force of nature. A supernova: bright, bright light at the corner of someone else’s universe - but certainly the centre of his. And when she smiles; oh God, when she smiles; he sees his mama, he sees Gabi… and sometimes, he sees himself.

It’s not a case of roaring thunder in place of quiet sky. A flash-bang in the night felt more like a whimper: hushed tones in a doctor’s office that came with a wringing of hands. And dread - settling amongst the room like a lead balloon - that was what he remembers the most. It's a feeling he'll never quite forget. The doctor; a genteel, younger man with more worry lines than Miguel himself, he had thought. Gabriella was prone to poking at the folds beneath his brow, at the sides of his mouth that curled around the very same nose he had passed on to her; smoothing them out like lines in the sand.

Like pockmarks and furrows in sand washed away by the sea. El Mar - but Gabriella had trouble rolling her Rs. She would get there, he had always thought. He would not brandish a wooden spoon or chancla as his mama was prone to do. He would be different. Better - provide her with the space to make the mistakes he never could. If it meant a lifetime of forehead kisses and boiled candy stuck to the roof of her mouth, he wouldn’t mind.

The sea. Maybe he should take her to the beach - a proper one, not the murky waters he had grown up with. Her hand is too pale, and Miguel can already hear his mama complain; fussing over his little girl. Has Gabriella been eating properly? Has he? She would pinch his cheeks and squirm, hissing at their sallowess. Too much like your father, Conchata would say.

He's decided. Yes, that's just what they need. White sand stretching out as far as the eye can see - azure and turquoise and deep, deep blue.

He blinks. Miguel, ever perceptive, swipes it away from your skin. A sliver of bare flesh against his, your arm across the couch as you lay across the pillows. He woke up to this, to you; a fleeting nap that takes you both to a bright midday. Tangled up in blankets, a mess of his limbs and yours; and yet, you still feel…

Cold.

You stir. Like a lamb woken from fresh grass, he watches as you stretch; shaking away gentle sleep. At least Miguel has the sense to look away, to pretend as if he hasn't been staring at the gentle rise and fall of your chest, nor the stray hair that peeks out from the nape of your neck. He traces it with his thumb, with a tenderness that makes his head hot and heart heavy. A warm blush spreads across his face as you huff, blowing air that makes his curls jump. Despite himself, Miguel smiles, feeling the warmth. It's lop-sided, gentle where his face is sharp and he allows himself to soften - if only for a little bit.

“You okay?” You croak, voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiles, daring to curl his fingers around yours.

“M'better now.” It's barely a whisper, and so he clears his throat. “You still seem tired, sweetheart.”

When your face scrunches up into that adorable pout, he laughs the kind of laugh that echoes throughout his whole body; deep and sonorous.

“What’s so funny?” You're whining, but your face cracks into a small smile. And like the sun peeking out from the horizon, he feels its warmth spreading from his side; onto everything your light has touched.

“Nothin’”

His breath hitches as you come closer, placing your head on his chest.

“You're a fat fucking liar.”

Yep, he thinks. And you don't even know the half of it.

There's something about domestic bliss that twists his heart into knots. Most of it is you, of course, neatly pressing him out and spreading him on wooden pegs like fresh laundry. A life together, like this…?

Fuck. Maybe he hasn't had enough sleep.

Miguel hums, quietly turning your palm in his, tracing its lines like a lovelorn sap. He likes your hands, for some reason. They are smaller than his, gentle in their curve and crackle, fitting exceptionally well in his own.

He frowns.

“I think I'm happy.”

…and then he's biting his lip like he's said something he shouldn't. What should be an off-hand comment, swept away by the tide, makes you sit up abruptly.

“You think?” There's no malice in your voice, just confusion.

“It just feels…” He can't even look you in the eye, deciding to inspect your hands instead.

“Different?”

You finish his sentences now, great. Miguel feels like a walking cliche; all butterflies and shaky hands and cotton in his mouth.

In an attempt to sound indifferent, he hums. If you can see through his paper-mache facade, you don't show it.

“Different.” He rolls it around on his tongue, wanting to know its taste. If it fits, how it fits, and where you come into the equation. Different. Good different? It's a tentative thought, creeping into the back of his mind like a thief in the night. Whilst he wouldn't usually entertain it - as it was a dangerous thought, the kind that leads to others, thoughts of skipping through meadows with his hand in yours, or picnics on the beach, or–

“You think that might be because you had a full 8 hours of sleep?” You snort, stretching out. More thigh peeks out from under the covers.

His throat goes dry. Focus, Miggy. Yes, he wouldn't usually entertain it, but it felt far too good to think about the both of you, together, under different circumstances.

He would've met you at an overpriced coffee shop on his way to work. Or maybe he would catch your eye on the subway, and you would flash him a smile too beautiful to ignore in return. One to keep, like the expectant one you give him now.

You're waiting, he realises. Waiting for him to say something; something that gets stuck in his throat. He hopes not to spill his guts like this: a tangle of maybes and might'ves. The reality is less exciting. It comes out wrong - flat and pathetic and lifeless.

“7 and a half.” He says, shaky. Sleep, right? You said something about sleep? “The other day, I had 7 and a half.”

Miguel forces down the person-sized lump in his throat. You are stunning; sleep-rimmed and tangled up between his legs and that worn blanket.

Maybe we could've been more.

~~~

He’s an idiot, you think.

“And what good did that do you?” You retort, still sharp despite a blossoming headache at your temples.

“And what good did that… you're the last person to talk.”

For all his degrees, his accolades, his middle-school-science-fair-certificates; he could barely manage to take care of himself. It worried you in a way you were sure was common decency, like the pang of sympathy one would regard a puppy too tired to keep its head up.

“You look like shit, Mig.” And he did. In that frustratingly perfect way he was prone to, of course: rugged and ragged and handsome; messy, but without a hair in place. An oxymoron. A paradox. A fool with 2 degrees pending. A loveable idiot - certified, absolutely.

“You look like shit–”

You put your hands over your eyes like glasses, like a child on the playground. “Only one of has eyebags the size of Mars–”

“ –and only one of us has a hangover the size of Mars,”

“I do not.”

“The 3 tequila shots you took last night say otherwise.”

You descend into a heap of giggles, unable to refute his claims. Goddammit, does he have a point. You hate him for it; his smug tone, wagging a knobbly finger in your face; but you know there's no malice. What might've been turned into an argument oh-so long ago, stays childish and playful and maybe even a little… fun? There is a shine in his eyes that you have so dearly missed, and a hint of a smile you know he is barely clamping down on. It brings a warmth to your chest far greater than any alcoholic buzz - tequila shots or otherwise - ever could.

Wait. How did he know you had—

“Took you long enough.”

He's chuckling, reaching over for his phone discarded on the rickety coffee table. With a couple quick swipes you're greeted with a plethora of drunk messages sent by Lyla; the majority of which are unintelligible. He hands the phone over, seemingly more interested in satiating his appetite as he heads for the kitchen, leaving you ample time to scroll through. You recognise one or two videos from Lyla's private story, and sure enough, there you are - knocking back shots offered to you like it was your job. Watching it back makes you wince. You were so sure of yourself last night, chock-full of liquid courage, it almost seemed like water in those dainty glasses. There’s more, as you scroll up: including candids of you at the club, some you don't quite remember posing for, others with Lyla's slim arm draped around your shoulders like they belong there.

Unsurprisingly, most of them are of Lyla; drunken selfies sent with a string of messages you were barely able to make out. It all makes you wonder just how well Miguel knows his friend, able to respond accordingly to her nonsense string of characters and emojis. Considering it had taken you this long to be barely conversational in Miguel-ese, Lyla would prove to be something else entirely.

There's a peek of something as you scan through last night's messages. You don't mean to pry, but one thing leads to another, and you get stuck on a conversation that occurred not too long ago.

[Sent: 15:32]

Are you guys still on for tonight?

[Received: 15:32]

👍👍

[Sent: 15:3]

Okay, cool. I won't be home to drop her off, though. Is that okay?

[Sent: 15:32]

👍👍

“I messaged her this morning,” You start, making space for him on the sofa. “No response. Do you think I should give Lyla a call?”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Sometimes she falls off the face of the earth and then you find out she’s in Indonesia with a cocktail by the beach.”

You must make a face, because Miguel comes closer. It’s tender, and much more intimate than it should feel; and all you can do is short circuit as he brings his hand to your cheek.

His thumb rest at the cleft of your chin, gently moving your face to look him in the eye.

“I’ll give her a call, if you like.” He presses a gentle kiss to your furrowed brow, and you can barely breathe. “You’re much too pretty to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

When he pulls away, all you can manage is a weak nod. All that pomp and self-rightousness that filled you not even 5 minutes ago dissipates like a limp balloon with just a flash of his smile.

“You hungry?” He asks.

“Starving.” You say with a grin.

~~~

You hear his voice first, the mellow timbre and its slight twang rumble through the walls. Your door is open in the hope that Miguel will saunter in and… and do something resembling earlier on in the day. Considering the time, it was little more than delusion - you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen Miguel up past 11pm. Whether it was work, or studying, or a popcorn movie on the couch, he could never make it through the night. More and more, you’ve found him passed out on the couch, one arm slung lazily over it’s back - but that was another matter.

Now, your door isn’t too open - you wouldn’t want to seem desperate - but wide enough that you can catch whispers of his conversation. Miguel seems to speak in more grunts and huffs; and you can almost see his scrunched brow and crooked grimace. The other voice is tinny, but clearly male - spouting garbled, frantic words that you can’t quite catch. It’s odd; whilst you were no stranger to late nights, your roommate started fighting sleep at 7pm sharp - so what exactly was going on?

You creep towards the door, snaking your head around its edge. There he is; down the hall and shadowed by the doorway with his phone flat on the dining table, perched on its lip with nothing but a plaid pair of pants on. He looks bedworn and exhausted, sure - but gorgeous in the kind of way only oils on canvas can capture. With his hand scratching at light stubble, you watch as he takes a deep sigh.

“It’s– Pete, it’s–”

More jumbled words from the phone.

“I know, man.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you… have you guys tried Lyla?”

He says the words like they’re bitter, acrid on the way out, eventually producing a deep frown as he listens. The image sticks with you, for some reason: hunched over, shoulders slack like a ragdoll, and picking at the loose black-and-red threads. There's a flash of something you can taste - like blood after a sucker punch - and he flattens, roughly swallowing as he rubs his temples. There’s an ache, there - and it wasn’t just a migraine from all that salty junk. His eyes are sallow, without the lustre you had grown so accustomed to. Where did he go? Your Miguel, saccharine and sickly-sweet?

A trick of the light, you decide; just the morning sun.

You are too lost in your own thoughts - vivid ones, of takeout noodles and orange chicken - that you barely notice him move. Almost a second too late, it registers, and you scramble to your bed in a flurry of limbs, managing to close the door just in time. You hear heavy footsteps, and there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

Miguel pops his head through the door, shirking away from the bright light.

“Jesus, you need all these lights on?”

You roll your eyes. Laptop on, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, etc etc. Warm lights, made even cosier by pillows and plush bedding. The very same bedding he fucked you in the first time, and the next, and the next. Clearly, he couldn’t recognise ambience if it whacked him in the face.

“Did you want something?”

When once he would’ve been taken aback by your gall (and you too, you suppose, as Miguel had never been the most tactful), he simply purses his lips.

“I… I'm babysitting for Peter.”

“May's coming over?” You visibly perk up, and it makes him smile.

“I wish you got this excited when I come home. Yeah, she is.” He’s still picking at the loose fibres of his pants. “I'll try to get her to bed as soon as possible, but she's a little hurricane, so be wary of the noise.”

“It’s pretty late, Mig. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah; something came up and their usual sitter isn't available. It's the least I can do.” He gives you a weak smile

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.”

Despite this, he lingers for a bit, clearly antsy. “With traffic, I’m not sure when they’ll get here. Pete lives just across the way, but...”

“But?”

“I’ll probably have to stay up for a bit.”

“I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up, huffing dramatically. “Mig, there’s no need to beg. Give me five minutes.”

He gives you a weary smile, before turning to leave. But he pauses at the doorway, and as if in a trance - tightening grip, clenched jaw -

“You look nice.” He says, low and slow.

“Thanks.” You manage to squeeze out. Ever so slightly, you squeeze your thighs together too, for good measure.

With one last look he drags that heavy gaze away from you, giving your room a once over.

“...now I know why the light bill’s so fucking high.”

~~~

The doorbell rings when the two of you have settled in - head on his broad chest and something on the TV. Whilst you don't know how you ended up here, you do know how it ends; he puts a boring documentary on, you proceed to fight sleep before hands wander, the room gets a little heavier, and…

The doorbell, right. He shuffles out of your grip, gently placing your head on the sofa. You feign a yawn as you shift, watching the wide expanse of his back as he answers the door. Unfortunately, he's put a shirt on, but you are still mesmerised by the way that baggy t-shirt clings this way and that. You sigh at the sight - it’s much too late for unabashed yearning - burying your cheek into the pillows.

The door opens. You manage to spot a flash of red peeking over your roommate.

“God, we are so sorry. We don't know what's gonna happen to my Dad and–”

Miguel brings a hand up to stop her. She is clearly exhausted, eyes-red rimmed like she's been crying; with a tight hand around the strap of a sling bag. It's full to bursting, likely haphazardly prepared - stuffed with diapers, snacks, toys and God knows what else. She scratches at the nape of her neck, pulling at choppy hair scraped into a bun. With her bangs pinned back, you can't help but think she looks less like the character she plays on TV and more like a person - experiencing the kind of grief made less glamorous by makeup and bright lights.

“It's okay, Em.”

Em. You can't see his face, but you can see MJ's; and you notice the way she softens at the nickname.

“I haven't heard that one since college. Thank you, Miguel.” She gives him a watery smile.. “I've got some food for her in the bag, extra milk, those peanut cups she likes, my personal and my work phone number, my mom's phone number in case you can't reach me or Pete, diapers, wipes – hypoallergenic, she can be a bit sensitive – a-and we are trying self-soothing with her stuffy because she can get antsy before bed.”

Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she manages to hand off the bag, before turning to talk to a little mop of red that peeks out from behind her. May's chubby fingers are clamped tight around her leg, but with some gentle coaxing, the little girl steps into your apartment.

“Hi, May.” Miguel smiles, one you imagine is dazzling kryptonite from her favourite uncle, and she puts her small hand in his.

“Bye, honey. Be good for your Uncle.” MJ gives her daughter a gentle hug, brushing back her hair for a kiss. Little chubby fingers try to do the same, and it's a display that makes your heart melt.

“Stay safe, MJ. Say hi to Peter for me?” You call out over the lip of the couch.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She flashes you a smile, and you are windswept by its candour.

Once she leaves, May is uncharacteristically quiet. She seats herself on the sofa, little legs dangling, unable to reach the floor. Miguel slides off her backpack and jacket - brightly coloured plastic adorned with a kid's TV show - with an ease and gentleness you didn't quite know he was capable of. There's something to be said about a man of his stature - tall and hulking, with hands that could easily palm a basketball - using those very same hands to carefully unbutton the loops on May's jacket. Despite her muted panic; the gradual kind, the kind that wells up like the tide before a storm and comes with a wobbly lip and balled up fists; his voice stays calm and soothing in the walls of your little apartment. It is well-practiced and unfazed, exceedingly gentle in his approach. He'd make a good dad, you think.

She's restless. You both try your best, coaxing her to eat mushy peas and applesauce, with little to no success. May clearly isn’t pleased - scrunching up her face with disgust.

“I feel you, kid.” You sigh, plopping the dinner spoon into the green mixture. “Not the most appealing.”

“But it’s good for her!” Mig yells from the kitchen, digging around for something in the cupboards.

She makes a face, looking to you for some comfort. All you do is shrug, tugging at your collar in an exaggerated manner. She almost smiles, and so you make your eyes go wide - pulling a peal of laughter from the little girl. It is contagious, and makes you beam from ear to ear.

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.” Miguel breezes past with something in his hand.

“I think they serve prisoner’s better food. Or food that looks less grey, anyways.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He hisses, seating himself on the other side of the little girl. In his hands are a cute little bowl - pink plastic and toddler sized. It comes with a spoon that fits in Mayday’s palms just-right, and he scoops up some of the mixture the bowl.

You’re a little confused. “Where did you fi-”

“She’s a big girl.” He says simply, facing her and mimes taking a spoonful. You watch as her eyes get a little rounder, shining and intelligent. You can almost hear the gears moving in her tiny little head. “She can feed herself. Can’t you, May?

“Mig, I don’t know if that would work.”

And like a curious little dove, her head cocks this way and that, with a deep frown on her face. Pudgy fingers wrap around the neck of the spoon, and clumsily, she brings it to her lips. It falls with a clatter, and mushy peas splatter everywhere.

There’s an I told you so on the tip of your tongue, but he tries again; cooing at the little girl, encouraging her to take the spoon once more. He’s gentle, but doesn’t talk down to her - and like she can understand every word, her eyes shine with recognition. Now, you’re not the best with kids - a baby cousin or two notwithstanding - but its hard to believe he hasn’t babysat before. Miguel O’Hara; lab tech, masters student, and clearly, world class Uncle. You’ve got a million and one questions, but you are unable to do anything but watch - all the while, gears turning.

She gets increasingly frustrated. In an adorable, gap-toothed way, but the toddler can’t seem to get a good grip. You watch as the spoon falls: clatter, hollow clang, conk; and every time, Miguel picks it up, wipes it off, and encourages her to try again.

Clatter.

“One more time, sweetheart,”

Clang.

“You were so close! You want to try again for me?”

Thunk. You've got an idea.

“She’s not going to eat, Mig.”

He looks up. You’re handing him her jacket, and pulling on a long-discarded sweater.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

~~~

It fills you with a certain amount of delight to say something that surprises Miguel.

“I know a place.” You say, somewhat smug.

“What do you mean, you know a place?”

You shrug. After a couple of quick phone calls, you did, in fact, know the perfect place for a late night wander.

“The park on 10th?”

“Nope.”

“If it’s The Rec Centre on Chelsea Ave, it’s closed. I grew up with the guy who runs it, and–”

“Nope.”

“Where are you taking us? May, she’s going to kidnap us and sell our organs on the Black Market.” She’s got her little palm in his, and gives you a look that says ‘Him first’.

“Don’t want your organs. You’re Mexican and lactose intolerant; can’t imagine the damage you’ve done to your gut.” You stop them, crouching down to speak to May directly. “Do you like animals?”

Her face shines with recognition. She nods profusely. Miguel seems somewhat horrified, but it just looks cute, to you.

“That doesn’t reassure me, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You give Miguel a dazzling smile. Somewhat smug turns into very smug, very quickly. “We’ll take the subway!”

~~~

The Nueva York Research and Conservation Centre is quite the gem, Miguel quickly realises. It's the kind of thing that predates him, and even his oldest neighbours; immigrants that came to Nueva York in the 60s and 70s. He remembers a handful of school trips in elementary and middle school - traipsing around the old building with a clipboard and stubby pencil in hand. Even when he was a kid, the centre had paled in comparison to the Zoo up in Central; that was shiny and modern, with actual lions (plural) and giraffes. Of course, his school couldn't afford the accompanying exorbitant fees, so they settled for the converted municipal building and grounds; housing less exciting animals.

But he still remembered the first time he had walked through those double doors, and past the little ticket office after being handed the paper stub.

He liked that there weren't any cages. At the time, there was thin plexiglass separating the people from the animals, but they had space to roam, and were never the flashy sort - meerkats were the highlight of one trip, and an alligator snapping turtle the next. The centre was temperature controlled and meticulously maintained despite the clear understaffing; he always enjoyed the trek on cobbled path, and the insect building and reptile room never failed to disappoint.

There were always researchers hanging about there. Not in white lab coats and clicky pens like he had once thought; but sturdy trousers and frazzled smiles. They were kind, and easy going; always happy to talk to the little boy in clothes two sizes too big.

Maybe May was too young to understand, but he felt it immediately. That rush of excitement as you lead them on a long forgotten path, and pull out a key that unlocked those very same double doors. Nostalgia, perhaps, bubbles up from his fingertips.

“Hey, Ernie.” You nod towards a night watchman, perched at the reception desk. With his head buried in a magazine, you are satisfied with a nondescript grunt. Security clearly hasn't changed.

May gives a little wave, and Miguel can't help but coo. She's squirming, feeding off of his clear excitement and dragging him towards you with a surprising amount of force.

You lead them to the outside park. The Centre is dark, for a while, and after some rattling, and the careful click of a few switches; Miguel feels like a kid.

The lights are on, illuminating an acre or two of land, and he is transported to being 6 and then 7 and then 11 - clipboard and pencil in hand.

May is agape, eyes wide at nothing but fenceposts and plexiglass. The enclosures are empty with the majority of the animals asleep; yet she is fascinated with the landscape, so much so that she paws at Miguel to hoist her up. She's on his shoulders before you can orient yourself.

He hears you laugh first. Bright, gorgeous laughter like morning rain on a warm day. You laugh and clap with wonder, and pinch the little girl's cheek good naturedly. She returns it with her own, pointing at ‘funny trees’, their green tongues lapping at the bright light.

“We'll need to be quick.” You finally say, leading them once again. He catches a sliver of neck, pretty and supple as you turn your head towards them. Fuck.

“How do you have access to this place?”

“I know a guy.”

“Not a chance.” A guy, sure. It sounds like bullshit, but he can feel the confidence radiating off of you. It makes him wonder… is this another ex? Someone who works here, no doubt, but with so much pull you can walk straight through after closing hours?

“We'll meet ‘em, in a bit.” You trail off towards a plaque, reading out the inscription. “The Giant Armadillo, Priodontes maximus, is a giant insectivore – that means eats insects, May – characterised by its hinged bands and pale head. Found in much of South America, this – oh, look!”

Miguel follows your line of site, to some movement within the enclosure. Between large, grassy mounds, sure enough he spots the pale snout of the animal. May squeals with laughter, pointing toward the movement.

You put a finger to your lips, and ease her out of his grip. You get closer, whispering excitedly in response to the little girl's babbling. He doesn't follow, hands buried deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket.

We'll meet him. He plays it over and over and over in his head, letting it rattle and clank before sinking to the pit of his stomach. It tastes familiar: heavy and bitter. He's thinking of a man from a nicer background; kind, maybe, and softer. Walks around in suits and shiny shoes; who owns shit, who doesn't rent. Someone with softer hands than his own.

“Mig?”

Your hand is on his cheek. He’s pulled out of that haze, and straight into the warmth of your eyes.

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks.

“You okay?” Your brow is scrunched up adorably, little Mayday hanging off of your arm. He can't make you worried.

“Just fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, come on then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

You pull him towards the Reptile Room; a brick and mortar building with the metallic sheen of a lizard on its face. You pull out more keys, sifting through a whole jumble. Before he can stop himself, he's staring at you; intense and stormy. That sinking feeling deepens. You look up, and give him a smile. Like emerging above troubled water, he takes a deep breath and feels a little lighter.

“Liv?” The door is open in no time. You're calling out into empty space, boots click-clacking on tile. These lights are on, but dim, matching the hot and humid air of the building. “Liv!”

Miguel pulls at his collar, following you deeper inside. A service door; amidst enclosures of leafy green, pebbles, sand, and more; leads to a modest lab. Amongst vials labelled ominously and rows of benches that smell like disinfectant, lies a nest of hair crudely tied back.

Liv pops out from behind a clunky monitor, beaming from ear to ear. They're older, with a sharp jaw and soft features framed by wrinkles and smile lines.

“Doctor Olivia Octavius,” You smile, “Meet Miguel.”

Hand outstretched, Liv clears a path of pens and junk to reach his hand. It’s firm, he notices; with inked scribbles on the underside and a stack of bracelets at their wrist. They look familiar, but he can't quite place the name.

“How do you two know each other?” It spills out like May's mushy peas, and he hopes his sweaty palms aren't too noticeable.

“She used to work here - night shift.” Liv adjusts octagonal glasses, jewellery clinking.

“I was only a janitor, Mig.”

“The best damn janitor around. And good company during late nights.”

You get a playful nudge in the side for your trouble, and the two of you share a knowing look.

“And who's this?” Liv crouches, attention turning to May who is engrossed by a tangle of colourful wires.

“Her name's May.” He grunts.

“Your….” Doctor Octavius looks between you both, choosing their words carefully. “Daughter?”

“No, no.” You laugh - a little too much, for his liking. “We're babysitting - Liv, he's just my roommate.”

Miguel winces. Twice. He chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow and pursed lips, lest it blossom into any awkwardness.

A beat passes. “Does May like lizards?”

She nods enthusiastically, hissing like un vibora. She’s almost there, he thinks, and Miguel can't help but smile.

“We've got some speckled lizards in tank 3 and 4 - donations from our freshwater contacts in Panama. You want to show her around?”

“Sure, but what about–”

“You guys head off, I've got some paperwork to finish off. 10 minutes? If she's gentle she can touch one or two.”

Satisfied, you nod, looking at him expectantly. Your eyes shine just like May's, and like his once upon a time, with a childlike wonder that makes his heart ache. You look happy. God. He'd do anything to keep you smiling like that.

But he's tired. Finally, the night has caught up with him, and he just doesn't have the energy anymore.

“I'll stay.” He says gently. “Need to sit down for a bit anyways.”

He must imagine it, but for a second, you falter. Big, round eyes that shimmer in the harsh lab lights; and for a millisecond, he sees it dull. It’s gone in just a moment. And then you give him a warm smile, with a touch on his arm that seems to linger. The two of you beam, and you bound off with the kind of vigour he hasn't felt in years.

The click-clack of keys fills the room. He takes the opportunity to look around, noticing plaques upon plaques in the little corner of the lab. PhD. Masters. Accreditation from organisations with long, winding names. Doctor. Bioengineering. A foray into experimental physics. Pictures of her shaking hands with flashy names - and he recognises one with wide eyes.

“That's Marcus Kirby.” They barely look up.

“I… I know.”

“I worked with him before he headed up Alchemax, and well before the position was passed onto his son.” There's a hiss, and Miguel hears the violent rattle of the keyboard come to a stop. “I remember when he was still a kid, actually.”

He hesitates. “I watched one of your talks in Prague…. the one on metaphy–”

“Metaphysical dimorphism? Or was it the metagenesis of the perpetual plane? I can never remember these things.”

“Something like that.” He grunts.

“You were there? Should've asked for an autograph. Wouldn't be worth much, though.” A little snort catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“I was 17 - so, no.”

“Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. He had loaned that particular talk from the library, a tape played over and over until Gabi had thrown a spoon at his head for the crime of astrophysics at breakfast.

“Do you still work with them?”

“Oh, I've been back there a couple of times; despite the complaints otherwise, mind you; their conference centre is world-class –” They stop themselves. “You meant–”

“I meant Alchemax.”

They snort. “We went our separate ways.”

Why? He can't help but wonder; considering the equipment and brilliant minds the company has access to. Especially someone with the tenure and experience of Doctor Octavius - he could only dream of that kind of influence. Imagine the good he could do, the lives he could change…

Wonder turns to indignation, which turns to unfair assumptions; he looks around at the dingy workspace and curls up his nose. Disgust. From a well-respected, world-renowned bio-astrophysicist to this. Without the rose-tinted goggles of his youth, Miguel can't help but feel the walls closing in - a future career flashing before his eyes. From a dim rent-controlled apartment to an equally dingy desk in the corner of nowhere. He can't have done all of this for nowhere.

Doctor Octavius squints. The click-clack of keys stops. The air leaves the room, leaving only a cold chill.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Genetics and Bio-engineering department.” He puffs out his chest, but is unable to hide a slight shake to his voice. “I'm a lab assistant at Alchemax.”

Liv gives him a blank expression.

“So you're young.”

“I guess.”

“Unexperienced. You've barely taken your first steps into this world. I bet you still have dreams of saving the world. What are you working on, a cure for cancer?”

His jaw shifts.

“A joke.” They smile stiffly. “Research isn't like that. It's stuffy and bureaucratic and painfully capitalist. Everything requires a thousand yards of red tape until it doesn't; until they ask you to fudge numbers for the sake of shareholder value. Until they axe vital projects that affect the bottom line.”

They step closer, boots thudding on cheap linoleum.

“It’s hard, to get them to see you. It's even harder when they've already made their mind up. I gave 12 years of my life to that place and you'd be wise to quit whilst you're ahead. Whilst you're young.”

Their eyes are empty. A quiet, cold rage swirling for the last 10, 15 years. He recognises it, of course he does; it's the very same rage that sits at the pit of his stomach - with the dense heat of a white dwarf. In that way, he thinks, he's collapsing in on himself; one that precedes an abcess into the very same perpetual plane Doctor Octavius built their career on.

“Alchemax is doing things no one could've predicted 10 years ago - our genetics trials are world-class -” He starts a spiel he is well versed with – but it sounds hollow even under these dim lights.

“Is that what Marcus is going with these days? Plasticky and insincere?”

“I–We are saving the world.”

He's met with a withering look; that echoes the indignant sighs from teachers of his youth.

He remembers small squares of paper, handed out to kids in the Reptile house. Brightly coloured facts pasted along its route; detailing the kind of research undertaken at the conservation centre. For a 7 year old Miguel, he was wholly absorbed with the worksheets - three words at the top of a blank table. Hypothesis. Observation. Analysis.

Hypothesis.

“If this a personal gripe–”

“Of-fucking-course it's personal.” It was spat out, with more emotion he thought they were capable of. A pause. “Did you know Marcus Kirby commissioned the research for near-unlimited nuclear energy? Did you know we actually built it?”

“You're–” His throat is dry. “You continue to make claims without evidentiary basis.

Observation.

A slight bobbing of an Adam's apple. The tightening of the invisible string that slowly winds their shoulders back.

“We could have powered hundreds of thousands – millions of homes. For much cheaper and cleaner than what we have now; clogged up by fingers sticky with oil money, most likely. And the proprietary technology is collecting dust, somewhere in that fucking building. Knowing Marcus, he's using it as a paperweight.”

And his head is a blur. Miguel isn't stupid; he sees Alchemax for what it is. A business, at the end of the day. He thought childlike naivete was a distant bygone but for some reason, he's shaken.

Can he believe what he hears? Is it just personal pettiness at the root of all this venom? Sure, he doesn't get invited to after work drinks. Sure, he isn't involved in the office gossip; in signing birthday cards and impromptu lunches out. Sure, just once, he'd like to get more than lab reports and risk assessments dumped on his station. He even finds himself missing stilted small talk; picking his fingernails as his coworkers talk around him, like he isn't even there. No man is an island in his field of work. For every discovery and pseudo-cure-for-cancer there are hundreds of lab techs doing the grunt work. So he knuckles down and does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps his head down; because he already has a job to do, he doesn't need to be liked.

Analysis.

He sees it now, clear as day. A coffee cup gripped too tightly, a flash of fear when he clears his throat. Little comments, and then big ones:

Drug tests at your stage are mandatory, O'Hara.

Ronnie’s been working here a long time. There's no need to be aggressive, O'Hara.

We want you front and centre in this picture, O'Hara, but don't forget to take out the trash on your way out.

But what he has always attributed to the status quo, to his prickly personality, to his distinct lack of charm and unwillingness to be loved - could it be something else? When they look at him, who do they see? Is it O'Hara, the underpaid, awkward intern - or Miguel, brutish and brash and scary?

A great crash and in its crescendo is Doctor Octavius, hand outstretched, half bitten fingernails and papercuts all the same. He's different, he knows that. He's intimidating and gruff with a slight propensity for violence. But he's saving the world! He’s making a difference, one meagre test tube at a time.

And then there’s that voice again, hoarse and buried deep deep down at the pit of his stomach. With all that they've asked him to do… what does he have to show for it?

You come to mind. Kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The way you look at him, the way you touch him - like he's delicate, like he's capable of breaking. He thinks of soft nights spent in your arms and between even softer sheets… and not once have you shirked away or asked him to flatten. Acceptance; whole-hearted and unconditional; tastes much too sweet between your thighs.

“Mig!” He hears a squeal from out and down the corridor. Footsteps on the linoleum are followed by a pitter-patter, before you and May arrive at the door giggling uncontrollably.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He softens like butter under a hot knife, because of course he does. It’s you.

“Come look, come look!”

He throws a glance to Liv, their white hot grip on the desk relaxing. They tuck a strand of loose hair back and sit down, shuffling through papers like nothing had happened. The tension dissipates - that was your doing, he thinks.

“It's a… Mig, God, there's a tank with an oc…”

“Cephalopod, actually.” Doctor Octavius smiles, picking up a battered coffee mug to lead the way. “You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through to get her here, but isn't she a beauty…”

He trails behind, flashing you and May a shaky smile. The frazzled scientist is knee deep in another story - betrayal, heartbreak, a tentacled hero, and more. But when Liv looks back, for a moment, he sees it: the very same look he had given unapologetically just a few minutes ago.

Pity.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #mutual pining

157 notes · View notes

arsonism-the-eighth · 23 hours ago

Text

Third option :)

Seduce (optional) the big ocean creature with your fucked up info dumping, squeeze your way into its heart. Then once you’ve gotten it to fall for you/made it confused and interested in what in the seven seas is “wrong” with you, get it to bring you to shore.

Once it’s brought you to shore, you tell it to complete either three, seven, or twelve (depending on where your from and your general preferences) impossible tasks. Thus leading to it going back to the ocean, or wherever else it might go, to - hopefully - try and complete the impossible tasks you’ve set for it.

You get between some weeks, months, or even several years worth of time to just vibe around and chill in a world made up of a failing capitalistic, and slow dumpster fire. Then when it returns, for it will return no matter what you tasked it to do, it shall present you with whatever it was tasked with, claim you as its own and drag you down to the depths of long forgotten empires and cities.

Here it may vary, you could marry it, simply be a confidant, die, travel, explore, become one with an unknown universe so far behind the human comprehension that your mind is ripped apart and put back together again, but something is wrong, you don’t know what but something is wrong. you can’t breathe, your clawing at your neck, you can’t breathe, your eyes are wide but all you see are the hollow depths of its dark eyes, that are somehow so much darker than the ocean around you, how it is possible, you don’t know, you can’t breathe, it surrounds you body and soul, trapping you, cradling you as a mother would an infant, you can’t breathe, please let me go home, you can’t breathe, it has consumed your very being, you and it are one in the same, it has always been this way, you can’t breathe, it has been searching for you child, you can’t breathe, your finally home, you can’t breathe, one and the same, you can’t breathe, whole once more, you can’t breathe, father and son, you can’t breathe, mother and daughter, you can’t breathe, parent and child, you can’t breathe, one from the other, you can’t breathe

You shall never leave me no more young beirn, for you have seen enough damage and horror to last several generations my child, you are safe here with me

You. Can’t. Breathe.

You try to escape, to run, but it holds fast - have I not done enough for you child - it doesn’t speak, but it’s in your bones, ripping your flesh off of them, half hazardously putting you back together, you, can’t, breathe.

You’ll be safe here, I’ve finally found you again my small beirn, I’ll keep you safe, no longer shall you ever come to harm

You - Can’t - Breathe

Safe, child in my arms you shall stay, till the stars take you from me again, and then I shall rip the cosmos apart, until the day I find you and hold you once more.

Water makes its way into your lungs, the pressure from the ocean flooding into them and crushing you, or maybe it’s the things grip on you that’s tightening.

You can’t breathe.

They shall never steal you from me again child, for I shall hold you close to me, and my chest and keep you safe, my darling love, my first creation, my child.

You can’t breathe - and soon everything turns to black.

______________________________________________________________ Note! - i wrote this on like two hour of sleep at midnight, and didnt relise it was epic untill this morning :)

wyd in this situation

2K notes · View notes

niuniente · 1 day ago

Text

Dear people over America. I woke up to this current political news which is devastating to say the least to minorities, women and the trans community on the other side of the globe. I wanted to do what little I can to help and ease your minds.

I'm a psychic. I have been doing divination (oracle readings) for 25 years. I've got a high success rate and my reviews on my store are 5/5 (you can see this for yourself). I asked the cards for clarification for all this; why is HE the president now, and how does the nearby future look for women and trans communities.

Please note that these are collective readings of the topic and might not correlate with your own personal experiences or how things are in your home state! So take only what resonates with you and ignore the rest. (If you wish to have a personal reading, that is possible; in that case, click here)

Why Trump is the president?

This result didn't surprise me because for the past 3 years I have heard many American people, who have had a near-death experience (NDE) to say that if they have gotten a view of America's future, Trump has always appeared as being elected for the 2nd time - but only for the 2nd time.

The Spirit tells me that Trump's personal lesson is to learn to see other people's points of views. That's why he chose such a position in society, where he would need to consider many different people from different backgrounds and life situations. He needs to understand how his actions affect others.

However, he is miserably failing with this personal lesson (unless something happens and he somehow completes it now in the next 4 years). Instead of going for harmony and seeing everyone's point of view, his priority is Power. With a capital P. That's what he desires, that's what he wants (MAGA movement is based on this; power back to America, America needs to be a powerful, unyielding boxer in the global ring - only a win matters).

I asked why he wishes for this Power and it's simply because of the power's sake. He loves to be in control. He loves to feel powerful. You all are asked, as much as possible, to detach from this drama he is causing because it indeed seems like he is close to a cult leader and loves to bask in this power. He loves the idea that he can command nukes and one of the most powerful countries in the world. To get this, he is ready to cause any kind of a shitstorm - after all, he has not learned to consider others, except maybe only his own family members.

This correlates with his views of an autonomic power, where he gets all the power and can be a dictator. There's no one more powerful person alive in the world than a dictator. Anyone following him is likely learning this same lesson of empathy and understanding, and failing in it. They all want to be the King of the Hill and by following someone who already is, makes them feel like they are, too. This is all drama for dramas sake because it makes them feel more powerful.

TL;DR: Trump's life lesson is to learn to respect and honor everyone despite their backgrounds and views. What a better way to do that as a president of a nation with so many nationalities and stories of people in it. But so far he has failed miserably in this lesson and has chosen blind worship of power instead. Stirring drama is his tactic to gain more power and followers. Detach from his and his followers' drama as much as you can; block, ignore, move on. His reign will eventually come to an end.

Future for Women in The US?

A toxic masculine energy wishes to control women of America and this is not related to any single individual. The rise of misogyny is real and tangible, and women are part of this "other party" the power hungry men do not want to contemplate. It's His way or No Way at all.

This will make women turn more and more away from men, which HOPEFULLY make these men see that in order to actually have a woman and a family they so much yearn to have is to love women. Not to hate them as they now do. Not to see them as assets or items or rewards of a job well done of being a man. More and more women will choose not to have kids, choose not to date or get married, and they will choose even more carefully men who are on their side, walking next to them as a unit.

In a way or another, women WILL fight and take their power back. Peace will not be an option. If this fighting can't be done visibly, it will be done in secrecy; helping other women out, warning them of bad men and risks, aiding others to better safety and to a better life. Mind you that this also covers trans women; there are trans women and trans allies in cis women who will be willing to help. Women will turn towards one another. Men who follow this old paradigm of controlling women will be met with women's bare teeth but other women will be met with peace. I don't see anything particularly related to women who follow misogyny but I imagine with this much mental energy here, women will not abandon them but educate them. It is possible some of these women, who support this kind of regime, will later change their minds when they see how it negatively affects them, their parents, sisters, aunts, friends, cousins, coworkers etc. Some women will die in order to wake others up.

Women will turn their nurturing energies - the one this regime wants to turn towards men and babies - towards themselves. Artistic expression and expressing their feelings through any form of art will be significant. Pay attention to what kind of art women do now - it's going to be directly reflected in what's going on now. Women seem to also be looking more after their bodies, keeping themselves safe. This low level energy of control and forcing women is echoes of the past and women of America, collectively and mainly, wish not to partake in it any longer.

When it comes to men, these men who have thought that Trump will deliver them a woman to look after them and have their babies will see that it's not the case. And, if it is, the marriage is not happy and many women will fight like a trapped wild cat, scratching the eyes out of any of the people who want to trap them. This will be genuinely boggling to them and might make them angrier but their lessons are to understand what human rights are and what it means to respect others as your equal.

TL;DR: Women will turn away from misogyny and forced motherhood more and more, turning their attention and care towards themselves and other women (trans included) and leaving misogyny men angry because they have not learned to love women (not your job to teach them this, sisters!). Artistic expressions in all forms among women will be very high as it will be a way to express and deal with these current energies. Women will be even more pickier with the men they date and get married with, or even interact overall with - as they should. Anyone who wants to rip you off from your human rights is not your ally or a good partner. This will not be a shocker to anyone else but the men who believe in misogyny, as they will not get wives or girlfriends any easier - it only gets harder.

Future for Trans People in the US?

Trans people in the USA (not every state, mind you) need to "erase" their existence. Like I saw someone saying here; if you know a trans person in the USA now, no, you don't. True identities will be hidden for the safety's sake and people will flock more into underground, smaller communities. Those communities will continue to exist and support one another. This is not a total erasure but it's erasure in a way that it is better to choose carefully who really knows your true identity and who are the people to whom you are performing the identity of your physical body. So trans men will pretend to continue to be women on the outside, trans women will pretend to continue to be men on the outside but in their own safe spaces and supportive communities, they can be who they truly are.

Now, trans communities and rights will not be erased. There can be a momentary setback and time when trans people have to carefully hide their identities for their own sake but it will not be permanent. Trans people, like women's collective, WILL FIGHT. Trans people will NOT allow themselves and their fellow trans people to be erased. The time when "transpeople didn't exist because this is woke idealism", as red-wing misogyny says, WILL NOT return. People who wish for these times to come back have fallen from the evolution of humanity. Trans people will not stop existing. They will fight for their rights till the end of the world. Liberation seems to be near and this looks, in America, to be the final dark hour before the new dawn. Hang in there!

The Spirit and the cards promise that trans people will get their freedom. There's no returning back to the time when their existence was forbidden. There's a flow of prosperity and lots of freedom in the future cards so any trans person there reading this - DO NOT GIVE UP. This is temporary. This will pass. You need to play with these nasty rules for a little while but it will pass.

There's a promise of balance in work and home life, so acceptance of trans people both in private areas of their life (home, friends, communities, online blogs etc.) as well as in public (school, work, society, hospitals, other people). That kind of a future is coming, also as we move more into the Era of Aquarius, which supports human rights, different gender and sexual identities without judgment, liberation of gender and sexuality and thus the human expression itself.

TL;DR: Trans people need to lay low for now and hide their true identities for their own safety. If you know a trans person, no, you do not. They will find the support they need in their own communities but trans people will not be erased. Trans people WILL fight and there is going to be a time in the future when they can openly (once again) be who they truly are, both at home and outside home. Flow of prosperity and freedom is in the cards as a promise of the future and these energies are massive. This is only the old paradigm's final efforts to stay alive as it croaks and is forgotten. American humanity will evolve to respect trans people's human rights, too.

EVERYONE SCARED IN THE USA, KEEP GOING! This is only a temporary moment of night.

#america #politics #prediction #oracle reading

139 notes · View notes

30somethingautisticteacher · 3 days ago

Text

The drunk woman was relentless, invading Tommy's personal space as he tried to step back. He kept flashing his ring, but either she hadn't noticed or simply didn't care. Tommy glanced at his watch, grateful Evan hadn't arrived yet to see this mess.

"I'm just a poor girl all alone and new to the city," she slurred, pressing closer. "Can you help me get home safely? You can drive me, and then you can come up and I can thank you properly." She traced a finger down his arm. "I'm sure your wife wouldn't mind."

'Okay, she just doesn't care,' Tommy thought, taking a step back.

"I'm sure the bartender would be happy to call a cab for you," he said firmly.

"But you're so big and strong. I would feel so protected," she pouted, swaying slightly.

"I'm flattered, but I'm sure you'll be plenty safe," Tommy said, maintaining his distance. "And my husband won't like you all over me."

"Husband?" the woman spat, her flirtatious demeanor instantly shifting. "Seriously, you're gay?" Her slurred voice dripped with disdain.

It was at that exact moment that Evan appeared.

"Oh, he's very, very gay," Evan said, draping his arms over Tommy's shoulders and pulling him in for a steamy kiss.

"Hi, baby," Tommy said when they broke apart, his earlier tension melting away at his husband's presence.

"You can go now," Evan said dismissively to the woman.

"You're the husband?" she scoffed, looking Evan up and down with obvious judgment. "What a waste."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Evan asked, his voice sharpening. Tommy could feel him tensing up beside him.

"Not worth it, sweetheart," Tommy said softly, squeezing Evan's hand. He knew that tone in his husband's voice - the one that meant someone had struck a nerve.

"No, I want to know," Evan insisted, his jaw set. The playful possessiveness from moments ago had been replaced by something harder, more defensive. "What exactly is being wasted here?"

"Your lifestyle," she sneered, waving her hand dismissively. "Two big, strong, handsome men shacking up together."

"Shacking up?" Evan said, his voice dangerously quiet. The woman had crossed a line, and Tommy knew his husband well enough to recognize when he was about to snap.

"We're not shacking up," Evan continued, holding up his left hand where his wedding ring caught the bar lights. "We're married. Legally married. I walked down an aisle, said vows, signed papers, and promised to love this man for the rest of my life. And you know what? It was the best decision I ever made."

Tommy's heart swelled, watching his husband defend their marriage.

"So no, it's not a waste. What would be a waste is if I pretended to be something I'm not just to make people like you comfortable. Now if you'll excuse us, I'd like to have a drink with my husband."

"You people," the girl said, shaking her head in disgust.

Tommy felt Evan stiffen next to him, ready for another round, but this time Tommy stepped forward. He'd let Evan handle it his way, now it was his turn.

"Ah, 'you people,'" Tommy said, his voice calm but firm. "Let me tell you about 'us people.' My husband and I are first responders. We put our lives on the line every single day for others - including people who think like you do. I spent years hiding who I was because of that kind of hatred, afraid to be myself. But then I finally accepted who I really was, and that opened my heart to the possibility of love. And I found it - real, earth-shattering, life-changing love."

He pulled Evan closer, feeling his husband relax against him. "So the only waste here would be letting people like you make us ashamed of something so beautiful."

Tommy turned away from the woman, effectively dismissing her. "Come on, baby."

The woman slunk away into the crowd, her previous bravado gone.

"You ok, babe?" Evan asked, turning to Tommy with concern.

"Are you kidding?" Tommy said, pulling him closer by his belt loops. "That was extremely sexy watching you tell her off like that. Look how far my little baby bi has come."

"Couldn't have done it without you," Evan said softly.

"You know, I'm actually more hungry than thirsty," Tommy said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, is that so?" Evan replied, a knowing smirk spreading across his face."Well, we should probably do something about that."

"Yeah, we probably better," Tommy said, pulling Evan in for a heated kiss.

When they broke apart, Evan was speechless. He shook his head. "But not here."

"Right, right, let's get out of here."

They stumbled out of the bar together, Tommy tugging Evan along by their joined hands. Their laughter mixed with the night air, any trace of anger long forgotten replaced by the joy of just being together.

#bucktommy #tw homophobia #protective buck #protective tommy #they're husbands y'all #30sat writes

145 notes · View notes

lonesome-greenery · 2 days ago

Text

I was four at the time and my heel had been sliced open by the edge of a bed so I had a waterproof bandaid on it. This will be important later.

I'd never gone to the ocean or beach for that matter before. That kind of thing just doesn't happen when you live so far inland and have a big family. So this was the first time I'd ever seen something so big and deep. The sand was wet and I was wearing my favorite sun dress. There were some older kids nearby -- I think they were probably ten to twelve years old -- who were building a sand castle with a moat. They had said something about finding a hermit crab and it pinching one of them. I was very careful wading through the water then because I didn't know what a crab pinch felt like, but I imagined it would be quite painful.

My mom was chatting with a circle of adults nearby in some of the deeper water, and I went out to meet her. I was treading water as best I could and the ocean was up to my neck. I say something to her and I'm sent back to the shore because it's too deep for me there and how did I get out so far? Why wasn't my dad watching me?

I get back to the shallows, and I feel something tug on my heel. My immediate thought is a hermit crab having gotten a hold on my foot. It doesn't hurt, but I'm terrified nonetheless and I go running up and onto the shore where the sun has baked the sand to the point that I can't handle the heat.

I'm back in the ocean again with the water around my ankles. I check my heel, and there's an immediate sense of relief. It's just a band aid. A band aid whose adhesive just doesn't work period. It's not a hermit crab, and I'm safe.

Now here's where things get interesting.

I'm standing in the shallows. The wind is picking up and I've just had the adrenaline wear off from being convinced that a hermit crab is attacking my foot. I'm four years old and relatively short.

The wind has picked up.

That means that the waves have started to get bigger. One starts picking up speed as it gets closer to the shore.

I don't know what exactly was going through my mind at that time, but I decide that the best way to handle that is not to go back to the shore (it's too hot on the sand, I'd rather stay in the water), but instead to drop onto my stomach and grab onto whatever stick or ocean greenery is there under the water and let the wave wash over me. I hadn't even taken a breath, but the wave passes over me and I can't get up. I'm sucked under and further out. The water is in my nose and stinging my eyes. I can't breathe. Everything is a murky yellow blue green. I'm no longer holding onto the sand and sticks. Those have slipped through my fingers.

I could very well die in that moment.

I don't realize it at the time. I'm four years old, and this is my first time interacting with a huge body of water.

I'm stuck under the wave for about twenty seconds before someone has grabbed me by the ankle and yanked me out of the ocean. He's one of my parents' friends and had noticed that I'd gone missing. It's the same leg as the heel with the bandaid that he's grabbed. I'm coughing up water and he's setting me upright. My mom and dad are running to check on me. I don't even know quite what's happened.

The guy who pulled me out of the water has sunglasses and assures them that I'm okay. I get told I almost drowned. That I could have died. When you're four, you don't have much of a concept of death. I didn't understand death much less drowning, but I understood the fear in my parents' voices.

I didn't drown, but I could have.

I'm still alive today.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#green rambles for a minute

1K notes · View notes

mochiwonz · 12 hours ago

Text

✉︎ - You're My Match-a ♡

𓍯�� content : fem!reader x bestfriend!ni-ki , bestfriends to lovers (boring trope - i know but its one of my faves so </33) , fluff , realization of feelings , this is a cutee fic :3 , reader LOVES matcha , ni-ki is so sweet

𓍯𓂃 word count : 1.1k

𓍯𓂃 note : i actually really enjoyed writing this !! ni-ki rly strikes me as someone that would obviously hint at his liking for you and play it off but never confess boldly. (also pls lmk who u want to see next for the "type of bf" series too :p)

Honestly, you're a matcha addict. You have matcha every day, seven days a week. And of course your bestfriend, ni-ki, knows how much you love your matcha. Like, he knows your exact order - a large matcha latte with medium sugar, less ice, and organic milk. He's the person that gets it for you most of the time, anyways. Since you're busy with your studies, and he's just out and about and in the dance studio most of the time. But he doesn't mind it at all, he likes doing things for you. Why? Because he's your bestie, duh. Actually wait, no, it's because he likes you.

Of course, you're blissfully unaware of his crush on you. That's just how you are, you think he's just doing these nice gestures for you because he's your bestie. Ni-ki has a love and (mostly) hate relationship with the word "bestfriend" because on one hand, he's happy that you guys are close, but he wants to be more to you. He wants the title of your boyfriend, not your bestie.

Anyways, it's 9pm on a Saturday night and you're at home studying with music blasting in your headphones. You felt like something was off for the past 4 hours, but you couldn't really tell what it was. And - oh, you hadn't got matcha yet. But, it was already so late and the nearest cafe was too far to walk to, especially at night.

And it's as if ni-ki knew, because he texts you "hey y/n, had ur matcha today?" Smiling a little, you text back "hiii nini, no not yet :(( ive been busy studying and lost track of time..."

You wait a few minutes for a response from him, and nothing. Hm, that's not like him, but you just shrug it off. You still have to study for your upcoming exam anyways. Once again, you allow yourself to get lost in your studying and music.

It's been about an hour, around 10pm and - *knock knock* huh? Who would knock on your door at 10pm at night? Slowly walking to the door, you hold your breath.

"Y/n you there??" you hear from the other side of the door.

Oh, you could recognize that deep voice anywhere, it's just ni-ki. Wait - what was he doing here?

Opening the door, you're ready to question him. But instead, you're caught off guard with ni-ki in a grey hoodie, white tank, washed out jeans and two matcha lattes in hand. Oh, that's why he's here. And you felt your heart melt a little at the realization.

"Oh my god nini, you couldn't have texted me? I thought you were a murderer or a weirdo" you tell him, giggling a little. He smiles down at you and there's a weird feeling in your stomach. Confused, you just shrug it off and tell him to come inside.

Once you were both inside, he hands you the matcha latte. "Couldn't have you be sad, so I had to run to the cafe since it was closing soon. That's why I forgot to text you, sorryy" he explains in a sweet tone of voice, while sipping on the matcha latte.

That's when it hit you, he doesn't do this for you all the time just because he's your bestfriend. Ni-ki likes you - and you think you might like him, too. That would be the only explanation for the weird feeling in your stomach - butterflies.

Realizing you forgot to say thank you, you tell him "Thanks for this nini, you're too nice to me you know?" And in response, he just smiles sweetly at you and there goes the butterflies again. Fuck.

"Of course y/n, you're my girlll" he says playfully. However, it does something to you that it usually doesn't do. He calls you his girl sometimes, and you always thought it was just friendly and nothing like that. But now, it means something else to you.

Choking on your matcha a little, you put it down and just stare at it. So many thoughts are running through your head, and it doesn't help that you've been studying the whole day and whole night. You aren't functioning like you usually would.

Concerned, ni-ki walks over to you and pats your back. "Hey, you okay? Is the matcha not good? I can-" he tells you but you cut him off.

"Nini why do you always do this for me? You always get me matcha, you remember my order, you always make sure i'm happy. Like, do you like me or something? Because I honestly think I have feelings for you." you say while fidgeting with your rings, blurting out your thoughts.

You look back up at him, and he looks shocked. Eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"Wait, wait - y/n, you like me?" he asks, voice laced with shock.

"Yeah.." you mumble in response, only now realizing what you just said. God, your heart is beating out of your chest. You quickly look down just to make sure it actually isn't.

"Oh my fucking god y/n, you don't know how love I've been waiting to hear those three words come out of your mouth. You know, I would never go out of my way to get matcha for someone at 10pm, let alone whenever they need it, I only do it for you. I do it for you because I like you so much, I'm surprised you only noticed now" he tells you while staring into your eyes, the same eyes he can't help but think about 24/7.

Taken aback, you just sit there staring at him. Wow, has he always been this beautiful? You've been taking this beautiful face for granted, fuck. Swiftly, he sits down next to you and picks you up and puts you onto his lap.

"May I have the honor of being your boyfriend, miss y/n?" he asks you playfully and you smile at him.

"Hm...what if I said no?" you ask him, reciprocating the playful energy.

"Y/nnnn" he whines. You find yourself melting when he pulls you closer and rests his head in the crook of your shoulder.

"I'm just playing nini, of course you can be my boyfriend" you tell him while brushing your fingers through his beautiful blue-ish black hair.

Happy, ni-ki suddenly jumps up and picks you up with him, twirling you around like a princess. After setting you back down, he wraps his large arms around you and brings you into his embrace, inhaling your perfume.

"Hey y/n? You know what?" he asks you, and you can hear by his tone of voice that he's about to pull out a corny joke.

"What?" you respond, laughing a little bit.

"I think you're my match-a...get it?" he says, already laughing to himself.

God, him and his corny ass jokes. Guess he's the man that you're stuck with now! (and you're quite happy that it's nishimura riki <33)

pls reblog if u enjoyed :3 my other works are here if you want to check them out !!

#enhypen #enhypen ni ki #ni ki #nishimura riki #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #fluff #ni ki x reader #ni ki fluff #mochiwonz #ni ki enhypen #ni ki imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #ni ki x you

61 notes · View notes

frogs-crackcorner · 23 hours ago

Text

An Angel All My Own P-1

Simon Riley x reader

Cw: fluff, out of character moments, my ADHD really shines through, reader likes older men

Captain John Price has been a family friend for as long as you can remember. He was always a kind man. Ready to chase you around the garden when you were little or throw you into the pool as you got a bit older. He was practically your uncle and fun one at that. He was always coming over to your parents house for weekend dinners and birthday parties. So it only seemed fair to invite him to your house warming party.

You had finally saved up enough money for a modest home in the country. It was on a rather large piece of land, mostly forested with a big clearing around the house. It was a little unnerving at night so you were glad that you weren't too far away from town, only about 15 minutes or so. The house only has three bedrooms but that was plenty for you since you were living alone. It was a cute little house with a spacious kitchen and a wrap around porch. You had started renovations the day you got the keys. You painted the walls, polished the floors, and swept out the fireplace. You took down the old lights and added some rugs. You planned on turning into the perfect cottage.

With your house nearly done, you wanted to invite some friends and family over for a house warming party. You ran into Price as he was leaving your parents and invited him to come too.

"That's fantastic, lass. I don't suppose you mind if I bring my team along? We're shipping out that evening and will be together anyways," he grins.

"Of course not, the more the merrier. It was nice seeing you, John," you chirp back.

"You too, lass. And hey? I'm proud of you." He tips head to you before strolling off to his car.

------------------------------<>------------------------------

The day of the party soon arrived and you were a bit of a mess. You had spent the morning baking cookies and getting things set up. You had set up chairs outside near the fire pit. Fairy lights were strung around the porch. A table with toppings, chips, and drinks was set up near the grill and you had all the burgers prepped. Now all the was missing was the guests.

To your surprise, Price was the first to arrive. You were just setting the cookies on the table when you saw his truck coming down the long driveway. You walked over to greet them as he was parking the truck. John stepped out and gave you a quick hug. "Good to see you, lass. The house looks lovely," he greets. A young man comes around the truck, his skin gold in the light of the sunset. "This is Sargent Garrick," Price says, clapping him on the back, "we just call him Gaz tho."

You hear more car doors slamming and two more men step out of the truck. "And these two muppets are Sargent Mactavish and Ghost," Price introduced. You look over to see a smiling Scotsman and what you can only assume is a mountain in tactical gear. "Mactavish, ma'am. Pleased to meet you. Just call me Soap," the Scot drawled through his thick accent.

"What was that?" Gaz exclaimed.

"Price said I 'ad to 'ave good behavior with the little lass," Soap shouted back. Gaz started to laugh. "And that's your best?," he chuckled, "Sorry bout him. He's used to being a flirt so he's off his game. Nice to meet you, I'm Gaz." He gave you a dazzling smile, shaking your hand. You could feel your cheeks start to heat up.

"Nice to meet you too. All of you," you said shyly. Price shot Gaz a pointed look and Gaz let go of your hand. It appears they had been given strict orders not to flirt with you. It was a little disappointing. They were gorgeous men and didn't seem much older than you. Well, two of them were gorgeous. You weren't entirely sure about the third. He had on a baseball cap and a black surgical mask. Deep brown eyes stared back at you, a little sunken in with dark circles around them. They seemed to pierce your very soul. You drop your gaze and turn back to the other men.

"Well you guys are the first ones here. Feel free to make yourselves at home. I've got everything set up on the side of the house. There are snacks and drinks if you'd like. I just need to grab a few more things from the kitchen," you say, leading them up to the house.

"Let us help," Price offers, "then you can give us a tour of the place."

"Do you guys want a tour?"

"Of course, bonnie. Want to see all the work you've done," Soap chimes in.

You open the front door and let them all inside. "Okay, well, this is the living room. I restored the wood floors, upstairs and downstairs. I took out the overhead lights and added wall lamps instead. Most of the decorations I found at a vintage market and I made the rest."

"Here in the kitchen, I redid the tile. The old tile was chipping for some reason. I took out the old white sink and installed this copper one. Oh, I completely redid the porch. A lot of the old wood was rotting. You can see the string lights I added," you say, pointing out the kitchen window. As you do, you notice two more cars coming down the driveway.

"The guest and master bedroom are upstairs. The office and bathroom are just down the hall to the right. I would show you the rest but more guests are arriving and I still have a few things to get done," you finish, picking up a bowl of salad from the counter.

"What can I do? Have you started up the grill?" Price asks.

"Not yet. Would you mind doing it?," you reply.

"Not at all. Gaz! Mactavish! Help the little lady take the rest of the food out," he calls, his voice commanding.

Soap and Gaz turn from their spot in the conjoining dining room.

"Right Captain. What would you like me to take?," Gaz asks.

"If you wouldn't mind taking the burgers and ribs out. And Soap if you could grab the napkins right there," you directed. "Oh I forgot about the ice." You begin shifting the items in your hands around to be able to grab the ice. Suddenly, wordlessly, Ghost is taking the bowl of salad from you and following the others out the kitchen door. His giant frame seemed out of place in your quaint home. His large black silhouette a stark contrast to the usual green and gold of the kitchen.

Although he was mountainous and rather intimidating, there seemed to be something else in his eyes. He almost looked lost. Sort of sad. He was calculating but not callous. He seemed to be on edge, not because he was inherently violent but because he was forced to be. You supposed it was all too common in their line of work. No one has ever told you details of what John Price and his team did for work but you knew they were military. You weren't a child anymore, you knew the horrors of this world. You couldnt even imagine the things these men must have seen.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts and went to greet the rest of the guests. Price has fired up the grill and was putting burgers on. The smell of smoke and summer grass hung heavy in the air. Guests milled around and chatted, several of them congratulating you on your new home. Your mother gave you a hug and told you how proud she was.

The night moved on without a hitch and soon most of the guests had gone home. You began throwing away the used cups and paper plates. "I got the grill all cleaned up for you lass," Price says, dusting off his hands.

"Thank you, you really didn't have to," you remarked.

"I know but it was the least I could do. We've got to get going, we have a plane to catch. Come on boys! Let's pack it out," he shouts.

"That's right! You're leaving. Hold on. Stay here," you urge, rushing into the house. You return with a brown box tied with twine. "Here. Thought you guys might want some treats for the trip," you offer. He takes the box from you.

"Thank you, lass. Though I don't expect these to last long, those muppets will have them eaten in the blink of an eye," Price smiles. Just then, Soap came running up.

"What's in the box then?," he asks.

"Nothing you can have right now. Get in the truck," Price chides. He's such a dad, you think to yourself. Soap slumps dramatically before giving you a cheeky grin.

"Lovely to meet you, bonnie. Hope to see you again soon," he smiles, kissing the top of your hand before jogging off to the truck. Price scowls at him as he disappears. Gaz and Ghost join you and price on the front lawn.

"Goodbye, love. It was wonderful to meet you," Gaz purred.

"You as well, Garrick," you tease. He gives you a quick wink before heading to the truck as well. Ghost goes to follow him before stopping and turning back to you. "Thank you," he mutters, his voice a deep rumble.

"Of course. You're welcome here anytime," you stutter.

As you watched them pile in and drive away, you had no idea how literally Ghost would take that offer.

(Let me know how you feel about the first part and any ideas you have, I'd love to hear your feedback)

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #johnny soap mactavish #kyle garrick #captain john price #cod fluff #cod x you #sharkyshitposts

71 notes · View notes

tessieee · 3 days ago

Text

Main 7 x an MC that acts silly and talks to themselves when they’re alone

PT. 1 -- Pt. 2 after the fic that won the poll :p

Pairings: OBEY ME! Lucifer x MC, Mammon x MC, Leviathan x MC

༺═────────────═༻

Spending time alone in the House of Lamentation became a rarity as the brothers and you grew closer. Some days it was mediating a fight between Mammon and Levi, others it was being dragged to go shopping with Asmo, napping with Belphie, then a Fangol game for Beelzebub, and Lucifer on your tail over assignments from R.A.D. Regardless, you gave your precious time out like bread and water, feeding those who cried out for help; you knew being needed by so many people at once made your chest swell with pride and filled a void inside you that nothing else could.

For a while, you’d convinced yourself that the exhaustion you felt was simply because you weren't used to so many people wanting to spend time with you at once, but your denial only went so far as you began to become snippy with your favorite demons. Talking to yourself was a habit you’d picked up every time you were home alone when you still lived with your parents. Staring in the mirror to finish off arguments, speaking to no one in particular while folding laundry, anything to fill the silence. Tonight you swore up and down that you finally had some time alone while finishing up a paper for Curses and Hexes and subconsciously, began to talk to yourself again.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Lucifer ~

“What the hell am I even saying here?” You guffawed at your words, strung together by nothing but the Devildom equivalent of Red Bull and your hopes and dreams.

“…great and then you decided to… to…completely ignore the hex counterpart”

You rolled your eyes, staring off to the side as if briefly looking at an off-screen camera. Someone has been watching too many sitcoms. “Awesome! Then I finish this and then I finish math and then I’m done. Dude, I think I’m the GOAT.”

“Thanks!”

Unbeknownst to you, your monologue had caught the attention of the eldest, who, like you, believed that he had been alone that night. Leaning up to your door, he continued to listen as you narrate your actions to an audience you never expected to have.

“What would Lucifer say…” You spew a poor impression of Lucifer.

“You do know you forgot the hex counterpart! How will you be expected to make me look good for my boyfriend? Oh, Lord Diavolo!”

Embarrassment weighed in your chest, joking about it only relieved the insecurity of whether or not he could like you back for a moment before stinging. You take note of the fact that the demon had been occupying your mind feverishly the past week, today was certainly no exception. You wished he’d check on you to see how diligently you were working. The thought of his approval made you wipe away a dazed grin, your face hot with shameful desire.

Laughter bubbled throughout the room as you made yourself laugh through the rest of your homework. Lucifer’s heart raced at the sound; as he had gotten to know you, your laughter became his favorite sound along with the haunted records he treasured.

Being caught up in the moment certainly put him at a disadvantage as he almost missed your footsteps growing closer to the door. The prideful demon took this opportunity to feign intention and raise his hand to the door as if to knock on it. Smooth.

“Lucifer? To what do I owe.. the pleasure?” Your meek and confused demeanor threw him off. In front of his brothers you could be so witty, your retorts to the occasional friendly tease from one of his brothers at breakfast often resulted in his gaze focusing on your supple lips, he found that fantasizing about kissing you in the morning kept him distracted for hours to come.

Your bravery and confidence that you had slowly built up with the time you spent in the Devildom was something he admired so to catch you in such a vulnerable state felt as if you two were sharing something intimate. If the hall wasn’t so dark you’d likely see his lightly flushed expression.

“I- How long—“ You look behind you self-consciously. “Were you standing there?”

“I was just about to knock. Why do you ask?” You’re lucky he likes you. Sparing your pride, to the both of you, was almost a love language on its own. The executive decision to not nag you about your assignment at that moment was made soon after seeing your cute behavior.

“Oh,” a shy smile spreads upon your lips. You knew he’d be the last person to poke fun at you for this. “Well, it’s a little embarrassing but I tend to talk– to myself? When I’m alone— and.. sometimes around others and..” Your confession ended up sounding more like a question trailing off at the end into an awkward silence. Stupid beautiful demon face.

To your absolute delight, your awkwardness appeared endearing to the firstborn. Luckily you were able to catch sight of the slightly upturned corners of his mouth. He looked incredibly amused by your red cheeks and refusal to make eye contact.

“Are you laughing, Lucifer?”

“You are the GOAT? Or so I’ve heard.”

“For that long?!”

There’s a moment of silence before you catch sight of his shoulders trembling with laughter, your fit of giggles in pursuit. Your heartbeat finally relaxed; you became aware of how comfortable you felt around him.

Who better than to keep your little secret?

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Mammon ~

“Hooooly shit you’re a genius.” Your fingers flew furiously on your keyboard.

Quiet clacking noises emitted from your fingertips as your melodic voice broke the silence in your room. Music was much too distracting and you’d procrastinated enough on this assignment. Lucifer’s nagging reminded you a lot of your mother and it goes without saying you needed less of that.

“Oh my god,” You scoff, noticing you had accidentally typed ‘Mammon’ instead of ‘divination’. The demon had been particularly clingy with you as of late, not that you were complaining. It felt nice to be needed, especially if it was him.

“Mammon.. oh he’s so cute.” You practically swooned, sighing loudly and quite dramatically. Your finger quickly made its way to your hair, twirling it mindlessly as your mind wandered from your assignment. The week’s adventures replayed in your mind. You didn’t miss the way your pose looked in the mirror, grinning and nodding in approval. Maybe you’ll post some selfies later!

It wasn’t unusual for Mammon to be demanding of your time if not the most out of all of his brothers. Who could blame him? Time flew when the two of you were together. Two peas in a pod.

“God, if I keep procrastinating like that I won’t be able to go with him.”

You gasp quietly, taking note of the expression you chose.

“Is that like a cuss word here? Will I get smited?”

A singular “Ha!” Escaped from your lips followed by a string of words. Your frenzied typing had grown to a halt, the back of your seat used as a tool to help stretch your back. Truthfully you’d been at your homework for a couple of hours now and you still had so much left and it was so late. You wondered again where everyone went, you could hear the house creak and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t freak you the hell out.

Scrolling on your phone, you decided to open Deviltunes™ to cut the silence. Finally returning to your homework, you sang along and continued making small talk with yourself.

“Come to think of it, wouldn’t it be weird if someone was watching me right now? Nice question moron, of course, no one’s watching.” Your declaration came out less confident than you would’ve hoped.

“You always talk t’yourself in private?” The speed at which you turned around almost gave you whiplash. Catching sight of Mammon all smug and disheveled, likely from a night out, made your breath hitch. “Worry not! The Great Mammon will grant you the favor of sparing your ego tonight!”

“Where’s everyone else?” Your arms stay crossed, attempting to make yourself look tougher. This moment didn’t affect you, certainly not! Especially because you did not care that he was the one to catch you talking to yourself and because you did not have enormous feelings for him.

He only grinned at your weak attempt to change the subject. “Just out. Pretty sure Levi’s been here the whole time.” Both of you share a moment of agreement and you let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding. This didn’t deter the demon from prodding you until you answered his questions.

“You talk to yourself too?”

“Yes, Mammon.”

“You think I’m cute?”

“Mammon.” His eyes widened at your tone, a smile plastered onto his face as he raised his hands defensively. The avatar of greed swore he meant no harm and came in peace.

Frustration bubbled in your chest as he continued to poke fun at your habit– you were embarrassed yet the expression on your face, fidgeting, and red face went right over the demon’s head. Luckily he managed to catch on before he got pushed too close to your door. Complaints spilled from his mouth like chants he knew he’d pushed your buttons a little too much this time and, still with a grin albeit smaller than when he started to make fun of you, shifted his tone.

“Alright, human.” He grabs your wrist with one hand, brushing stray hairs from your blushing face. “Pay attention ‘cause m’ only doin’ this once! Better not make me regret it.”

Mammon pulls you into his chest, halting your brief nervous breakdown and reminding you that despite all of the chaos you two get yourselves into he’s still your peace. You swear time freezes for a moment as you take in a deep breath, the scent of his cologne and cigarette smoke wrapping around you as his arms do. That’s your Mammon. He knew very well he wouldn’t keep his promise and you wouldn’t rather have it any other way.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Leviathan ~

MC.hammah:

‘Yo Levi. You home 2nite?’

‘Heard u went 2 a Ruri-chan pop-up! Get me something cute. Thx!’

Leviathanreallordofshadows:

‘If I have time after dis line’

‘Get these randos out of line I need this figurine more than they do. > : (’

‘Ugh this is taking too longgggggg’

‘Hey! Where’d u go? Keep me company or ur fake’

You didn't bother waiting for the messages that followed, even the resident shut-in was out of the house tonight. You tossed your phone on the bed and twirled around your room in delight. The world was your oyster– except the world, for now, was confined to the walls that made up the House of Lamentation. You could go exploring, but the sight of your discontinued essay for class held you back from leaving your room. Trudging towards your desk from your bed had to be the hardest task you completed that day.

Your head rested on the palm of your hand as your fingers found themselves in a comfortable tangle in your hair. Scanning the online textbook excerpts in hopes of finding more context to your evidence. All of the right pieces were there, you just needed the glue that would connect them all. Attempt after attempt, the words began to blend into one another and you notice you’ve been reading the same paragraph for the past 5 minutes.

Why was focusing on this so hard today?

You lean back to rub your eyes gently, the blue light of your laptop stinging your retinas. Maybe you were just a little butthurt that you’d heard nothing about this, especially since you’d been the one to send him the Devilgram post notifying fans of the event in the first place.

“Not even an invite? Seriously, what’s going on with him..” You frown at your lap, deciding to grab your D.D.D once again. The lock screen turns on, a group picture you’d begged everyone to take, the highlight to you was the cute poses you and Levi had chosen for this picture. Inside jokes like these often provoked the occasional look from his brothers; no one was in on them except you, him, and maybe Henry 2.0.

You scroll down the messages in your DMs with him, scanning for some sort of subtle invitation you might’ve missed but still nothing. With a quiet thud, you threw yourself onto your bed, continuing to scroll yet not finding a moment that excuse his lack of invitation.

“Guess m’ just not cool enough for these anymore.” “Did he take the fish? If you took Henry I swear I’ll rip your soft purple hair right out of your head.” You glance once more at your desk and bury your face into your comforter to let out a boisterously loud groan.

“Homework. Right! Maybe that's why he didn't invite me!”

You look into a nearby reflection with an expression desperate for approval yet you only end up with loud silence and a realization that you look insane. Focusing on your homework doesn't seem that bad anymore. The walk back to your chair is a silent one, thanks to that you were able to catch the quick footsteps from your door. Did whoever just got home hear all of that? Counting your blessings for finding yet another distraction to the assignment you were putting off, you head towards the door hoping to catch the spy. Opening it you weren't expecting to find Levi, much less with a giftbag from the event.

“Were you–” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, embarrassed that he’d been caught so quickly. “On the phone? Y-Yknow’ with someone?”

Had he heard all of the self-deprecating monologuing you spewed? Oh, no.

“No! No. Levi, I was just…” You trail off, talking quietly with newfound paranoia of being eavesdropped on. “Talking to myself. Obviously.”

Great. That sounded insincere! The demon shifts the weight on his feet awkwardly as his hands fidget with the gift bag in his hands. “Oh, okay. I was just wondering since it– uhm– sounded like you were on the phone.” Poor boy… “I dunno’ I’m probably just being stupid.”

Your face softens as you hear his words. You two were too similar sometimes, sympathy was almost inevitable. Taking his trembling hands in yours you peek up at him through his bangs.

“What’s this, Levi?” “For not– not inviting you. It was supposed to be a surprise.” Ohhhh…

“Levi!” Your arms soon find themselves wrapped around his neck, overcome with emotion as you pull him close. You note he runs cold and that he smells like linen and a day at the beach. “I’m so sorry. I thought– maybe you were over me coming to events like this.”

“No! Never! You’re my– my Henry.” Levi flushed at the sudden spike in intimacy between the two of you. How he was able to keep it together this long was beyond him. “I just figured you were too busy for another event so I’d bring you something special”

His free hand clutched your shirt to keep you close as if he’d let go and wake up from this dream where a normie and an otaku could get so close without a rip in the space-time continuum. Yet again, he supposed over time you became so much more than just a normie to him.

“It’s amazing Levi. Thank you!”

Worth it!

༺═────────────═༻

Note: OKAYYY I know the fic that won the poll isn't technically my first fic. This one's kinda like a pilot episode? They're also all long kinda so that's why there's two parts soz be nice to me please

Feedback + constructive criticism is appreciated !!!

87 notes · View notes

white--moon · 3 days ago

Text

He thinks Ichigo's probably being genuine, at least mostly. If their roles were reversed, Shiro's sure he'd find himself hoping Ichigo's new boyfriend was in on it, but Shiro's always been a jealous, possessive asshole. He nods, but not with much conviction. He could have someone check in on his cop. A text to the right person is all it would take. Or he could probably do it himself if he didn't want to involve anyone else. "Haven't had much time to do that."

Ichigo seems to be trying hard to comfort him, but none of that is much comfort, honestly. "Great." There's a little sarcasm in his tone. "Everything I've ever wanted." Except Ichigo, of course, and really Ichigo's what he wants more than anything else. He'd even try damn hard to get clean again for Ichigo.

That sounds an awful lot like it's not going to be Sharpie next time. He's going to have to find a way to repay all these favors Ichigo thinks Shiro's not appreciating enough.

He nods and pulls out his phone, shooting a quick text with a name and phone number to Ichigo, so he can't forget to do it later.

Ichigo glances over and he shrugs. It wasn't much more than that. He doesn't really get attached to things easily, but they're still his things. "I still don't let just anyone touch my clothes. Just so you're aware." The door to his room has a lock on it, half to keep potential drunk and/or high guests from wandering in here and touching his shit.

Shiro trails Ichigo, watching as that sweater comes off, the harness goes on, and then the sweater layers over top of it. He knows it's a practicality thing. Ichigo likes to be packing, probably especially right now, with an active threat., but fucking hell it looks kinky and hot as fuck. He wants to slide his fingers under those straps. "Huh?" He glances up to meet Ichigo's attention, then down at himself. "Oh." He's still in the same clothes he wore to the bar last night. There's a smear of dried blood from Ichigo's wound. Looking good is honestly pretty far from his mind right now, so he goes for a low effort outfit he knows will still work for him. He pulls out a pair of dark, acid washed jeans with too many perfectly aligned tears across the front of the thighs to have been accidental and a tight fitting, black, long sleeve shirt with a wide neck that falls off one shoulder and leaves most of his collar bone exposed. He shakes his hair out after pulling it all out of the back of the shirt. Then he digs out a pair of mid calf boots and tug on. "Good enough?"

Wandering his own halls by himself isn't exactly new or unusual, but it feels particularly hollow and lonely. He pauses to turn the temperature warmer by a couple of degrees when he passes the thermostat, but he's pretty sure it's not actually cold in his house. It's just him.

He detours to a sitting area he doesn't actually use often. It's used by party guests more than anything. But it has a needlessly large television, which he turns on just to flip through news stations for a few minutes, to see what's being said about him and the car bombing and the shooting. It pays to stay at least semi up to date on current events, especially the events that directly relate to him. He flips channels for fifteen minutes, but it's still so fresh that the stations are still mostly just replaying footage and describing the scene, not speculating or making things up. That'll change, he knows, but for now, replay after replay of what happened isn't really what he wants to see. It wasn't the first time his life has been threatened, nor the first time he's been shot at, but he's been feeling particularly fragile this whole day. He sighs, closes his eyes and scrubs at his face for a second, pushing away thoughts of everything he's got in this mansion that could help him slow down, mellow out. He told Ichigo he wouldn't. But Ichigo's another sore subject to think about.

He pulls his phone from his back pocket, glancing at the time absently as he dials. His on again/off again, not-boyfriend picks up on the first ring, sounding calm, but the kind of calm that comes from professionalism and not true calm. His voice is quiet, making Shiro think he must be either at work or around people that don't need to overhear who he's talking to.

Shiro feels distracted and isn't quite sure why he called. Because he needs a chaperone. Because he's stupid.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He says into the phone for a third time as he steps into his room to finally start digging out clothes for Ichigo.

His bathroom light is on and he pauses, free hand straying to the handle of his switch blade, before it occurs to him that it's probably Ichigo. There's a delay in his response that a cop wouldn't miss. "No, don't worry about it. I'm not gonna stay here." His not-boyfriend sounds worried in that controlled, trying not to sound worried way. It makes Shiro feel guilty as hell, especially when steps to a place in the room that lets him see into the bathroom and he confirms that it's Ichigo. "I dunno, I haven't decided. Might stay at the penthouse for a while, might get outta town for a few days- Yeah, I know... I'll text you, ok?" He waits a beat, then hangs up the call.

#blacksun #tsp activity check #Give it like three days #Shiro will be on a bender and five barely legible texts #All trying to say the same thing probably but he keeps typoing and hitting send before he realizes it

322 notes · View notes

xoxochb · 3 days ago

Text

— blank space ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

★ - “'cause we're young and we're reckless we'll take this way too far It'll leave you breathless, or with a nasty scar”

warnings: enemies not really to lovers more like enemies with benefits, forced marriage, regency era, implied past trysts, smut/hate sex at the end, swearing per usual, not proof read sorry pairing: husband! jason grace x wife! reader a/n: I’ve been reading pride and prejudice and it got me in a regency enemies to lovers mood so here we are 🤗

preposterous. that was the one word of choice to describe your marriage perfectly. it was utterly unfair— you had been minding your business and of course the only son of jupiter had to waltz in and bother you, knocking you “by accident” to the floor. when both your and his parents walked in and saw you two together they immediately declared the only way to stop your banters was to marry you two off

and they hadn’t lied, they hadn’t joked. two months later on the steps of olympus you and jason grace had been wedded under holy matrimony. it wasn’t a pleasant wedding either— though you would surely say that night you were entirely pleasured more than you would like to admit

today, you sit in your palace’s library, atop your cozy couch before a crackling fire. it was a serene moment, you’d finally found peace from your overbearing husband, unfortunately, he finds you soon after these thoughts enter your mind and your silence is ruined. jason watches you attentively as you yell at him for this, but his attention is less on your words but on your appearance. the sun has casted in incandescent glow upon your features, perfectly illuminating them, and your eyes— gods your eyes, so filled with frustration but he knew there was more behind them than that. and you’re hair, cascading like dominoes over your shoulders, and he hates to admit it but he can’t help but trail his eyes over your exposed cleavage

“are you even listening to me?” you ask. jason snaps out of his thoughts quickly at the tone of your voice

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“oh my gods” you slowly run your hands over your face to keep your composure “this is your problem, you never listen to me!”

jason chuckles lightly. “oh, I am listening. I just find it difficult to focus when your lips look so tempting”

you groan. “you are so… arrogant!”

“arrogant? or incredibly charming?” he suggests “but it’s not my fault you’re looking stunning today”

“oh— you are such an…” you find yourself at a loss for words, too angry to continue speaking

“such a what?”

“an ass!” you snap, closing your book atop your lap and standing up to leave. but to your dismay, jason traps you between the nearby wall and himself, placing his hands on your hips

“leave me alone, genius”

“and what do you…” he toys around with the fabric of your dress “plan to do to stop me”

“I will shove your head on a stick”

“ah— careful, my dear. If you continue speaking such vulgar ideas I’ll have to find a better use of that mouth of yours”

“you would not. I will not allow it” you attempt to escape his embrace but his grasp only grows tighter

“my dear wife, where do you think you’re going? I hope you’re not thinking of going to our shared bedroom… I find if we end up there you may never leave my touch”

you squint your eyes up at him. there was no word in the english dictionary you could find to describe your full frustration. instead, you part your dress— and feel around for your dagger strapped underneath your garter. you fail to realize a pair of electric blue eyes trailing over your now exposed skin. you hold the dagger up to jason’s chin in hopes he’ll take a hint to at last leave you alone

“do not make me use it. it would be a shame to have to destroy my beloved with such awful crimson liquid”

“put it down, darling” he takes the dagger from your hands, throwing it onto the floor somewhere within the room. suddenly, the moment is seeming too intimate for enemies. “that’s better. now, perhaps you’ll behave yourself after this little lesson we’ve had”

your glare only grows from where. “I most certainly will not”

“I suppose then, my sweet wife, I’ll have to teach you another lesson” jason trails a finger along your jaw, eliciting a shiver to run down your back. and his lips, oh gods, they’re almost attached with yours, if only he would move a centimeter

“how do you plan to do that?”

“I have a few ideas in mind,” you feel his hot breath against your skin, he moves to kiss your neck, and trails down to place another open-mouthed kiss over your pulse point “but I suppose they’re all to risqué to be said out loud”

“try me” you command, despite an utter flustered state. his hand had now traveled down to the exposed skin of your thigh, tracing circles upon it, and occasionally toying with the edge of your dress

“do you think you can handle them?”

“I do. please, share your thoughts, dear husband” you say sarcastically. his lips trail down to place fluttery pecks over the valley between your breasts

“firstly, I would take you to our bedroom and lock the door. then, I would take my sweet time with you. I would touch you until you desperately crave more of me”

“you think to highly in the clouds”

“do I?” his fingers begin to untie the strings of your dress, slowly sliding it down your shoulders at almost an antagonizing rate “or do I simply speak of what you wish for me to do to you?”

you respond with only silence. he guides you back to the couch you previously sit atop, sliding the remainders of your dress of beneath him

“you look beautiful, darling”

“you… are fucking terrible” you breathe out. but in response, jason only laughs and begins trailing his lips down your skin as his hands fumble with the clip of your bra so he can reach more of your skin. and finally, he gets it undone. you make no move to prevent him from sliding it down along your arms. you wish, however, that you could stop him— but you’re to eager to have him take you so you allow him to do whatever he pleases with the new (ish) found skin

you allow him to place his lips further down your body, that is until they now reach the edge of your underwear. he throws a glance up to your flushed face with a smirk before sliding those down your legs before, now, kissing your inner thighs simply teasing you. he knows for a fact that this will get a rise from you soon enough, perhaps make you regret pulling a dagger on him. but you keep your mouth shut— you know him all too well. in response he treats you the same, and without warning he begins swirling his tongue upon your clit, instantly eliciting a moan from your mouth. and he surely was not lying, he took his time savoring your sweetness

but after moments he picks up the pace, realizing this was not enough to put you in your place, and as you squirm, jason takes a tight grip of your thighs to keep you in place as his tongue continues to work you. you attempt to mutter coherent pleads for him to slow his pace but he doesn’t listen to a single mumbled word, in fact, his pace increases after each of your requests. your legs tremble as you attempt with everything in you to stop him but it appears nothing seems to work for only a moment until he backs away for a moment and murmurs a demand for you to hold on for a moment. you watch as he begins undressing himself now. panting, you wait for him to do something, anything. but he lifts himself to be face-to-face with you with such a sadistic facial expression, how you wish you were able to form a full adult sentence, you would’ve had your dagger shoved inside of him by now

you whisper, “I hate you” and though your statement holds false information, it holds just the same truth as ever

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #jason grace imagines #jason grace pjo #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace smut #jason grace #riordanverse x reader #riordan universe #riordanverse #percy jackson x reader

74 notes · View notes

annievrse · 11 hours ago

Text

pest control

trafalgar law x reader —ᡣ𐭩 blurb cw: suggestive but nothing crazy!!

"You're so cute."

Law finally lifts his head from his paperwork. "What?"

After numerous tries to get your boyfriend's attention, you capture him, and you aren't letting him go that easy.

"I said you look like a fruit," You shrug quickly from where you sit on the couch across from his desk. The book in your hands sits limply as you focus solely on him.

"That doesn't make any sense," Law says, shaking his head, his pen dangerously close to the page. He'll return to work if you don't say something soon. So, flustered, you close your book.

"You ate a devil fruit."

"Okay, and?"

Your mind races to keep the small talk going, but you come up short. "I don't know, something about fruit."

Sighing, Law raises an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," You deflate, noticing you've lost his attention. When you see his discarded hat on the desk, an idea sneaks into your mind, but think against it when you realise you must stand up to get it, which would ruin your dramatics.

Instead, your book falls to the floor as you dramatically flop to the other side of the couch. You sigh, waiting for Law's eyes to flicker to you.

When they don't, you sigh again.

Law exhales deeply. "You gonna pick that up?"

Smiling smugly, you shrug. "Maybe, maybe not."

He doesn't dignify you with an answer.

You search your brain for something, anything, that'll get him to focus on you. He's been in this office for far too long.

"Is it hot in here?" You ask, unzipping the top half of your jumpsuit. With your deep knowledge of the man, you know this is one of the things that gets his attention. So when he doesn't even look up, you give up.

"I'm leaving."

"What?" The pen stops scratching on the page. Law freezes where he sits and furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"I'm bored. Maybe Bepo can—"

"C'mere, sit on my lap."

You tilt your head. "Won't I be distracting you?"

"More than you are now?" He quips, a smirk on his lips. "No."

Your cheeks warm, and you trudge over to him. Your fingers find the zipper of your jumpsuit, and you start pulling it up.

Law is quick to interject. "Leave that down."

Quirking your lips, you suppress a giggle. "Yes, captain."

"Pest," He mumbles, spreading his legs so you can sit down.

His strong thighs under you have you reeling, and obviously, Law knows. "What's wrong? Still bored?"

Shaking your head, you rest your cheek on his shoulder, your arms circling his neck. "Just wanted to see you."

Law knows better than to coddle you, but the way you cling to him has him thinking differently. But, unbeknownst to him, your smile against his skin turns from angel-like to devilish when he puts his pen down.

"How about we go to the bedroom, yeah?"

Nodding, you tighten your grip when he stands up, his hands finding purchase under your thighs. You kiss his neck and slide one hand into his hair, pleased with the goosebumps that gloss his skin.

And even as he transports you to the room and carries you to the bed, you hide your smug grin.

I think it's safe to say your plan was successful.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #— ann writes!

52 notes · View notes

daydaydayrk420 · 2 days ago

Note

Anything with Chris Evans please -

Be my Meuse pt1

Chris Evans x male reader

⚠️nothing really all the good stuff is in part two⚠️

🚨 Minors and girls do not interact 🚨

Y/n/n - nickname

This ended up being longer than I intended to so I split it into two parts

______________________________________________________________

Chris is a famous actor. Most famous for playing Captain America for Marvel. He's also known for being kind and caring.

Now y/n isn't known for anything. He's no celebrity. He's just a guy who works at the local bar. On the weekends though he teaches art class.

It's a weekend class that's joined mostly by old people who are doing it for therapy.

So basically he's just hosting art therapy. But sometipmes there are people who join for the art not the therapy.

And by sometimes I mean this weekend. What's so special about this weekend? Let me tell you then.

Now pull your hand out your pants there's no porn here.

The day started the same as usual. Y/n wakes up. Does his morning routine. Watches YouTube or plays games for two Hours. Check his bag and go to his car.

The drive is half an hour long without traffic. He parks in his usual spot in front of the studio building that he shares with two more classes. Both include art but they work on different days and don't include the therapy. So obviously those two get the youngsters. While y/n gets left with old shaky hands. Which he doesn't mind. He loves seeing the people relax and smile at their art.

He walks in and sees that some of his regulars are already there. They're all elderly people. They're just by their lockers and the cafeteria getting ready for the class. The ones who notice the younger man greet him with a smile. Which he returns.

"Hey, James." Y/n greets kindly at the shorter old man. James is the oldest grandpa here. 95 to be exact. Yes, he's here for the therapy part of the class. He's a veteran. "Hey y/n/m. How are you doing son?" James greets them with a happy tone. He always saw y/n as a family. James has also been part of this class since it started. Which was five years ago.

Y/n smiles and sets down the paper bag with James's favourite doughnuts on the table where the old man had his coffee. "I'm good j. No bar fight this week." The younger man joked as he sat opposite of James. Said man laughs and takes out a doughnut.

This has become a tradition for them. Share a chat and doughnuts before every class. Sometimes even James brings something to bite on.

"What about you? You seem cheery today." Y/n asks as he removes his jacket to get comfortable. James hummed and wiped the sugar pounder off his lips. "I'm happy." He said with a content smile. Which made y/n smile too. "And I have a surprise for you." That caught the younger man with surprise.

"Oh? What's the occasion?" The younger man asks with curiosity. "Let's just say it's my thank you for the happy five years I've had so far." That melts y/n's heart. He knows James suffered with depression and that he still might be. So knowing he can make James happy is all he needs to be happy too.

"The problem is my gift is stuck in traffic and will be here in about an hour." Jame chuckles. Y/n laughs. "Oh? What kind of a gift is that then?" He jokes. He's really curious now. Stuck in traffic?

"I ain't spoiling my long-planned surprise, kid." James laughs. The younger man dramatically pretends to be annoyed but a smile creeps onto his face.

The two of them chat for a bit before they all go to their usual places in the studio.

Y/n first goes to the toilet before he starts the class.

When he returns he takes his usual spot in the front corner of the class where it doesn't block whatever they're painting or drawing. He sets his stuff where he wants it and faces the glass. He scans the faces. The elder people seem happy today. They all talk and laugh about their memories from the week.

That's until he notices a new face. A young face. But he's looking away. Y/n tilts his head. He knows that facial structure from somewhere. He's drawn it before.

"Alright. Does everyone have their supplies?" Y/n called out to get everyone's attention. He makes sure everyone nods or checks for everything.

That's when he finally catches the new face. Chris Evans. Chris fucking Evans is talking with James about what pain he's using.

"I see we have a new face here." Y/n cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Chris looks up and smiles. "Would you like to introduce yourself or would you rather if they want to meet you they come to you." Y/n suggested as he always does so his students aren't uncomfortable.

"I'm alright thanks." Chris smiles. The younger man nods and looks at his papers to see what they're doing. "Alright so as usual. We have fruit on the stand. Or if you want to do your Topic that's fine too. The art style is all up to you, of course." He reads through his notes to make sure he's got everything. "Alright. That's about it. What song should we play first?"

The time passes by. Everyone's drawing including y/n. It's about time that y/n checks in with everyone. So he puts his brush down and goes to the first canvas. Eventually, he gets to James and rests his hand on his shoulders. "Hey, James, how's it going." He asks with a soft voice as he studies what abstract James is painting today.

It's just a bunch of paint splatter on the canvas. "The usual." The old man hummed proudly. Y/n nods and moves on to the next guy. Aka. Chris Evans. Aka Frank Adler. Aka. Y/n big fat celeb crush. But he keeps a friendly smile on his face and looks at the canvas. He stands stunned.

It's him. The charcoal outlines shape him drawing his art. "That's... Sweet." Y/n didn't know what else to say. Chris chuckles. "Thanks."

The younger man admires the drawing for a tad longer than he wanted. Eventually, he snaps out of it and looks at Chris. Who's already looking at him and smiling. Y/n blushes in surprise. Chris hands his hand out. "Chris."

Y/n wants to laugh because he obviously already knows who the man in front of him is but he doesn't and just grabs his hand. "Y/n" he shakes his hand.

"Y/n." The older man murmurs. "Handsome name for a handsome man." Y/n blushes at that again.

"So what brought you to my class?" Y/n wants to start a conversation. He doesn't want to move to the next person. He wants to talk with Chris. "Oh I was invited by James." Chris said casually as if that didn't just blow y/n's mind out of proportion. He looks at James as if asking "this is the gift?" And James winks knowingly.

The younger man faces Chris again and smiles. "James? How'd he manage to do that?" He's genuinely curious. "His granddaughter works with me. She's a movie clothing designer." The older man said as he set down his charcoal down.

"Ohh. Jasmine works with movie stuff?" Y/n asks surprised. "You know Jasmine?" Chris looks surprised. "Not personally. Just from stories." The younger man said. Chris nods. "Well I should move on. Keep up your drawing." Y/n smiled and moved on to another person.

The class comes to an end and everyone gathers their things to leave. Y/n has to stay so he can lock up. James and Chris also stay behind.

"So? Happy?" The younger man jumps in surprise when he hears James's voice form behind him. The old man laughs. "I take that as a yes."

The younger man chuckles and nods. "Thank you James. I really appreciate you doing this."

"I know you wanted to meet him for so long. And when I found out that Jasmine knows him I tried my best to bring him here." The old man grins and pats y/n's back.

"Anyway I gotta go my pick-up is here." They hugged goodbye and James left.

"You doing anything after?" Y/n jumps in surprise at the voice from behind him. Chris chuckles. "Sorry didn't mean to scare ya."

"Uh no I'm not doing anything after this." Y/n chuckles nervously. "Would you like to go get some food with me?" The older man asked with a grin. "Sure." The younger man smiles and hides the fireworks that are going off inside his body.

And so they went out. They didn't really have a specific destination they just walked until they found something they'd crave. But that of course didn't last for long because paparazzi have found them. Y/n thinks fast and takes Chris towards the parking lot in front of the studio. He walks fast and moves through some alleys so they could hopefully lose the cameras.

They make it to the car and quickly hop in. They drive off. Once they've calmed down from the adrenaline they both laugh. "Good thinking." Chris praised.

Y/n smiles. "Thanks."

They put on the radio and talk as y/n drives home.

...

#x male reader #male reader #chris evans x male reader

41 notes · View notes