#put the crack down jessica

[over--and-out]

If they no care, why hot

That's how they getcha

#teddyposting #teddy speaks #jessie #put the crack down jessica #or share #either way hand over the crack #find better role models

[iww-gnv]

New York lawmakers proposed three new bills last week that would make it difficult for wage theft violators to conduct business in the state. The legislation would bolster the power of state agencies to crack down on wage theft by stripping violators of their liquor licenses or business licenses, as well as issuing stop-work orders against them. The legislation was prompted by reports of rampant wage theft against New York workers, including two investigations published by Documented and ProPublica. The stories revealed that more than 127,000 New Yorkers have been victims of wage theft during a recent five-year period, but that the New York State Department of Labor was unable to recover $79 million in back wages owed to the workers. The stories were based on an analysis of two databases of wage theft violations obtained from the U.S. and New York Labor departments. The databases provided previously unreported details on how much money had been stolen from workers and also shed light on which businesses had committed wage theft. “We knew from our conversations with labor and from our constituent service caseload that wage theft is a chronic problem,” said Sen. Jessica Ramos, a Democrat who sponsored the legislation. “We did not have the data to understand the scale of the issue in New York state until the ProPublica and Documented series came out last year. Having this reporting as a tool set us up to put this package together and focused our attention on” the capacity of the Department of Labor. The legislation — dubbed the “wage theft deterrence package” by lawmakers — includes three bills, which are co-sponsored in the State Assembly by Assembly members Kenny Burgos, Harvey Epstein and Linda Rosenthal.

#news #us news #uspol #us pol #new york #new york news #wage theft

[devilfic]

part four to this series

cw: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood drinking, fantasizing about biting, miguel’s got a thing for “sir”, EXTREMELY suggestive, no explicit smut just miguel losing his mind. this is the horniest one yet.. sorry!

miguel cannot get the taste of you out of his mind. it hadn’t been the part of you he’d wanted, the part of you that overwhelmed him, but it had been close. throughout the day he’d catch himself licking behind his fangs even though he’d since flushed his mouth clean of you. sometimes, he’d nick his tongue on his canine and the taste of his own blood would remind him of you again.

jessica asked about the gauze on your arm while miguel was in the room and you’d had a quick response, though not one that would spare him the knowing look from his (other) right-hand woman, “oh, miguel and I were playing too hard.”

sure enough, jessica drew’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. she even pushes them up into the crown of curls and coils on her head so her disappointment really gets across, “aren’t you a little too old to be rough-housing, miguel?”

if it were just that, miguel could confidently say it was an accident. if this had been about the cut on your eye that had healed over weeks before, there’d be honest guilt on his face when he defended himself. but no, you had asked. you’d practically put your arm in his mouth. you’d asked for him to hurt you, and you’d liked it.

and he’d liked it too. he didn’t know if he could hide that part.

before he can think of what to say, you chime in, “he’s always careful. it was my fault this time.”

“I don’t get why you two have to fight all the time. can’t you try, I dunno, healing yoga?”

miguel tried to picture himself in a downward dog pose and almost started laughing. from the flicker of mirth across your features, you seemed to be picturing the same thing. then he accidentally pictured you in that pose, pictured himself standing behind you, pictured taking your waist in his claws and crouching over you to sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too.

he digs his heels into the floor to rid himself of the image. his voice is strained as he replies, “it was their idea. can’t help that it works.”

jessica is far too exhausted with life as a new mother to try to understand that. she waves a hand, her white flag for the conversation, “whatever. I just came to borrow your assistant for the day. is that alright with you?”

lyla materializes on miguel’s shoulder, one holographic leg crossed over the other, “who, moi?”

“no thanks, tinkerbell. I need a person. preferably with some muscle.”

miguel would find that funny but all he can think to ask is, “why?” but you’re already standing up and following jessica to the doors of his office. he feels a sudden queasiness at the thought of not seeing you for the rest of the day. the day itself had just started. his morning coffee hadn’t even gone cold.

he hadn’t been left alone without you since you’d started here. now, he’d spend the whole day alone?—lyla sings a goodbye next to his ear—with just lyla?

he stands, abruptly, making his desk shake and shift a few inches. the sound is enough to stop the two of you in your tracks. your eyes bore into his own, curious, and he feels silly like the first day you’d caught him mid-tantrum. he means to sound intimidating and authoritative, but his voice can’t help the weakness when he looks at you, “I didn’t say yes.”

jessica’s hard look is almost enough to make him sit back down.

but you smile, tilt your head to the side, turn fully to him, “sorry. can I go, mr. o’hara?”

in truth, you didn’t need to ask him. but he didn’t know what else he’d expected when he objected like that. he wanted to hear it. he’d wanted to hear you ask for permission, or better yet refuse jessica altogether. he wanted you to sit back down across the desk from him and crack jokes at his expense, tease him and cackle even though he was the butt of the joke  every single time. he wanted you to offer up a mini spar session after he came back from hunting down anomalies again just to get the adrenaline out of his system. he wanted you to pin him down and win, again, so he could flip you on your back when you least expected it and he could sink his teeth into your shoulder so he could taste you there, too-

miguel clears his throat and sits back down, painfully aware of where his blood was flowing to now. he waved a hand, murmured something noncommittal, but you’d really put the nails in his coffin. you bowed at the waist, smug like you always were when he was watching, and said in none too innocent of a tone, “thank you, sir.” and left.

miguel watched the doors shut. his ears tuned into the sound of jessica’s voice and yours mingling down the hallway, further and further away. he waited until you two were so far out of earshot that he couldn’t tell your mumble apart from the next spider’s. and then, he croaked out lyla’s name.

“yes?” she dragged out her response, the knowing, teasing lilt to her voice was more grating on his wound nerves than usual.

“lock the doors to my office, please. and turn off the lights.” his voice was a hair above a whisper. lyla did as told and quietly. “send the… send the society a message that I won’t be in for the next two hours.”

“shall I copy miss drew, too?”

“yes.”

“and… anyone else?”

miguel rests his forehead against his fist, taking even breaths in and out. he could feel the talons beneath his skin beginning to extend. his breath shudders, “yes.”

lyla hums, “anything else, miguel?”

“take a break for the afternoon.”

he can’t see her and he doesn’t want to see her (not right now, anytime but now) but he knows her code inside out, knows she’s questioning him. “that’s a first. got some business to take care of?” his answer is but a low, embarrassed growl, and that’s enough to send her off laughing into cyberspace.

a beat passes, then two. it’s quiet all the way up here in his office without the sounds of the other spider-people or lyla or jessica or you.

thinking about you brings back those images from earlier and when he bites into his clenched fist, he feels the sharp pain of his fangs breaking skin. the pain distracts him for all of two seconds and then he’s thinking of you on top of him, holding your arm out for him to bite you, except it’s your throat this time. you’re hovering over him, the smell at your neck and the bob of your swallowing throat overwhelm him.

you’re sitting on his lap in this very chair, hands clasped at his shoulders or gripping the arm rests or tied together behind his head as you lean in, press yourself flush against him, and bare your throat to him. he’d never wanted to bite anyone that wasn’t a threat to him, never wanted to taste the warmth of their blood as it couldn’t help but trickle onto his tongue, never wanted to hear and feel the guttural moan from you as you sink down on him.

“sir”. you’d called him “sir”. mr. o’hara, you’d done that before, but never sir. a wet and wild whine leaves his throat when he remembers how your voice wrapped around it.

before he goes any further, he sucks in a breath and removes his fist from between his teeth, collecting himself enough to summon lyla once more. the AI didn’t even bother to look in his direction when she appeared on the surface of his desk, her fingers swiping at some book she’d pulled up in front of her. this next “yes?” was just as dragged out, just as knowing, just as teasing.

“three hours.” miguel’s voice cracks out. lyla fades into thin air with a single, three-fingered salute.

part five

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes @sleepdeprived-barelyalive​​ @internal-soundtrack​​ @joceymoo​​ @x-ratedhimbo​​ @themedsaintworkin​​ @adamsloverboy​​ @giulia2372​​ @lemonrolls​​ @p1nkliquor​​ @syarblu​​ @trished​​ @serostapesweat​​ @lilith-lovecraft​ @epicy0n​

#also I'm sorry that this is the fic I remembered to tag my all fics followers on #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara scenarios #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #marvel #mjwrites #i mean. what are you looking at me like that for

[tsaomengde]

The Villeneuve Dune(s) can be broadly interpreted as one of the two possible futures Paul sees in the original novel

Spoilers below for Dune Part Two. (And for the original novel, but that's been out since the 60s.)

He had seen two main branchings along the way ahead--in one he confronted an evil old Baron and said: "Hello, Grandfather." The thought of that path and what lay along it sickened him.

The other path held long patches of grey obscurity except for peaks of violence. He had seen a warrior religion there, a fire spreading across the universe with the Atreides green and black banner waving at the head of fanatic legions drunk on spice liquor. Gurney Halleck and a few others of his father's men--a pitiful few--were among them, all marked by the hawk symbol from the shrine of his father's skull.

"I can't go that way," he muttered. "That's what the old witches of your schools really want."

Obviously the Doylist explanation for why there are differences in the new films is that the original book is 60+ years old and has certain elements no longer in cultural vogue that were adapted out or altered to better fit modern sensibilities, and I'm all for that. But I did find it interesting that there is an explicit moment at the end of Part 2 where Paul confronts the Baron, utters the "Hello, Grandfather," line, and kills him.

This isn't necessarily because there is any one choice that Paul makes throughout the course of the two movies that leads here instead of to the jihad. In point of fact, most of the changes that drive him here are caused by choices made in the adaptations of the films.

The causal chain that leads to Paul undertaking the spice agony is his failure to predict the attack on Sietch Tabr, rather than his failure to predict Gurney's attack on Jessica; this is, of course, necessitated by the omission of the Harkonnen scheme in part 1 to impair Thufir's Mentat efficiency and potentially drive a wedge between Leto and Jessica by framing Jessica as the traitor. The final push that causes him to make the decision is, of course, the vision he experiences of an alternate future in which he didn't have to kill Jamis, with Jamis counseling him to climb as high as possible before the hunt so he can see as far as possible. (In other words, he ignores Stilgar's advice of not listening to the djinn.)

Similarly, his killing of the Baron is necessitated by the adaptational choice to keep Alia as a fetus so the audience doesn't have to deal with a two-year-old talking like an adult and killing the Baron, which they probably did because it would have been distracting.

However, I might argue that a Watsonian explanation for the film omitting the two-year time-jump lies specifically with Paul's decision to explicitly disavow the prophecy when Jessica undergoes the spice agony, and to explain to the Fremen that her survival is because of her Bene Gesserit training. He then attempts to secure his position with the Fremen through secular deeds, rather than letting Jessica carve a place for them with the BG prophesy.

This disagreement between the two of them causes her in turn to take a more active approach in cultivating Paul's status as Lisan al-Gaib, which accelerates the timeline of the Fremen being ready to submit to him. In turn, Paul focusing more strongly on guerrilla war against the Harkonnens accelerates the timeline of Feyd-Rautha being put in charge of Arrakis and cracking down hard in the north, leading to the aforementioned crisis point of Sietch Tabr being attacked without Paul's foreknowledge.

Notably, while we do see the shrine of Leto's skull in the film, we only see it in a vision; there is no moment in the movie where Paul explicitly finds his father's remains and enshrines them. Hence, going from a strict interpretation of the film's "text," this is not the future in which the legions are marked by the shrine, because the shrine doesn't exist. It is the other future. The compression of time means that Paul and Chani's relationship is much newer and more fragile and doesn't survive the strain of his apotheosis, and that's what sickens him most.

Of course, the "Hello, Grandfather" path also leads to the jihad, because Paul's tragedy is that his very existence was always going to lead to it, regardless of what he chose to do.

And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would be. His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist.

Obviously none of this passes explicit, close scrutiny, and is more of a fun "if you squint and look at it a certain way it kind of makes sense." I expect that the line was put in as a nod to the original book, no more or less, but making up head-canons like this is fun for me and if even one other person finds it edifying then I consider sharing it time well spent!

#dune #dune part two #headcanon #analysis #paul atreides #lady jessica #chani #chani kynes #dune part two spoilers

[luveline]

yess i’m always up for roan fics!

roan struggling with math homework and eddie trying to help her and after a while he’s like….. 🤔😦 “go ask mom”. idk i think that’s rlly cute lol

“Dad.” 

Eddie leans in toward the cutlery he’s washing, nose wrinkled, a look of loving disgust on his face as the music turns to a grizzly guitar and drum mashing that Roan winces at. 

“Dad.” She pokes his leg. “Daddy, stop rocking.” 

Eddie rinses the cutlery off and shoves it on the drying rack. He turns the faucet off, which helps. Water drips from his hand as he turns down the radio. “Sorry, bub. What’s up?” 

“Can you help?” 

“I can always help you. With what?” 

“Homework.” 

He sighs. “I knew this day would come.” 

Eddie’s not stupid, he can do the same math a five year old can, but he just doesn’t understand the question. Jessica has apples and Leslie has pears and hiding his frown in Roan’s hair doesn’t work. “I can feel you being grumpy,” she says. 

“Not grumpy, babe, just stupid.” He frowns again. “You’re gonna havta go ask mom, I think.” He squints at the question. “What does that even mean?” 

Roan sighs and slinks of off the chair. She runs upstairs in a thunder of footsteps. Eddie can hear the door to the bedroom creaking, and Roan’s frustration. “Can you please come help me?” 

“With what? I’m doing laundry.” 

“I can’t do my math homework. Daddy can’t do it.” 

“Oh, okay. Sure, princess, I’ll come and help. Pull me up?” 

There’s some grunting and shouting. “I’m too small!” Roan says. 

“Oh, fine.” 

“Carry me?” 

“No! Come on, I hurt my back yesterday, you’ll have to hold my hand.” 

You and Roan walk down the stairs together, passing through the kitchen doorway hand in hand. He gives you a sorry smile. 

“Couldn’t crack it, Munson?” 

He can take all your teasing because it ends up like this, with the radio back on, the three of you huddled around a piece of printer paper with matching grimaces. You rub the skin between your eyes, Eddie laughs, and Roan looks back at you both, her grimace falling away. 

“What?” Eddie asks. 

“Can we give up?” she asks. “I wanna watch a movie.” 

“We can do this,” you say. You erase the notes you’d been writing with the pencil topper with your tongue poking out from between your lips as you start again. You write something, scribble it out, write something else, your nose listing forward toward the paper. 

“It’s okay, babe, we’ll just write a note for Mrs. Lundy that we didn’t get it,” Eddie says, reaching down to feel the fat and soft of your shoulder in his fingers. He loves that you care so much, but he’s done with apples and pears for the night. 

“Maybe it’s a trick question?” Roan suggests. 

Your shoulder relaxes in his hand. “You think so?” You can’t sound more in love with her, placing an arm around her tummy to lock her in. 

“Yeah, like, there’s no right answer!” Roan says. 

You wrap one of her curls around your finger and tug gently. “I think you’re right.” 

Eddie knows what you’re thinking. He presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, and, while you and Roan are distracted, he puts his hand on top of the homework sheet and slides it as far away from you all as possible. 

“What kind of popcorn do you want for your movie, macaroni?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t know,” she whines. “Ask mom.” 

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[gurugirl]

Pervert

sugardaddy!harry x yn

Summary: This is a flashback (before he and Romy split) based on this request. Harry calls Y/n to his office in the middle of a workday.

Word Count: 3k+

Warning: 18+ only, smut, cheating (technically), public sex (sort of), a touch of degradation kink

The Arrangement Masterlist

Y/n was in the elevator with coffee from Starbucks for Harry and Sean and their guests. She had two trays balanced in her palms and the strap from her gorgeous new purse from Harry, hanging from her shoulder.

She bit her lip thinking about the man she shouldn’t be thinking of like she was. She knew he was married and it was just an arrangement but she was so far gone for him. And he’d said so many things that got to her. That had her head playing his words over and over and over again. How much he missed her between meet-ups, how he wished she could stay in his house with him so he could have her when he wanted. The way they’d just sit and talk for hours. The way he’d wind his eyes over her face with his gentle gaze, his fingers softly brushing over her jaw or her cheekbone before he’d kiss her. It had her insides glowing hot.

When the elevator had made it to the office floor the doors slid open as Y/n stepped out but she didn’t get far. Hands clutched her forearms under the coffee trays and walked her backward into the elevator, “Let me help.”

Harry pulled a tray from her hand and then scooped her in by the back of her head and smashed his mouth against hers wetly as the doors closed behind them.

He wasted no time in getting his tongue against hers and making her feel blurry and faint.

“Needed to do that all day,” Harry leaned his forehead to hers, “You’re wearing the dress I bought you.”

She smiled, “Well everything I wear these days is something you bought me.”

“Harry pushed himself off of her and looked down at the fit of it on her, “I suppose that’s true. That doesn’t mean I don’t love seeing you in things I paid for. God, you’re gorgeous.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened up to Jessica standing there, “Oh! The elevator doors must have closed on you two. Need help?” She eyed the trays and then Harry.

“Oh, we’ve got it. I noticed she was struggling so I came to help her but the doors closed behind me,” he laughed, “But thank you, Jessica.”

Y/n and Harry slipped past Jessica as she got into the elevator.

“That was close, Mr. Styles.” Y/n teased.

“Come to my office after this meeting. Okay?” He pushed the entry door open to let her pass him with the coffee tray.

“Sure. Whatever you want, sir.”

She walked into the conference room and gave everyone their order before quietly leaving. Harry watched her on her way out. He was quickly letting himself get too attached to the girl. But he wasn’t sure he could help it.

An hour later Y/n watched as Harry walked past her desk to his office. He glanced at her as he did so and she quickly got up from her spot to follow him.

“Close the door.” Harry took his suit jacket off and sat down on the couch as he watched Y/n shut the door.

“Now come here.”

She complied, walking toward where he sat and stood opposite the coffee table in front of him.

“Turn around for me. Let me see how pretty this looks.”

She cracked an embarrassed smile and turned around for him before giggling and looking down at her shoes.

“What’s underneath?”

“Mm…” she thought back to what she’d put on that morning, “The yellow lacy panties and bra from Saint Laurent.”

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, “Take the dress off. I want to see.”

She swallowed, “Uh? Here? Should I lock the door?” She looked toward his office door and then back at him.

Harry laughed and got up, walking past Y/n to lock his door.

“Now it’s locked. Show me what’s mine, Y/n.” He walked to stand before her.

She felt hot all over as she stepped out of her heels and then began to unzip the back of her dress, letting the fabric fall down her torso before she caught it, and slowly stepped out to drape it over his coffee table.

“Fuck,” he spoke under his breath as he walked around her, taking in all of her skin and the pretty fabric of the set he’d bought her.

He stepped behind her, his hands starting at her shoulders and slowly moving down her chest and over her breasts before he lowered his mouth to her neck and began to softly run his lips over her skin making her sigh.

“Every time I see you in such pretty panties looking so feminine and put together, it just makes me want to ruin you. Can I ruin you, baby? Can Daddy take what he wants from you?”

She whimpered softly as she leaned her head back into his shoulder, “You can have whatever you want, Daddy.”

Harry smiled into Y/n’s neck as he pulled away from her and began to undo his pants. She turned to watch what he was doing and his eyes were already on her.

When his zipper was down he reached for her hip and pulled her in before he smoothed his hand down to her crotch, rubbing circles over her lace-covered clit. He could feel the moisture seeping through already.

“Filthy thing. Getting these expensive panties all wet, dirtying them,” he dredged his fingers up and down, her arousal, making his fingers slick as she moaned softly, “Do you know these cost more than Jessica makes in a whole week? And here you are just making a mess inside of this delicate, hand-stitched, Italian fabric.”

He tsk’d at her as he as he watched her eyes. He loved it when she started to melt for him, “Daddy buys all these pretty things for you and this is how you treat them?”

She inhaled and balled her fists to her sides to keep herself from reaching for his arms or his shoulders to hold on to, “Sorry, Daddy.”

Harry nodded, “That’s okay baby. I know you can’t help it when you’re around me. Like an excited puppy who needs potty training. Isn’t that right?”

His demeaning words were spoken low and quietly as he continued slipping his fingers over the panties, spreading her arousal all over the front.

“I just really want you.”

“Well, you have me already. What is it you want right now?”

She let out a shaky breathy and her rounded eyes fluttered when he switched from using his fingertips to glide over her panties to his knuckles, creating more friction, “You. I just want you. Whatever you want. Anything.”

Harry licked his lips. He loved the sound of that. And he knew she would let him do anything. That was the thing about Y/n. She loved it all. She liked it rough and soft and painful and slow. She never said no even when he gave her so many chances. She liked everything. She was perfect for him.

“Since we have to be quiet and quick I can’t do what I really want to do to you right now. Do you know what I want to do to you right now?”

She shook her head as Harry dropped his hand away from her pussy and walked toward his couch before sitting.

“Come here into Daddy’s lap and I’ll tell you what you deserve. What I’d do if no one could hear us.”

She felt her limbs buzzing as she followed after him and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs with hers. Harry lifted his hips and pulled his hot, angry cock from its confines.

“I’d make you bend over the desk and tie your hands down and your legs apart, tied at the ankles so you were just spread out for me and at my disposal.” He nudged the wet fabric at her crotch to the side and pushed a finger into her entrance slowly as he watched her swallow harshly.

“I’d use whichever hole I wanted at different times. First your cunt,” he punctuated as he jammed his long middle finger inside of her deep making her coo softly. “I’d use your wet hole to fuck into and please myself. Get myself off while you are immobile and grunting and whining.”

Harry’s palm smeared over her clit as he pulsed his finger in and out of pussy, “I’d dump my come deep inside your tummy and make sure it was all fucked inside of you as deep as possible.”

She began to pant and wiggle against his hand while his other hand moved up to pull her tits from the lace. He pinched softly over her nipples as he continued, “You’d be drooling and crying, begging for me to let you come but instead, I’d go back to work to get things done because I’m a very busy man, you see. You’d have to lie there for me all spread out and needy while I work and make money so I can keep spending on you.”

The sound of her pussy being fingered was dirty as she tried to maintain her breaths and keep quiet.

“But then I’d see this pretty ass,” he pulled his finger out of her pussy and reached to the back of her panties, and hooked his finger into the flimsy fabric to grant himself access to her tight hole before he circled it with her arousal, smearing her wetness all over, “And I’d need to fuck it too. Use this pretty hole to get myself off again. But you’re a nasty girl who likes getting her ass fucked, isn’t that right?”

Y/n nodded in desperation. Her lips were parted as she breathed heavily. But when Harry pushed his middle finger into her tight hole she gasped and widened her eyes.

“You’d be so pathetic and helpless. Just desperate for more come and I’ll give it to you because after I’m done I’ll watch how it drips from both of your holes while you’re shaking and acting like a desperate slut. You’ll be lying there begging a married man to use you and breed you.”

She continued to nod with her mouth dropped open as she kept her eyes on Harry.

“Now sit on Daddy’s cock. I can tell you need it, baby. We’ll get these panties all stretched out and wrecked since you don’t care for them anyway.”

Y/n raised herself upward and placed her hands at the back of the couch to steady herself as Harry kept his finger in her asshole.

She was so wet and so swollen he fit inside of her easily as she slid down his shaft.

Her head began to spin as he lifted his hips and began to fuck into her slowly, “There we go. Soaking wet for me, darling.”

Harry’s dirty talk ceased for a few moments as he reveled in the way she felt stretched around him all creamy and tight and warm. The couch squeaked the smallest bit when Y/n began to ride him up and down slowly.

The feel of his thick cock spreading her open and dipping deep into her guts with his finger in her ass had her shaking and holding in a moan.

“Getting yourself all worked up aren’t you, baby?”

She pouted as she began to roll her hips and ground her clit into his pelvis, “Daddy… can I come? Gonna come really fast, you feel so good…”

Harry smiled and leaned his head back into the couch as he looked from her soft tits to her scrunched face, “Wait for me, baby. I’ll tell you when you can. Just a little more,” he panted.

Slushy, slick noises, and heavy breaths filled the room as they moved together, getting each other off. No one did it for Harry the way Y/n did and he wasn’t sure if that was a shame or if that was a good thing. He certainly felt no guilt when he thought of the way Romy couldn’t even compare to Y/n.

“Fuck baby, you always know just how to squeeze around me like that,” Harry gritted his teeth, “So much better than my wife. You deserve to be filled up and dripping with my come because you’re mine. Isn’t that right?”

Y/n’s insides were sparkling and pulsing. She was doing her best to hold back but Harry’s words always got to her and his cock felt so good taking up every inch of her cunt, “Yes…” she breathed, “I’m all yours, Daddy… please!”

Her please came out too loud so Harry pulled her in by the back of her neck to crash his mouth to hers as they both felt their orgasms begin to unfold and take over.

“Come on Daddy’s cock baby,” Harry spoke against her lips before shoving his tongue into her mouth to keep her quiet.

She trembled and let out muffled moans as her pussy fluttered around Harry’s shaft and swallowed him deep. He felt his cock being wrung out by her as his come poured out from his tip inside of her. Where it belonged.

They moved their mouths together to mute their gasps and moans as they released together there in his office on the couch he used for clients and co-workers.

Part of Y/n didn’t care if anyone heard. She wanted him to herself and she wanted everyone to know that she was getting his cock on the regular. That his wife could never make his ears ring and his thighs shake like she did. He never felt so desperate for his wife that he needed to fuck her in his office in the middle of a workday. Never dreamed of her the way he dreamed of Y/n. Didn’t masturbate to the image of Romy while he was showering but rather he imagined Y/n’s eyes and her lips, and her fingers when he was fucking his fist. She was his dream girl. His favorite girl. Y/n was. Not his wife. And Y/n knew this to be a fact.

When they both finally slowed their movements and Y/n parted from Harry’s mouth she felt the way she’d drenched his lap and looked down, “Oh god. Sorry!”

Harry laughed and eased his finger from her ass, “I have a change of pants here for just this kind of emergency.” Harry tapped her bottom, “Up you get. I’ve got a call to make and you’ve work to do.”

Y/n slowly dragged her pussy off his cock and he hissed at how sensitive it was. She stood up and began to slip her panties down her hips but Harry stopped her, “Keep them on. Want you to sit in your wet panties with a pussy full of my come so you remember exactly what bad thing you’ve done today,” he smirked at her as he stood and took his pants off to switch them out for a clean pair.

“But I’ll get my dress all wet too,” she looked down at the yellow lace and back up at Harry.

“It won’t show through your dress. No one will know you’re all messy and freshly fucked.”

She pouted as she moved the crotch of her panties back into place and readjusted the bra before picking up her dress.

Harry pulled up his clean pants and sighed as he looked at Y/n trying to avoid getting her dress a mess as she stepped into it, her face scrunched.

He walked up behind her and helped her zip the back of the dress, “Darling, you know you can take them off if you want, right? I’m not that mean.”

She turned to look at him, “But you said–“

Harry shook his head, “It’s just a fantasy. You don’t have to suffer through wet panties just because I’m a pervert,” he grinned.

She smiled at him, “You’re not a pervert. And if you want me to keep them on I will. I love making you happy.”

“I know you love to make me happy. It’s why this works so well,” he pulled her toward him and kissed her, “But you’re a big girl and you can make your own decisions can’t you?”

She nodded.

“Do you want them off?”

“Well… I mean. It is uncomfortable. It’s so wet.”

Harry laughed, “I know they’re wet. You completely destroyed them. How about this, we’ll compromise. You take them off but that means you get to feel my come dripping down your thighs for the rest of the day. Every time you get up or move a little bit will seep out. That’ll be your reminder.” He had his long fingers wrapped around the front of her neck as he spoke.

She grinned, “Okay.”

When her panties were finally off Harry took them and stuffed them inside of the pocket in his dirty trousers, “I’ll have the housekeeper clean these up and make them like new again. Then I’ll bring them back to you. How’s that sound?”

“Okay. But what if your wife sees them?” She asked as she slid her heels back onto her feet.

Harry shrugged and tossed his pants behind his desk, “So what if she does? She knows I’m fucking someone else. Knows someone else is giving me what she can’t.” He stepped toward her and pushed her back to his office door, “I don’t care if she sees them. I hope she does. Hope she finds them all sticky and dirty and knows what kind of good girl I’ve been enjoying.”

With her back pressed into the wall next to his door and his hand on the front of her neck he gave her a soft and sloppy kiss before pulling himself away, “Now it’s time to get back to work.”

Y/n nodded and bit her lip as she slowly walked out of his office and back to her little cubicle, his come dripping out of her cunt and down her thighs as she went. The feel of him warm down the inside of her legs made her smile knowing that she was his favorite.

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[mangosrar]

call it what you want pt7.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

over the years, matt had got into many fights, countless punches thrown at people, and almost an infinite number of run ins with those who simply just pissed him off.

but it always shocked you that he was like this. chris and nick we’re such nice people. sure they had both had fights with people before, but matt was ridiculous.

and this factor was part of the reason you couldn’t stand him. you had never been in a fight before. you’d never hit or punched anyone, never even laid a harmful finger on one single person, so the earth shifted a little when you locked eyes on jessica levri, pushing, and yelling in your fake boyfreinds face, because like a hounds blood, you were drawn to it.

you weren’t sure if it was because of the adrenaline from what just happened with matt, or the pure fact that jessica levri had been on her high fucking horse far too long and she needed a rude awakening, but before you could even register what was happening, you were wedging yourself between her and matt and pushing her shoulders, sending her stumbling back.

she looked at you, scoffing like you were the most vile thing on earth.

you’re gaze on her was intense, like she was about to turn to stone any second, and your whole body was red hot with anger.

by now pretty much the whole team were stood around, waiting in anticipation. matt was behind you, chris to your left, caden to your right, and elijah stood behind jess.

you watched as she swapped her eyes from yours to matts, before smirking and opening her mouth.

“get your dog under control matty, it looks like she bites” she sneered.

there was no reply from matt, but you heard him suck in a breath from behind you.

you bit the inside of your cheek. you had gotten this far, but you hadn’t thought it through. what we’re you even going to say?

she laughed before crossing her arms over her chest and leaning down, getting right in your face.

“what? you gonna hit me?”

great idea.

there was no time for any other person to even get a word in edge ways.

as soon as you pulled your hand back, it was like everything was suddenly moving in slow motion.

the whole school was watching.

caden.

matt was right behind you.

oh god your parents, what would they think.

you were probably going to be expelled.

you were about to rock Jessica levris shit in front of half of your town.

there was no turning back now.

the second your fist landed on her face with a searing crack, the whole crowd gasped.

she dropped to the floor like a bag of bricks. clutching her face, crying like a kicked dog.

“yes bitch” you yelled, bending down slightly.

your chest was heaving up and down, red hot fury surging through your veins like the deadliest poison, and somehow it felt exhilarating, like taking a breath after drowning.

everyone stood completely gobsmacked. matt, elijah, caden, chris. all in complete silence, mouths hanging open at your outburst.

there was a brief moment, and the temptation to jump on her and carry on hitting her stupid bitchy face was through the roof.

but just as you went to make a move, hands came around you from behind your waist, throwing you over their shoulder, and escorting you off of the rink, while you kicked and screamed, yelling whoever it was to put you down.

-

“i mean what we’re you even thinking y/n” chris yelled, pacing up and down the locker room while you sat on the bench, watching him like a disciplined child. he had picked you up and walked you right out, preventing you from causing anymore damage.

about 20 minutes had passed, and still no sign of matt.

“i don’t know” you muttered quietly.

“you know you’re gonna be in trouble right?” he said, coming to a halt and pointing a finger at you.

you simply nodded and looked down.

the both of you just basked in the silence, taking a moment to recollect after the complete shit show that just occurred.

it was now that you were realising, that hitting jessica was the stupidest decision you had ever had. no good would come of it. matt would still probably go back to her, your parents were gonna be furious, ans the school we’re gonna expel you. what a waste of bruised knuckles.

suddenly, the locker room door burst open and matt came rushing through, making both you and chris to snap your heads up in his direction.

“i’ve looked everywhere for you guys” he panted.

“yeah, i had to get this Chihuahua away from the general public, who knows who’s next on her hit list” chris spat. you knew he was angry with you. this was the most out of character thing you’ve ever done.

matt nodded, looking at you, before rubbing a hand over his face and opening his mouth to speak.

“hey uh, would you give us a minute to talk?” he asked, swapping his gaze to his brother.

he just scoffed, not even sparing you a glance, before walking away, slamming the door shut on his way out, making you flinch.

matt watched the door close before padding over to you and sitting down.

you refused to look up at him, too worried to see his expression.

“he’s pissed” matt stated.

you just nodded. keeping your eyes trained to your feet. you could feel his eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

“you broke her nose” he spoke, his tone flat.

“good that bitch deserved it” you scoffed.

matt just shook his head, letting out a breath, before standing up in-front of you.

“what has gotten into you? last i checked, you wouldn’t even talk shit about someone without feeling bad and now you’re hitting people?” he questioned.

“i don’t know matt! i was pissed at you and then she just-“ you cut yourself off, sighing. “i don’t know” you finished. finally bringing your eyes up to meet his.

“so you wanted to hit me, but you hit her instead?” he raised his eyebrows, eyes boring into yours.

you just shrugged, there was no justification for it at all, apart from the fact that she was a complete bitch, and she was right there.

“you can’t just punch people y/n” he said sternly, folding his arms over his chest, looking down at you like a disappointed parent.

“you do” you exclaimed, looking up at him, raising your voice slightly.

“but you’re not me, you’re not like this, you’re nice and smart, and you’re always gentle with people” he shot back. his words threw you off a little. that was probably the nicest thing matt had ever said about you.

you didn’t reply. you just blinked up at him with furrowed brows.

matt sighed before taking a seat next to you again.

“for what it’s worth, i’d punch your ex for no reason” he said. turning to look at you.

“thanks matt. that means a lot. that doesn’t change the fact that everyone is pissed at me” you yelped, throwing your hands up and letting them fall, and slap against your legs.

“chris will come round, and i’m not pissed at you” he spoke lowly.

you sighed, and turned your head to look at him, and the look that he was giving you made you want to squeeze your thighs together.

there was something written on his face that you couldn’t decipher. his eyes were low and dilated. like he was hungry for something.

there it was again, that moment of silence, both of you just staring at eachother.

matt brought his hand up to brush against your face, then letting it cup your cheek, and in that very moment, you did know better.

your lips were on his in less than a second, pushing and pulling against him.

you felt his tongue prod at your lips. begging for entrance witch you granted, and he was all over you, running his tongue along the roof of your mouth, making you whine and matt smirked against your lips.

his hands came round to pull you up onto his lap and you happily obliged. running your hands up his chest and round to the back of his neck, tugging his hair, pulling a low groan from matts mouth, as his hands ran up your sides, pulling you impossibly closer.

the kiss was hot and sloppy, the both of you, somehow, relishing in the hatred for one another, but basking in the tension.

you felt matts hands travel down to your ass, pushing you back and pulling you forward, making you rock your hips against his, and you damn near dropped to your knees, before a voice snapped you both out of it.

“well this is a sight for sore eyes”.

—————————————-—————————————

also my taglist is not working, so if it says i haven’t tagged you, trust me i tried 💕

this long as fuck taglist: @sturnssan @biplrbtch bitch @valerieburkens @ukyios @eyelessdemon00 @iheart2021chris @hearts4chris @leah-loves-lilies @whicked-hazlatwhore e @lexihowardsgf @1201pm-blog m @chrislover911 @yourmom-123456789 5 @x4nd3rsukz @ilovechrissturnioloposts @mattnchrisworld @leoloveeeee e @jazab3lla @martyniukpl @sturnbaby @knowingnothingnoel @ilovemattstromboli i @obsessedwithyou @dragonstoneshortcake @breeloveschris @biinthisbitch13 @skyteller143 @innocentfsin @mattswifue @thatcrazybitch-69 @ihateeveryone357474 4 @shmophsturniolo o @sturns-posts @mattsturnzzz09 @sturnisposts @jenna0rtegaswife @jeffbuckleylvr27 @katelynmeier14 @sara2233445 @alexb25598 @sturniolos4lifee @st7rnioloss @kasiaslayuje @causeidontlikegolsrush @cosmicmistake42069 9 @xxloveralways14 @24kmar @creamoncreamoncream2 @kennyhop @khloe7233 @sofiasnookiee @sfdfgy @iker-blog1 yn @sleepdeprivedandinsane @quinnroki @lvr444life e @ffhgdxgg @travelintheworld2 @aubreyswift13 @sturniololol @starziick @heartlesssturniolos @nickmillersn1gf @beautyb1ade @tommysaxes

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[lazyjellyfish300]

Blurred Lines❤️‍🩹

Miguel O'Hara x Fem reader

Synopsis: you and Miguel have a casual arrangement of just sex. You reluctantly agree in hopes that you can get him to fall for you. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Word count 5.3k

Part 2

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT(it's a little on the more mild side imo but P IN V, ORAL (F AND M RECEIVING), FINGERING), ANGST, CASUAL RELATIONSHIP, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, COLDER MEAN MIGUEL, SAD, LIGHT DV(HE PUNCHES A WALL AFTER YOU SLAP AND SHOVE HIM) IF ANYTHING LIKE THAT IS QUITE DIFFICULT FOR YOU, I'D RECOMMENDED NOT READING ❤️

SPANISH SPEAKERS, feel free to correct me. I'm SO sorry if I fucked it up. I hope y'all enjoy some more angsty Miguel. 🖤 This one is a longer one, sorry!

----------

You're a new lab tech at Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York and it's your first day. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed you, fresh out of college and not aware of what's about to hit you.

Until he walks by the pillar you're leaning against during your debriefing by Jessica Drew.

"Who's he?" you kind of softly squeak out as you watch the gorgeous man walk by. He's exceptionally tall and handsome, his chiseled features in a stoic expression, crimson eyes scanning his surroundings as he passes. He takes notice of you for a brief moment, then continues on. You shamelessly hold him in your gaze as he disappears down a dark corridor.

Jess follows where your eyes are looking and smirks. "That's Miguel O'Hara. He's my boss, actually. You won't have to worry about him except when you do blood samples. He mainly deals with the Spiders. If he gives you trouble, don't take it personally, it's just how he is." Jess leans in a little closer, speaking woman to woman now.

"Just between you and me, girl. You're gonna wanna stay away from him. Everyone here wants him. But he's emotionally unavailable. You seem like a nice girl. Don't waste your time. Trust me, I've seen it."

You nod slowly, somewhat discouraged by that. But, against your better judgement, you start coming to work in your cutest, sluttiest outfits that you can put together without breaking the lab safety rules. Thigh high boots, tight little skirts that hit you mid thigh, off the shoulder knit tops that halt just below the round tops of your cleavage, and skin tight dresses that hug you in all the right places.

Every week when you deliver the lab reports to Miguel, you have a different outfit on for him, hair and makeup done, flashing the most stunning smiles you can muster at him, staring directly into his eyes when he speaks, enthusiastically bobbing your head.

Week after week, Miguel seems to keep the same stoic disposition with you, not cracking under the flirtatious pressure you're applying to him with your overzealous attention and special outfits. Just how many layers to this guy is there? You wonder.

One day, about a month later since you started, Miguel is in the middle of a rant about the lab department and their tardiness on sample readings as of late, expecting you take his feedback to your supervisor when, you slowly bring your pen to your mouth, biting the cap ever so lightly while staring at Miguel's lips, not even hiding the fact that you've stopped paying attention and are focusing on more... intriguing matters.

Miguel's flow of speech stalls for a minute as you bring the pen to your mouth. He snaps out of it and continues on, then pauses again. He looks away from you and his jaw tenses. "Mierda(shit)..." he mutters.

Your face gets a little warm, but you smile, keeping the pen in your teeth. It would seem that your efforts this time were paying off.

"I forgot where I was going with that..." Miguel says, still turned away from you. "Never mind, you can leave now," he says cooly.

Your eyebrows raise a little bit, surprised he's just dismissing you like that, but you don't argue. You turn on your heel and walk away, heels clunking on the floor. Meanwhile, Miguel grabs the edge of his desk, knuckles turning white.

---

Next week, you head for Miguel's office again, carrying the stack of weekly reports. You're wearing a new long sleeved black dress under your lab coat, channeling your inner Morticia Addams. You're feeling a little more excited this time, wondering if he'll act as flustered as he did last week when you teased him with your pen in your mouth.

You approach Miguel, his back turned to you as he stares at several yellow-orange surveillance holograms at his desk. He recognizes the sound of your heels on the floor but doesn't turn around.

"Happy Friday, got your reports right here!" You announce in a whimsical tone.

Miguel sighs and turns his head, looking down. He then turns to you, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he takes the stack of papers in his hand, scanning the top page. After a moment of silence, he moves his head, motioning to a hallway that leads to the archive room.

"Come with me," he says nonchalantly, already walking towards the hallway. You raise an eyebrow but follow after him, stuffing your hands in your lab pockets.

Once you're down the hall, you enter a room which is a maze of filing cabinets, most of them even towering over Miguel, who's 6'9. Miguel takes a few sharp turns, leading you deeper into the maze then finally stops at the one he's looking for. He throws the stack of papers in the cabinet with a slam and an echo off the empty walls and looks at you, crossing his arms and leaning back against the cabinet.

"You look beautiful today," he says in a soft voice.

You freeze, alarmed by his casual demeanor he seemed to pull out of nowhere.

"Um, thank you..." you feel your cheeks get hot and your stomach squirm with excitement and fluster. You only daydreamed of this happening, your gorgeous work crush finally noticing AND complimenting you in the same day.

"Is that a new dress?" His crimson eyes are roaming you up and down as he approaches you, caging you in against a tall cabinet behind you.

Your stomach leaps up to your throat, your breasts heaving.

"Yeah..."

Miguel's eyelids flutter a little bit at your breasts moving against the fabric of your dress as you became more flustered.

"I like it," he whispers.

Then, he's pinned you against the filing cabinet, attacking your mouth with his lips, his hands flying to both sides of your throat, his thumbs smoothing into your cheeks, his hips pressed against you.

"Ugnhh..." your hands fly to his hair on their own accord, your fingers getting lost in his chocolate strands. You kiss him with everything you can, sucking and biting his lip. He's a damn good kisser. Each stroke of his lips is sending you into orbit as you feel growing warmth in your core.

"Keep walking in my office dressed so slutty every week, hmm? Thinking I wouldn't notice?" He groans into your mouth. He grabs your chin in his fingers, forcing your head back. He leans in and begins kissing your neck, relishing the way you begin to shiver, making soft pretty moans for him. He makes his way up your neck, pausing at your ear, dragging your bottom lip down with his thumb.

"Wrap your legs around me," he whispers.

You jump into his arms, winding your thighs tightly around his waist, seizing him as tight as you can, even adding a little roll of your hips, hungry for friction.

Miguel grunts at your eagerness and uses the cabinet behind you to pin you up against, still keeping you wrapped around him. He uses one hand to guide your dress back up and over your thighs, groaning when he realizes you went commando today. He gives you his fingers, causing sharp, high pitched moans to escape you.

"Monta mis dedos, hermosa."

(Ride my fingers, beautiful)

-----

Now, when you eventually did your walk of shame back to the lab, your first time having sex with Miguel seemed like a blur, but in those heated moments during that encounter, they seemed endless and mind-numbing. The pleasure was damn near overwhelming.

No man's fingers sent you into orgasm as many times as his did. No man's tongue ever explored and lapped you up as intimately and expertly as his did.

And no man's cock was as fucking addictive and dangerous as his was.

You were now his little slut and you loved it.

Even though you didn't really confide in any of your co-workers, people around HQ seemed to put two and two together that you were the one to be envied, the new woman occupying Miguel's bed and attention.

After the second time you guys hooked up, you laid in his bed at HQ, the Queen sized bed seeming almost not big enough to hold his enormous size as he pounded you relentlessly into it. Hours passed until you both were covered in sweat, fully coated in each other's slick, the comforter and top sheet cast to the side, since the heat you generated during the rounds you two shared was more than enough to keep you warm.

You panted, staring at his ceiling, absolutely hammered with satisfaction.

He sat up after a few moments, rubbing the back of his neck. He got up and went into his bathroom. You heard the sounds of him relieving himself and then a squeak from a faucet as his shower turned on.

You come out of your daze after a moment, confused. You feel a slight tug of worry as you see him turn on the shower immediately, occupying himself right after you fucked and can't help but feel a rush of insecurity in what you thought was a pleasurable experience for the both of you.

He just seemed to need to rinse off as the water shuts off only after a couple minutes. He walks out with a towel around his waist, water dripping from his body, creating little pools on his tile floor, digging in his dresser drawers for some underwear and clean clothes.

"I have a meeting in about a half hour. You're welcome to rest for a bit longer, though. I trust you to lock my door on your way out?"

You blink rapidly, taken aback by his shortness with you. But, you realize you don't really have a good reason to be upset right now. You two certainly aren't dating. You haven't even had a long, meaningful conversation or got to know the guy yet. Just one, now two, steamy hookups at work and that's it.

You nod with a tight lipped smile, trying to hide your disappointment. Miguel nods back in acknowledgement and goes back to drying himself off, resting a leg on an armchair in the corner, still butt naked.

You just watch him, captivated by his beauty. You realize that you're not going to get clarity on what this is between you two unless you speak now.

"Miguel....?"

His name sounds innocent in the way it leaves your lips, despite the filth they were committing on his genitals just an hour earlier.

He looks at you, not pausing his task.

"Yes?"

You hesitate, scared of his reaction to your next question.

"Um, what are we, exactly? Or, rather, I guess, what is this we're doing?" You gesture between yourself and him.

He finally stops and looks at you, his brow furrows.

Your heart drops, realizing you might have spoke too soon.

But his brow softens, just a little bit. It was only a natural question to ask, after all. What kind of ass would he be for being upset at you for asking? But unfortunately, at this time, what he has to offer is probably not what you're hoping for.

"Well...," he says quietly, thinking deeply. "I think we definitely have strong physical chemistry together. I'd like to have more of these experiences with you, if you're up for it."

You nod, slightly encouraged by the news but wanting more.

"And so...are we exclusively seeing each other?"

Miguel doesn't answer right away, but then he says firmly after a beat, "I don't date."

You feel a knot in your stomach. Not what you wanted to hear, for sure.

"But, I do think us limiting or having no other sexual partners while we're seeing one another is a sensible thing to do," he says. "Out of respect for you and I, either one of us should let the other know if we begin seeing someone else, or if we wish to terminate the relationship."

You sit, slowly processing his words, pulling the top sheet over your legs as the heat from your encounter has now worn off.

"So, you'd like to have just a physical relationship with me? Like friends with benefits?"

Miguel nods slowly. "Yeah, you could call it that, I suppose."

Your mind races, you already know this is a horrible idea but here you are contemplating it anyway.

"Just sex, but we're only fucking each other, and either one of us can end the relationship at any time? No feelings involved?"

Miguel gives you a little grin. "Sounds good to me. But, I do want to heavily emphasize the last part. No feelings involved, please. If you don't think you'll be able to do this, there's no shame in letting me know."

You swallow. "Any, um...reason why you're so against dating or having any sort of emotional commitment?"

Miguel blinks. "I'd rather not get deep into that, but, I suppose to make myself more understood: I avoid emotional affairs, mainly due to my work and because of the lifestyle I lead. I have tremendous responsibilities and I can't devote time to nurture a relationship like a normal person would. Does that answer your question?"

You fiddle with a strand of your hair. "Yeah...that makes more sense."

You look off, still deep in thought. You're at the ledge, almost about to jump, despite the obvious pain that would inevitably become yours when you hit the water, the sharp rocks of disappointment and heartache would become your bed.

"I would like to be friends with benefits with you, on one condition," you say.

"What's that?" a small smirk appears on Miguel's face, a little excited now at your willingness to give him your body on a regular basis.

"We spend at least 30 minutes after the deed holding each other, just as part of normal aftercare."

Miguel raises his eyebrows, a quizzical look on his face. He's been out of the dating game for so long. He had to relearn how to be soft and let that side of him through again, and it didn't come naturally. But it sure doesn't mean that he's changing his mind on wanting to be something more than fuck buddies, he still wanted to stay away from the unpredictable tides of human emotions at all costs.

"Very well, fair. I don't mind a little cuddle afterwards, for your sake. If that's all you need?" He asks.

You nod silently, hoping your modest request isn't turning him off.

He walks over to you, getting back on the bed, putting an arm behind his head while you scoot closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder, sighing in content. He wraps his free hand around your shoulder, closing his eyes, allowing the time to pass in silence.

The silence is a little uncomfortable, but at least he's holding you. After some time, Miguel gives your shoulder a squeeze and sits up. "Perdóname(forgive me), I really do need to get going now. Take your time, though you know. And lock the door behind you on your way out please."

"When would you like to do this again?" You ask.

"Tomorrow, at 11 am," he answers. He looks at you with a small side smile. "I'll clear your schedule with your supervisor. Don't worry about it."

You shoot a smile his way, excited about playing hooky tomorrow to fuck Miguel instead. And the best part was he was in on it too. Even if you couldn't be his girlfriend, this was the next best thing, or so you told yourself.

-----

The next day at 11 am, your third physical encounter is well underway as you're on your knees under Miguel's desk, sucking him off during one of his virtual meetings. Peter B is rattling off, throwing in some painful dad jokes which makes Miguel roll his eyes. You stuff more of him in the back of your throat, forcing his attention back you.

"Carajo (fuck)....keep doing that," he mutters to you. You moan in response, your mouth full of him, throwing everything you can into each flick of your tongue.

Miguel groans and grabs a fistful of your hair. "So fuckin pretty," he coos quietly to you.

"What's that, Miguel?" Peter asks through the meeting speakers.

"Shut the FUCK up Peter," Miguel hisses back, moving your head with his hand.

"Okay, so anyway, like I was saying...." Peter continues.

Miguel shuts off the meeting with a short grunt.

-----

The 4th time, you find yourself fogging the windows in his car as you straddle him, moving your hips in toe-curling circles, edging him closer to combustion in his backseat.

The 5th time, your legs are on his shoulders in his office again. The 6th time, he's between your legs at your apartment, gently coaxing the soul out of your body with his torturous tongue. You glance down at him and he's looking up at you, intoxicated with the taste of everything you're excreting onto his perfect face.

You melt at the sight and realize when you're shaking afterwards that your worst fear is becoming a reality. Your fucking is turning into lovemaking, expressions of lust giving way to affection, the passion molding into adoration.

You clinged to the breadcrumbs he offered you, your delusion fueling the belief that over time, they could sustain you. Any praise he offered you when he was rutting into you, you collected in the empty pockets lining your heart, not knowing you were building your own Roman Empire. The naive architect over your own demise. His crimson eyes your downfall.

The part of your brain you thought you could shut off while you let your body do the talking was in fact alive. Somewhere along the line, one of the hundred deadly thrusts of his hips was responsible for flicking the switch.

Letting him in was like your own version of a Trojan Horse. His troubled soul and enchanting voice pulled and tugged at your trustful and altruistic nature until he lowered your guard. Soon, he was laying siege and attacking the city of your heart, carelessly laying waste to the very walls that welcomed him...not caring that you were drowning in your own blood you shed at his expense, his own confession of love for you the only antidote for your suffering, which you only hoped to God existed, possibly harboured somewhere in the far down recesses of his mind that he didn't dare open.

The 7th time, you're having sex in your bed again. He's on top of you this time. And you're not sure if it's the delicious way he's groaning when you say his name, the tender way he's cupping your face and not letting you look anywhere else but him as he rocks his full length into you, but it causes you to blurt out,

"I love you, Miguel."

He pants, and stops moving, hanging his head with his eyes shut. He holds the position for a moment then climbs off of you, rubbing his face and temples as he sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up too, wishing you could reel your words back into your head as quickly as you said them.

"I'm sorry...," you bite your lip. "Please don't stop..."

After a beat, he stands up and begins to look for his clothes. "It's fine." He says simply.

You look at him in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

"I made it very clear from the beginning. I don't do feelings. I don't do relationships. This is why I steer clear of this bullshit all together, because it always ends up being my fault!" He snarled, stuffing his clothes into his hands and hastily throwing on his shirt.

Your jaw falls open, it was though he did a 180. In place of who you thought could be a caring and attentive man who made you feel beautiful and spent hours learning your body and pleasuring you in ways you never thought possible, it was Mr. Hyde to his Dr. Jekyll, callous, cruel, and indifferent to your feelings. The version of him who only cared about getting off, not minding that he willingly went down this road with you, and only after causing you to fall did he take a turn, leaving you stranded.

He sighs deeply. "Look, I think we should take a break. It's not over, we can maybe resume at a later time. But it's clear you need space, and I need space too." He puts his pants back on. "I just need you to understand that no matter what, I'm not going to allow you, or myself make this into anything more than what we agreed upon in the beginning: just sex, that's it."

Tears begin to fall down your face, your heart beginning to ache in your chest from the sword he just planted in it.

"Why don't you let anyone in? Is it that crazy that maybe a girl like me actually gives a shit about you for once and isn't out for your money or your looks or to break your heart?!" you spit your words at him, coated in anguish.

He's facing away from you, fully dressed now, and deep down it kills him to see you like this, but he's too prideful and too much of a fucking coward to let you see that it does.

"I'm leaving..." he says quietly. "I came here to fuck and enjoy my time with you, not have my head examined. I'll see you around." He leaves your room, walking to your front door.

Rage is seething out of your eardrums. You scream after him,"DON'T BOTHER! LOSE MY FUCKING NUMBER!!! Fucking asshole..."

You hear a click as your front door closes and you collapse into a fray of heartbreak on your bed, your tears driving you to sleep.

--------

The next few weeks are torture as you do everything you can to forget him. Pretend as though nothing happened. Pretend as though he never ravaged your body like he did. Pretend like he never broke you apart with his tongue. Pretend like he didn't snatch your heart from your chest. Pretend like he didn't cause you to fall in love with him only for him to leave you bleeding on the ground.

You start forcing one of the other lab techs to take the weekly reports to him as you don't even want to see his face. You're successful at avoiding him for the most part, until you catch him out of the corner of your eye talking to a Spider-Woman, craning her neck to look up at him as she batted her doe eyes and pouted her lip, green claws of jealousy sinking into you once more.

It was the night of the annual Spider Gala where the achievements of the Spider Society would be the highlights of the evening and various awards would be presented, with all employees expected to attend. You broke down and told Jess about your heartbreak from Miguel, and she managed to convince you to attend anyways.

"Show his dumb ass what he's missing out on."

And show him, (and all the male spiders), you did. Necks turned as you made your way across the room to the bar, donning a strapless black evening gown with a sweetheart neckline that kissed your breasts and held them up just right, and a mouthwatering slit in the right thigh. However, once you got your hands on the alcohol, you found it hard to stop throwing down one drink, after another, after another down the hatch. You took a shot each time you saw Miguel glowering at you from across the room, or each time a pretty new Spider tried to talk to him. Rational thoughts checking out for the evening and inebriation settling in.

You found yourself weeping in the bathroom, mascara running down your face when the voice over the speaker announces, "This year's Spider-Man of the year goes to...Miguel O'Hara."

An outbreak of applause interrupts your sobs and you hear Miguel's quiet acceptance speech, the inflections in his rich voice barely moving. The liquid in your veins suddenly inspires you to march back in to the dining hall.

Miguel is sitting back down and when he turns his face back to the stage, it freezes at the person and the silent death stare coming from their tear stained face: you, the woman he scorned, and he knew what the books said about hell hath no fury. Now, all of spider society had a front row seat.

You spoke in a cool tone, fire lining your pupils,

"And I'd like to take a second to congratulate Mr. O'Hara. Well deserved....You know what's so great about him? Just how hard he works. I mean, you couldn't find a boss like him anywhere with how dedicated he is to his work. Nevermind how many people he hurts to achieve his goal and toss aside like trash..."

A pin drops.

"But hey, whatever it takes to protect the multiverse, right?" your voice started to drip with forced sweetness.

The air in the room has become uncomfortably thick, but nobody dares interrupt your rampage. In the audience, Peter B. Parker looks at you sympathetically.

Ahhh typical Miggy, always breaking hearts. Not the first girl he's drove insane like this because he won't commit or let anyone get close to him...

You continue with your speech, "Because feelings are something to be ashamed of, right? Can't let people think you have a weakness or a soft side to you, because then they'll just use it against you. So, you gotta ruin every single good thing that happens to you, because when you lost it the first time, it nearly destroyed you, so you'd rather not have it at all."

The people sitting at Miguel's table give little shrieks of terror as he bolts up, knocking the table askew with his powerful thighs and swiftly walks out, his hands clenched in fists. You follow after him, feeling yourself becoming more and more unhinged.

"Get the fuck away from me," he scowls at you, his pace not slowing down as you pursue him down the empty halls of HQ.

"Just keep running huh, like you always do?" You spew at him as tears run down your face, your eye makeup dark like a raccoon. "How do I taste huh? How do you like me now? You like what you've done to me? You like torturing me like this?!"

You shove and slap him and he whips around, temper snapped, and lands a fist in the wall, the impact reverberating off the stone walls as the surface under his fist cracks slightly.

He pants, his shoulders tense, each back muscle defined underneath his black tux.

"You're done...," he says in a shaky voice. "I need you to stay away from me."

"Good, I'm fucking HAPPY to!!!" you respond sarcastically, throwing your arms in the air. "That's the nicest thing you could do for me at this point!

His back is still turned to you and he leaves without a word.

-------

That same night

You're perched on a lab table, sobbing in the empty lab when a tall figure approaches you, holding a glass of ice water. Your face shoots up to see who it is, only to be let down when it's not Miguel.

"Peter?"

Peter B. Parker walks in, his bowtie hanging undone from his dress shirt collar.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He offers the glass to you and you take it, nursing a few sips.

"I'm...I'm fine...," you sniffle.

"Hey, come here..."

He takes his handkerchief from his tux pocket and dabs at your tears, taking care to not press too firmly into your face and ruin your makeup, despite the fact your tears already have.

"So beautiful..."

He studies your face, and you look back into his, his brown eyes filled with concern, the five o'clock shadow of his face contrasting with the dim light from the only desk lamp in the room, making him look oddly inviting.

He brings a hand to your cheek, running it gently along your chin and starts pulling you closer to him.

"Pete, what..."

He crashed his lips against yours aggressively, the stubble from his face tickling your skin.

"Peter!! Pete... stop...," you gasp in surprise, but then you go numb when he begins kissing your neck.

The way he's kissing your neck is dangerous. He doesn't try to be clean about it, either. His lips are soft and messy, leaving a trail of wetness along your collar and making his way to your chest.

You start to buck your hips, your body responding eagerly to the special attention he's paying to it.

"Pete...no...you're married...."

"We're separated," he mumbles, throwing your dress over his head.

"But I....ohhh....God...," you groan, pushing your back against the wall closest to you, your fists flying to his hair to keep him locked in place as he laps at you from under your dress.

Peter smiles devilishly.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me," he says softly.

You shudder.

"Oh, you like that baby?"

You nod eagerly, his tongue on your body plus the liquor in your system catapulting your mind into a state of intense pleasure.

"That feels good. Fffuck Peter.....," you moan breathlessly.

"Mmmm you're sexy when you say my name like that. Miguel doesn't know what a fool he is, passing up a pretty little thing like you...," Peter groans, adding two of his digits this time, his slick covered handsome face coming up to stare at you come undone in his hand..

"Peter...Peter, oh God...."

That's all he needs to hear from you to convince him you're ready to be fucked. You two mess with his belt buckle and soon he's snapping into you deliciously and deep, your nails in his back.

"That's it baby, let me fuck you....urgh, tell me, baby, did he fuck you like this? You're gonna forget about him when I'm done with you. Gonna make you crave this cock instead."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as you let him have his way with you for the rest of the night.

-----

Peter was a good fuck...and boy he did make you feel good for a few hours. But when you awoke the next morning in Peter's bed, Miguel still stayed in the back of your mind. If there was anything else you could have done to get Miguel to be totally turned off from you, this would be it. Winding up in bed with one of his closest allies.

At work the next few weeks, you felt like you might as well have been wearing a scarlet letter A on your chest. Whispers and eyes followed you, conversations shifted in every room you entered. It was beginning to be too much. The occasional time you were unsuccessful at avoiding Miguel's presence, you wanted nothing more than to just cease to exist in that moment.

Your performance slipped and your supervisor took notice. One day, you went into his office and explained you were putting in your two weeks except you wanted to take your leave immediately. He couldn't help but nod and agree. He took pity on you after Jess explained the situation to him and arranged it so you would receive severance pay for a few months after you left. An unexpected fortune admist the sea of misfortunes you were being dealt as of late.

You packed up your desk that afternoon, a twinge of sadness sank from your chest to your belly as you prepared to leap into the unknown as you took one last look at the place that swallowed you up and spat you back out.

There was nothing left for you here. Miguel's face flashed across your mind one more time as you stepped across the threshold. The door closing on your past, the promise of healing hanging in the rays of sunshine that hit your cheeks.

----

#Spotify #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #fanfic #miguel o'hara smut #peter b parker #peter b parker smut #miguel o'hara angst

[shiorimakibawrites]

Cat Man Do - Part I (Daredevil Fan Fic)

This started out as a one-shot but has just kept growing. It will be at least two parts long now.

Cat Man Do

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Secondary Pairings: Foggy Nelson x Marci Stahl, implied Karen Page x Frank Castle Word Count: 9600 Summary: Matt Murdock is having a bad night. He has been turned into a cat with a blizzard is coming in. Lucky for him, you came walking by. And you love cats. Warnings: Animal transformation, idiots in love, unresolved sexual tension, spicy dream (voyeurism kink, office sex, fingering, dirty talk), referenced sexual acts (female receiving oral sex, , fingering, female masturbation, hand-job, PIV sex, office sex) General Masterlist Matt Murdock Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment, @bellaxgiornata, @flynnethenerd Also posted on AO3

Part 1

Nothing about the situation seemed all that unusual. Man putting his hands where they were very much not wanted. Victim’s tearful pleading only being met with a slap and a harshly whispered demand to shut up. Sour odor of fear. Coopery scent of blood through it didn’t smell like human blood. Herbs, both familiar ones used in cooking but a few that he didn’t recognize. The only peculiarity was the scent of ozone clinging to the man.

Matt yanked the man away from his victim who, rather sensibly, took the opportunity to flee. At first, he thought that the fight would be short. Very short. The man obviously didn’t know how to fight. He heard the distinctive cracking of bone, then the man desperately shouted something. The smell of ozone increased and suddenly there was . . . something between him and the man. Something he didn’t recognized – hitting it felt like the oddest combination of a pillow, cling film and static electricity. Whatever it was softened his punches to the point that he doubted the man was even feeling them.

Before he could puzzle that mystery out, the man began to speak again. Matt didn’t recognize the language but he recognized the cadence of a chant, the anticipatory menace. The sharp scent of ozone began to rise again. Pressure not unlike the air right before a lightning strike raised the hair on his body. Instinct screamed danger, threat. He couldn’t say why but he just knew that he couldn’t let this man finish whatever he was saying . . .

The man’s inexperience with fighting came back to bit him. Whatever he was doing to protect his torso, it didn’t extend down to his legs. Matt dropped down to use a low kick to sweep his legs out from under him. The follow-up throw kick to his head showed that he was also too stupid to protect his head. The man hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

Matt listened, then nodded to himself. Unconscious. Good. He opened a pouch on his belt and removed some zip ties. He secured the man, then send off a quick call to 911. He scaled the fire escape of the closest building and started putting some distance between himself and those approaching sirens.

He decided to call it a night. It was after one in the morning. He had work tomorrow. Besides there had been very little crime tonight. Probably too cold. And a big snowstorm had been predicted. When they closed up the office, Foggy said sky was completely covered with heavy dark clouds that made the twilight almost as dark as nighttime. Which matched with the shifts in pressure that he associated with oncoming storms. The smell of snow had been building all night. It hadn’t started snowing yet but it would any minute now.

But before he turned in, he would do a loop to make sure his people were safe and sound. One by one, he checked off the list. Maggie and the others at St. Agnes, Brett, Foggy and Marci, Jessica, and Karen. All good. Last but certainly not least was you, the assistant that he and Foggy had hired so Karen could concentrate on law school, by the virtue that your apartment being rather close to his own.

Matt had almost forgotten about the oddities of his last encounter when he started feeling . . . off. Lightheaded, dizzy, like he had gotten clocked in the head without his helmet on. Except he hadn’t, not tonight. Or other time recently. At first the feeling was mild, easily shrugged off. But soon it could no longer be ignored. When his world on fire dangerously flickered and he misjudged the distance between two buildings, he decided that maybe walking on the ground would be safer.

It was in the sense that he was no longer at risk of falling six or more stories. But he was so dizzy, it felt like the ground was swaying under his feet. It was nauseating. Worse, his world on fire was flickering dangerously. It was hard to tell where he was, where the buildings were, where the sidewalk ended . . . He took out his billy clubs, extended and snapped them together. It was too short to really substitute for his cane but it would do until he could get somewhere safer.

It took far longer than he was comfortable with but he managed to orient himself. He knew where he is. It was the faint odor of old smoke that helped clue him in. That building that was torched this summer. Not far from his apartment but another wave of dizziness warned him that he wouldn’t make it that far. But your apartment was very close. There was only one building between his location and your building. He would probably make it before he passed out.

This was not at all how he wanted to tell you about Daredevil but there was nothing he could do about that.

Placing his hand on the burnt building to help keep him oriented, he walked toward. He had just reached the corner when a new sensation arose. Sudden, burning pain. He bit down on his lip, trying not to scream. He collapsed, letting out a scream as he felt his bones start to bent and twist like he was doll being pulled apart by an angry child. Then everything went still and silent . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You were walking home. It was later than you preferred to be out. Much later. Especially when you had to work the next day. But your best friend’s boyfriend had broken up with her. Via Twitter. So she needed someone to bring over the ice cream and the booze. So you ignored the weather reports of the big snowstorm and headed out. First to the store, then to her place.

You held her while she cried. You listened and nodded while she vented and swore off men. You both ate way too much ice cream. You didn’t ended up drinking much. Mostly because you’d rather not be hangover at work. But also because the store hadn’t much selection in the booze department – apparently the delivery truck hadn’t shown up. So said booze was limited to one six-pack of wine coolers and a good-sized bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Which wasn’t ideal. Especially since your bestie didn’t really like peppermint schnapps. Said it always tasted too much like mouthwash for her. Which was fair. But after downing three of the wine coolers to your one, she decided to give the schnapps another chance . . . it might be the wine coolers and the wine she finished earlier talking but she said it wasn’t half bad.

You had a little but found peppermint too strong of a flavor all on its own. The mint-chocolate chip ice cream was more your speed.

You loved your bestie but you were glad that she had finally fallen asleep. She had offered to let you stay at her place. But she snoozed like a chainsaw when she was drunk. Also you had tried sleeping on that couch before. It had been uncomfortable. There was a broken something or other in the middle that had poked you in the kidneys all night. So you appreciated the offer but no thank you.

You were walking as fast as you could. Which wasn’t very fast. The sidewalk was rather precarious right now. It had snowed last week. Almost all of the snow had turned into gray slush but it was cold enough that several patches had frozen into near-invisible puddles. Puddles that were very slick.

You had slipped and fallen several times this week. You had started carrying clean, dry clothes in your work bag so you didn’t have to sit in wet clothes all day. Your poor butt had more than one bruise. It would have more bruises but if your boss was nearby when you slipped, he caught you.

Your very hot boss Matt. Not that your other boss, Foggy, wasn’t pretty. He was. Just in a totally different way. But the big factor was that Foggy was engaged, to someone he very obviously loved dearly. You weren’t that kind of girl. But Matt was single. Therefore you were free to admire his good looks and daydream about him all you wanted.

Which you did. Often. Maybe too much. You were pretty sure, with the exception of Matt himself, that everyone who frequented the office had caught you checking out his ass. It wasn’t your fault. He had the best looking ass in the tri-state area. Every suit he wore flattered that ass. He also, quite unfairly, bought shirts that were a size too small. The buttons strained to contain those big muscles . . .

‘Stop it,’ you scolded yourself. Walking at one in the morning was not the time to start daydreaming about your boss and speculating that he could hold you up against the wall while he . . .

You shook your head, feeling yourself flush despite the cold pinching your cheeks. You needed to keep your mind on the here and now, eyes and ears alert for any signs of trouble. You might be only a short distance from home. This might be Hell’s Kitchen where the Devil prowled nighttime streets for nefarious characters but . . . that didn’t mean you should act recklessly. Something could still happen. And while being saved by Daredevil sounded very exciting, it also sounded really scary.

A cry pierced the night air. It sent your heart racing, hands gripping the strap of your backpack while your eyes frantically darted around trying to locate the source of the cry. You couldn’t see anything. The street was eerily deserted for Manhattan, even for this time of night. Maybe it was too cold. The whistling wind was biting, even in your thick winter coat. Even when the air was still, it was beyond frigid. If it was above freezing, you’d eat your hat. Without mustard.

You kept looking but it was so dark. There had been some kind of problem with the streetlights on your block this week. The news said something about a short. You hadn’t really been listening. But the end result was that at least half the streetlights weren’t working. The building that had gutted by a fire was black and silent, looming over the street like giant gargoyle. Many of the windows in the surrounding buildings were dark. The few that were lit did very little to illuminate the darkness.

Then you heard it again. But this time you recognized the noise. It was cat making that distressed yowl. And it sounded like it was coming from the side of that burned building. While the building gave you all of the creeps, you loved animals. Better than you liked most people. You couldn’t just leave it here. Out here in the freezing cold with a blizzard on the way at best. Hurt or trapped at worst.

But to find that poor animal, you needed more light.

You reached into your bag and took out your phone. Dead. The battery was so low that the phone didn’t even try to turn on. You had forgotten to charge it. Again. What were you going to do . . . then you remembered the little flashlight on your key-chain. Something your mom had gotten you when she learn you were moving to big, scary New York City. It was a nice gesture but the cheap thing wasn’t very bright. But some light was better than no light. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and gripped the flashlight in your hand. With a soft click, it turned on.

As expected, it didn’t do much to pierce the gloom. But you walked toward the building anyway. The building looked even creepier and emptier up close. The crack-crunch of your boots on the thin sheets of ice and salt felt inordinately loud to you. Which only made your heart beat faster. You were starting to feel like you were in a horror movie. One of the dumb girls who ignores all the obvious signs of danger and gets chopped into pieces with an ax or something. Or one of the those people in the cold opening in an episode of Supernatural, going into creepy building blithely unaware that they just made themselves dinner . . .

Something crashed to the ground with a loud metal clang. You shrieked, wildly swinging around your flashlight. What . . . then you saw it. A rat messing with a can below a window with a row of similar cans on the still . . . You squinted, cans of food. The kind that wasn’t particularly tasty but cheap and filling. Both of which was more important than flavor if you didn’t have much money. And infinitely better than no food at all.

“It’s just a rat,” you told yourself. “Calm down.”

As if in answer, the cat meowed again. It sounded close. You looked around . . . garbage bags that had been torn open and their contents scattered, piled up frozen slush, a dumpster. Wait, there was a flicker of movement on the other side of the dumpster. Giving a silent prayer that it wasn’t another rat (or something worse), you walked over. As you got closer, your nose wrinkled. The smell wasn’t nearly as ripe as it would be during the summer but it was by no means a pleasant aroma.

By your efforts were rewarded. On the other side and slightly behind the dumpster was a cat. You crouched down, not wanting to loom over the animal and scare it. It didn’t look very frightened right now – it wasn’t puffed up, it’s ears were perked up, or hissing at you. But you’d like to keep it that way. In your experience, a scared cat was a biting cat.

You looked over the cat as best you could. It didn’t look hurt. Just cold and a little wet. Probably wouldn’t need a vet tonight. Beautiful cat, it looked a lot like a Havana Brown with a thick-looking coat of brown fur and that muscular little body. Smaller ears through you were used to seeing. All the Havanas you had seen had those adorably large ears like a Siamese.

The cat remained calm during this inspection, just sitting on something leathery and dark red lying on the ground.

“Hello there,” you said, your voice soft and low. Animals might not understand words but they did understand tone. You carefully extended your hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to scratch me.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to touch it. You ran your hands over the cat. It didn’t react like your searching hands had found anything tender. Still you frowned.

This cat looked cared for. Had obviously been socialized from a young age. Healthy coat and well-fed all added up to beloved pet. If it . . . he, you corrected after another look, was a stray, he hadn’t been one for very long.

“Did you get lost?” you asked the cat. “Or did someone abandon you out here in the cold?”

Despite your best efforts to avoid, you couldn’t keep the anger out of your voice at that second possibility. Nights this cold could easily be fatal, even more so with that blizzard rolling in. especially for a pet that was used to warm shelter during harsh weather. You just couldn’t understand the sheer cruelty of doing something like that. If someone didn’t want a cat anymore, fine. There were far more humane options than abandoning them to die in the winter streets.

Well lost or abandoned, you weren’t leaving this little beauty out here to freeze. “It’s awfully cold out here, kitty cat. Did you want to come home with me? At least for the night?”

Of course, your only answer was more meows. But they sounded positive so you decided to take them as a yes. You didn’t have a carrier with you. But your backpack would work as substitute. You opened up your coat just enough to remove your scarf which you piled into the bottom. Your previous fur babies liked something soft to snuggle into when transported like this. It would get your scarf dirty but it was washable.

But when you placed the cat in the backpack and tried to zip it, the cat jumped out. It didn’t run away. Just went over and sat on the red thing. After this happened two more times, you let out an exasperated sigh. Looking down at the cat, looking up at you from its apparently beloved red thing. Maybe you should purrito him . . . then you did a double-take. Blinked. Rubbed your eyes. But it didn’t change.

You had only ever seen it in grainy photos on the news or in the papers. But you still recognized it. The red leather armor of Daredevil. You supposed it could be a replica. Every hero in this city had fans who did cosplay. Daredevil was no different. But if this was a costume, someone had spent a lot of time and money making it.

Your earlier frown returned. No fan who had gone to all that effort would leave this by a dumpster to get ruined. And if it wasn’t a replica but the real thing . . . you couldn’t think of why Daredevil would leave his suit by a dumpster either. Like the costume, leaving it outside in this wet weather could severely damage it.

“Curious and curiousier,” you murmured to yourself. A look uncovered the horned helmet, gloves, and armed boots nearby. Not the sticks, however. There was a holster on leg where they ought to be. You cast your flashlight around and spied something red laying a short distant away. You went there and discovered the missing sticks.

Or rather a staff since it seemed to be be only one. It looked rather long for that thigh holster and you could have sworn there was supposed to be two . . . but maybe you were wrong. You never actually seen him. Just pictures. And Daredevil didn’t exactly stand still in excellent lighting to be photographed with a high-quality camera.

You picked it up and frowned. The staff seemed rather heavy. It wasn’t so heavy that you couldn’t swing it around easily but it was weighty. A person could do some real damage with this. It was not a prop. It was a real weapon.

“Holy shit,” you said, staring at the staff with more than a little awe. Because as crazy as it sounded, you were starting to think this was really Daredevil’s staff and that was really his suit back there. But you had little time to bask in that wonder. Because a big flake of snow landed on the stick. Followed by another and another. You looked up.

It had started snowing. You hurried back over to the suit, carrying the staff. You pulled your scarf out of your backpack, looping it around your neck for the moment. You picked up the suit and started getting into your pack. Assuming he didn’t leave it here in purpose, Daredevil was going to want this back and probably would appreciate not having it damaged by the wet weather.

How you were going to get to him was a problem for Future You.

Also it seemed like the cat wasn’t coming without the suit. Why he was so obsessed with it was another mystery for Future You to untangle. When you weren’t outside in a blizzard. You managed to fit most of it into your pack, which was a little tricky since you couldn’t put down the flashlight but you managed. You zipped it closed, glad that you had grabbed your hiking pack earlier. You’d never be able to fit this much of the suit in your regular pack. The staff didn’t fit. You’d have to carry it. Hopefully you wouldn’t run into anyone before reaching your apartment.

You propped the stick against the side of the dumpster before swing the pack onto your shoulders. You left the hip belt undone. Daredevil’s suit wasn’t anywhere near as heavy as the full pack for a long hike.

“Okay, Trouble,” you said, reaching for the cat. “Let’s go.”

The cat meowed but allowed you to pick him up and place him against your chest. His front paws rested on your shoulder while you supported his body with your arm. The hand was still holding your key-chain flashlight. Which would make holding onto him if he got squirmy difficult. You gave him a stern look. “No jumping out of my arms or being a wiggle worm, Trouble. Or I will purrito you with my scarf.”

He meowed again. It sounded like an objection.

“Don’t meow me, mister. You are clearly trouble, trouble, trouble,” you said, almost singing those last words. You blamed your best friend. I Knew You Were Trouble was one of her favorite songs. Therefore you had heard it several times tonight and the lyrics were kinda stuck in your head.

The cat made a grumpy noise but stayed where he was and didn’t scratch. So you just laughed as you collected the staff and headed toward home.

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Carried in your arms, Matt suppressed an irritated huff. He wasn’t upset with you. He was upset about the situation.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he had been turned into cat. He had an idea. That scumbag he left knocked out and left tied up for the police. Even if the only explanation for that thing that shielded the man from his blows and turning him into a cat was magic. Danny had sworn up and down that magic was real. His heart had been steady as drum but Matt hadn’t entirely believed him.

Or rather he didn’t want to believe him. People developing random powers – sometimes from exposure to chemicals or radiation – and aliens was enough weirdness for one planet. Earth didn’t need magic to be real too.

But Matt tried not ignore reality when it smacked him in the face. Someone had spoke some words and now he was cat. Magic was real. He would accept that and hope that other stuff straight out of a fantasy or horror novels weren’t also real. The last thing he needed running around his city was vampires. Or dinosaurs. Or something equally ridiculous.

He also had no idea how he was going to get himself back to being a human. His only working theory was that maybe, just maybe, Danny could do something. Or would know someone who could do something about it. It was long shot but he was the only one that Matt knew who knew anything about magic.

Assuming he could get in contact with Danny in the first place. Rather big assumption there. Until and unless he could, his only other option was wait and see if the spell wore off on its own. Matt didn’t like this plan. For one, he had absolutely no idea if the spell would wear off at all. Or if does, how long that would take.

A few hours would be ideal but when was Matt ever that lucky?

No, it was much more likely that he would be stuck like this for days. If not longer. Foggy was going to worry. And when he couldn’t find or contact Matt, he was going to get scared. And when he checked Matt’s apartment and found the suit gone along with Matt, he was going to assume the worst.

He hated the thought of putting Foggy through that. But there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t turn himself back. He couldn’t talk. These paws couldn’t hold a paw. He might be able to type but unless you had a braille keyboard or a refreshable braille display, he couldn’t tell what keys he was pushing. Randomly hitting keys was unlikely to produce a coherent message that would clue you into the fact he wasn’t a cat.

The only semi-positive he could find about this situation was that you had been walking near enough to the dumpster he had collapsed behind to hear his meowing. Through Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled that you were out this late. It was dangerous. Granted, most criminals had seemingly opted not to be out in the freezing cold but not all.

His heart had lodged in his throat when you had shrieked. His mind racing how he had missed someone beside you being outside and nearby. What was he going to do, he couldn’t protect you like this . . .

It was immense relief to discover it was just a rat.

But despite his desire to get yourself somewhere warmer and safer, he was unwilling to leave his suit behind. One person impersonating him and slaughtering innocent people was already one too many for his tastes.

Furthermore replacing it would be a headache. Jacobson wouldn’t be happy to learn the suit he had designed and made for Matt had been left behind a dumpster. Which was fair. He wouldn’t like someone treating his work in such a chevalier matter either. He might fix or replace it but in the meantime, Matt would be back to the black suit.

Which tended to make Claire and Foggy unhappy. They preferred he fight crime wearing something more protective. Which Matt couldn’t really argue with. Nor that the red suit was warmer than the black. Which was nice this time of year but not so nice in August.

He had felt a little silly hopping in and out of your backpack like that but it accomplished his goal. The suit hadn’t been left behind.

You had recognized the suit, of course. And seemed to realize that it was the real thing, not one of the costumes his fans made. Well, Foggy claimed he had fans who dressed up like him for something called Super Con. He hadn’t been lying but . . . why? Didn’t people find him scary? Too violent? Why not someone nicer? Like Spider-Man? Sure, he was snarky and a smartass kid but otherwise he oozed friendliness . . .

Warm air hitting his fur startled him but not as much as realizing that he was coated in snow. He hadn’t even noticed. Had he really been that much in his head? Apparently.

“No jumping down yet, Trouble,” you said to him, the arm holding him shifting a little. “We’re not quite home yet. I will still purrito you.”

Purrito? That was second time you had said that word. He didn’t know what it meant and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

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Closing and locking your door behind you was a relief. Besides the fact that you were carrying was likely the real Daredevil suit (which was probably illegal in some fashion), the snow was really coming down. Even the distance between the dumpster and your building was very short, it was getting close to whiteout conditions by the time you arrived.

You propped the staff against the wall before kneeling down to let the cat go. He didn’t go far. Curious. Cats often hide when in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people. Despite the fact he left you carry him without any trouble, you still kinda expected the cat to make a beeline for under your couch. Or your bed. But nope, just sat at the edge of entrance way, in a growing puddle of melting snow.

You quickly took off your pack and winter gear. The pack, the coat, and gloves were both waterproof so they were more or less fine. But your scarf and hat were just as wet as the cat. You’d have to hang them up in the bathroom to drip dry. Later. First, you needed to get the cat dry. Then get both of you warm.

After taking off your boots, you went and grabbed a towel from the stack still sitting on the coffee table. You had been in the middle of putting away your laundry – something along with folding it that you often procrastinated – when your best friend had called crying. You checked but the cat still hadn’t moved from his spot. You walked over to him and knelt down.

“Let’s get you dry,” you said and started towel-drying him. He was remarkably tolerate of this process. Marshmallow (may she rest in peace) would have been singing you the song of her people. Despite the fact, as a Persian, she had been groomed literally her entire life. Pumpkin or Oreo (may they rest in peace) would have tried to fight with the towel.

You had long ago developed the habit of talking to your cats. It made your apartment feel less lonely. So you didn’t think anything of telling him how much better behaved he was compared to those three of your previous fur babies.

“Trying to prove you aren’t trouble, trouble, trouble?” you asked. The cat meowed as if in answer. You laughed and checked on his coat. It was as dry as you could get it without using a blow dryer. But with the exception of Marshmallow, you had yet to meet a cat who didn’t try to run away from the thing making the scary, painfully loud noise.

And that was because Marshmallow couldn’t hear the scary noise. To her, it just warm air blowing on her which she had seemed to find wonderful.

Despite all that drama, you missed Marshmallow, Pumpkin and Oreo. Maybe it was time for new furry friend. Maybe this one, you thought, petting the cat’s fur. It was soft as velvet. In the better light of your apartment, you could see the reddish tones to the over dark brown color.

“If you don’t already have a home,” you said, thinking out loud. “Maybe I should call you Cinnamon. It matches with the color of your coat. But Trouble is so just perfect . . .”

The newly dubbed Trouble meowed. You laughed again. You couldn’t help it. He sounded so grumpy.

After another moment of consideration, you decided against the blow dryer. Thanks to the thickness of his coat, he hadn’t gotten wet down to the skin. He probably wouldn’t get matted if you let him air dry for the rest.

You mopped up the puddle on the floor with the same towel, then hung it up in the bathroom along with your hat and scarf. You walked deeper into the apartment, into your bedroom. There you retrieved your heating pad, the comforter from your bed, and one of the extra blankets from the top of the closet. It was time for part two – getting warmed up.

You carried the load out to the living room. The comforter was sat on one cushion but you made a little nest with the heating pad and blanket on the adjoining seat. Trouble seemed pretty comfortable being close to you but you couldn’t assume that he was a lap cat. You turned on the pad and went back to him

He still hadn’t moved very away from the entrance. Peculiar. You’d think a cat this confident would have started exploring. Cats are curious. Maybe he was more nervous than you thought. Through you’d think a nervous cat would be hiding somewhere. But Trouble wasn’t hiding and he didn’t run away from you. And you picked him up, his body wasn’t stiff. No tension in the muscles. He didn’t go limp like a Ragdoll but was still relaxed in your hands.

Hmmm . . . maybe his (previous) home was one where he regularly met strangers? Like he was a shop cat or something like that. Or his (previous) owner worked somewhere that allowed people to bring in their pets as long as they didn’t cause a disruption? Or traveled regularly like a show cat. He was pretty enough for a show cat. Any of those might explain why Trouble seemed so comfortable with a stranger in a strange place.

Or maybe he was just a people cat. Each cat was an individual after all.

You placed Trouble down in the nest. He didn’t immediately jump off. Which had been a possibility. Cats often didn’t like things that weren’t their idea. But this cat seemed willing to explore the nest instead of rejecting it outright. Giving everything a sniff, feeling the blanket under his paws. Not quite making biscuits but close.

Judging by the purring, Trouble seemed to be enjoying himself.

You would have loved to keep watching but you wanted something hot to drink. Normally you’d make coffee but it was already stupid late. Not the time to start drinking something with caffeine. So herbal tea it was. While the water heated, you remembered that you needed to charge your phone. But after that brief detour, you started shifting through your tin of herbal teas . . . what sounded good . . . you picked out the one calling itself Apple Spice.

You poured the water over the tea bag and enjoyed the rising aroma as the tea seeped. You couldn’t remember which spices were supposed to be in this tea. But it smelled like apple pie so you’d guess mostly cinnamon and nutmeg. Tasted more like apple cider than pie but you still enjoyed it. You carried your mug over the couch.

You sat the mug down on the coffee table for a moment so you could wrap yourself in the comforter and sit down. You pulled your legs up onto the couch under the comforter, shifting until you were sitting cross-legged. You leaned toward and grabbed the mug.

You had only taken a few sips before you felt paws on your leg. You looked down at Trouble. He was looking up at you beseechingly.

You smiled and lifted the edge of the comforter. “Come here, Trouble.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled onto your lap, circling a few times before settling down. The low purr only got louder when your hand couldn’t resist the urge to pet. And scratch him behind the ears and under the chin. Despite the name you had given him, Trouble really was such a sweetheart. How could anyone abandon him on the streets to die? You just couldn’t imagine it . . .

‘Maybe,’ you thought. ‘It wasn’t on purpose. Maybe something happened to his humans . . .’

You yawned. You still didn’t know how Daredevil tied into this abandoned (or lost) cat. It was possible that was just a coincidence. That both Trouble and the suit just happened to be in the same place. But maybe the suit smelled familiar to the cat . . . maybe this was Daredevil’s cat . . .

.

“What would Daredevil name a cat?” you murmured to yourself. “Lucy Fur? Holy Terror? The Lord of Felines? Hiss the Devil-Cat?

A soft meow jerked you back to alertness before you could spill tea on yourself. But if you were falling asleep sitting up, you should put that mug down. You had drunk most of it. It was fine. You sat down the mug, leaned your head against the back of the couch. You just needed to rest your eyes. In a few minutes you’d tidy up, start unraveling those mysteries . . .

Just a few minutes . . .

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Matt listened as you fell into a deep sleep and contemplated life’s little ironies. When he had pictured laying on your lap, this was not the scenario he had in mind. It had been more like using your lap as a pillow while your hands ran through his hair. Sometimes the fantasy was a lazy afternoon where you two were wearing comfortable clothes and simply enjoying each other’s company.

Sometimes the fantasy turned dirty. One where the only clothing you were wearing was a shirt and panties. And he was unable to resist being so close to your core. Kissing and touching until you were squirming and his nose was filled with the scent of your arousal. Then he’d slide off the couch, then peeled off those panties hiding his prize. He’d kneel between your spread thighs and . . .

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that. It was never going to happen. Before, he would have had a chance. You were attracted to him. More over, he had once (unintentionally) overheard you telling your friends that you liked him. In more ways in one. One of those was the ‘I want him to fuck me on his desk’ way. Your words, not his. And Matt would be liar if he said he hadn’t thought about exactly the same thing. Imagined your soft skin under his hands and your pretty moans in his ear while he buried himself deep inside you . . .

‘Never going to happen,’ he reminded himself. Even through you had also made it clear in that talk with your friends that you always dreamed being with him like (again quoting) ‘one of those disgusting adorable couples who snuggle every chance they get and give each other forehead kisses.’

But in his experience, people either interested in Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Not both. Never both. He didn’t expect you to be any different. Not once you knew that mild-mannered blind attorney Matt Murdock was Daredevil.

You were going to find out. You were too intelligent not to figure out that something was going on with your boss. You probably already had some questions. He knew you hadn’t missed those days when he had injuries that couldn’t be hidden by his day suit. Even when his injuries were completely hidden, you had noticed that he was moving wrong and asked if he was alright. So far you hadn’t questioned his excuses but he didn’t think you entirely believed them either.

Sooner or later, you weren’t going to placated by those (he was told rather flimsy) excuses. You’d want the truth. Perhaps you would draw your own conclusions about what was going on with him. Become worried about addiction or abuse. Perhaps you would confronted him about it – you were rather shy but concern for others seemed to bring out your courage.

This incident would drop all kinds of clues into your hands. Especially if you got the chance to inspect his suit more closely. He didn’t have his name sewn into the collar or anything as obvious as that. But his burner phone was in one of the pouches. Finding Foggy and Karen in the contacts was going to give you all kinds of questions.

He doubted you would make the leap that the cat you had rescued was Daredevil, rather than his pet cat or something. Which was understandable. If he was in your shoes, it certainly wouldn’t be his first theory. Or his second. He was living it and he was having difficulty believing it.

At least this time he had time to prepare for the upcoming conversation. Judging from past history, it was going to be unpleasant – yelling, tears, suspicions that he was more or less faking his disability. Followed by new distrust warring with previous affection. If he was lucky, enough of that affection would survive. And if that luck continued, you would accept his nature and agree to remain friends.

If he was unlucky . . .

And if he was very lucky, you’d break the pattern. You’d accept him for who he was, man and devil. The discovery of his darkness wouldn’t kill your attraction to him. You’d say yes when he asked you out, the first date of many . . .

Through Foggy claimed he was already dating you. Which no, he wasn’t. He would know if he had asked you out and you had agreed. And you would have kissed, at least, by now if you were dating. Foggy had rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of ‘Oh great, both of them are idiots.’

That aside . . . Matt knew he would never be that lucky. It was a beautiful dream. But that’s all it was. A dream. It was far more likely that he was going to be stuck as a cat for the rest of his life.

‘Through,’ he thought as he started to fall asleep. ‘Being your cat wouldn’t be so bad . . .’

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You let out a frustrated whine.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice rich as honey. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and see you like this, do you?”

Like this meaning on your boss’s lap with your skirt hiked up around your waist, your legs splayed wide so anyone who walked in that door would get a good look at your panties. That wasn’t only thing they’d get an eyeful of. Your blouse was unbuttoned, the cups of your bra pushed down to expose your breasts. One of your boss’s large hands was fondling a breast, rolling the taut nipple between his fingers. His other hand was teasing your covered cunt, pressing far too gentle and fleeting touches to yourclit.

“Or is that exactly what you want? For someone to see you like this? Did you want everyone to know? That I’m touching you like this?”

You squirmed, feeling your face flush worse than it already was. The hand on your breast gave it one last squeeze before sliding down to grip your opposite hip.

“I think you do. You want someone to see how wet you are. For them to know how eager this pussy is for my cock.”

He pushed himself upward, a pale mimicryof thrusting you craved. But it did remind you of the hard, eager cock pressed tightly against your ass. It would be so easy. Just take off your underwear and let him get his pants off. Or at least enough of his pants off to free that cock. Your cunt clenched desperately. You didn’t care if he fucked you in this chair or on his desk. Just as long as he was inside you . . .

“Or even just my fingers.”

Fingers hooked around panties, pulled them away from your cunt. A single finger ran through your folds, coating itself in your slick. Tracing the entrance before the tip dipped inside. But rather than sinking deeper, it withdrew. Before you could protest, it dipped back in. Then back out. Again. And again. Always just the tip of his finger. Nothing more. You needed more. You tried to thrust up. But the muscular arm across your torso with its hand gripping your hip kept you pinned against him. All you could do was squirm . . .

“Matt,” you moaned, burying your burning face against his neck. “Please . . .”

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You jolted upright. You were trying to get to your feet before what had woken you even registered. Unfortunately for your dignity, your comforter had gotten twisted around your legs so your attempt only resulted in you falling on the floor. More fortunate you managed to avoid smacking your head against the coffee table. As you tried to get yourself loose of your own comforter, you sleepily wondered why you were sleeping in the living room.

Then everything came flooding back. The visit . . . the cat . . . the suit . . . the dream . . . you felt your face flush. Then you realized what had woken you up. Your phone was ringing. As you got yourself to your feet, you muttered unkind things about the phone. It had shattered the dream just as it was getting really good. And the place between your legs throbbing with need. It was tempting to ignore your phone in favor of slipping your hand inside your underwear . . .

But in the end, responsibility won and you got your phone. It had gone to voice mail before you got to it. You unlocked it and checked the phone ID. Foggy. Why would Foggy be calling you . . . then the time registered.

Your heart almost stopped. The office had opened two hours ago. You were late! Your fingers frantically hit the call back, praying that you hadn’t just gotten fired. You needed this job . . .

Foggy’s cheerful hello was a promising start.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” you started before Foggy interrupted you.

“No, you aren’t. The office is closed today.”

“Huh?” You said, trying to remember Foggy or Matt saying anything about that yesterday. You couldn’t remember . . . but your brain didn’t exactly work before its’ morning caffeine hit. And thinking about Matt only made you think about the dream. Which made the wet heat between your legs even worse. “Why?”

“Because there is roughly three feet of snow? With more still coming down? And high winds that have already knocked out power in parts of Manhattan and might do the same here any minute now?”

You immediately went to the window and peered out. You didn’t have the best view but it was as Foggy reported. Snow piled high on the streets below while more swirled across the window, day not looking not much brighter than twilight despite already being mid-morning . . . “Wow, you aren’t kidding about the weather.”

“I never kid about the weather,” Foggy said with mock seriousness. “The city powers that be don’t recommend going out in that mess. And even if they did, I’m not walking in that for anything less than a life or death emergency. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” you said.

“I called you earlier but you didn’t answer and didn’t call back. I just wanted to make sure that you knew not to come today. Probably tomorrow too. More depends on how long this storm last and how long it takes to get things running again.”

And to check that you were alright. Both of your bosses were worry-warts. Matt was worse than Foggy in that regard. Always got that worried furrow in his brow when you were going to be walking home alone, right before he offered to walk with you. Often you accepted. Mostly because it gave you an excuse to spent more time with him.

And he knew all these little hole-in-the-wall restaurants with the most amazing food . . . Through whenever you talked about those little side-trips, everyone – your friends, Foggy, Karen, your mom – always asked you if you were sure that Matt wasn’t your boyfriend . . .

Yes, you were sure. Those weren’t dates. If they had been, you would have been kissing Matt. And you definitely wouldn’t have been able to resist having sex with him this long if you were dating. So they were just a side-trip taken with your friend and employer.

“Okay,” you said, shuffling away from the window and toward your small kitchen. “Thanks for checking on me. Everyone else okay?”

“No problem,” he said. “Karen’s bunkered down with . . . er . . . a friend. Matt hasn’t call me back yet. I was just about to ring him again.”

You didn’t know Karen had a boyfriend. Odd that she had never brought him to Josie’s with the rest of the group . . . but then the second part of that statement caught your brain.

“Matt hasn’t called you back?”

“No,” Foggy said. “But I’m sure he’s fine. Probably just didn’t hear his phone ring. Matt sleeps like the dead sometimes.”

Not hearing something didn’t sound like the Matt you knew. Who seemed to hear everything. No matter how quietly you moved, he always knew you were there. But Foggy knew him better than you did. And he had lived Matt for years. If Foggy said Matt was a heavy sleeper, then he was a heavy sleeper.

Still his voice sounded odd. Like maybe he was worried but trying not to show it. But maybe you were just protecting your own worries onto Foggy.

“Okay. I’ll let you get back to that. Bye, Foggy,” you said, trying to keep those worries out of your voice. ‘They were unnecessary,’ you reminded yourself silently. Matt was blind but he was also a grown man. He could care of himself. He was fine.

“Bye.”

You tucked your phone in your pocket. Ugh . . . you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Your work clothes since you hadn’t changed before getting that tearful phone call. You had wanted to get that laundry finally put away before you found another excuse to avoid doing it. You needed a shower. Especially since the power might go out – who knows when you’d get the chance for another one?

You put on coffee and tried not to worry about Matt.

“Matt doesn’t need you fussing over him. Even if he does come in looking like he got into a bar fight sometimes,” you told yourself sternly. Like last Friday, he had been sporting a set of spectacular set of bruises across the right side of his face. Which he said was the result of missing a curb and tripping. Which sounded rather peculiar to you. Yes, he couldn’t see the curb but he seemed pretty skilled with that cane of his . . . and Matt moved with the cat-like elegance of a dancer.

Maybe even graceful blind men had trouble with two left feet sometimes.

Speaking of trouble . . . where was that cat? You hadn’t seen him since you woke up.

“Trouble,” you called out. “Where are you? Here kitty, kitty,”

You heard a meow. Not close by. But the coffee was on so you could look around. It took several minutes and more meows to find him. Trouble was in your bedroom closet, on the shelf above the clothing rod. You weren’t sure how he he managed to get up there but cats were like that. It was amazing the places they managed to climb up or squeeze themselves into. It seemed he had started exploring while you were sleeping.

Looking at Trouble, you frowned. Something was . . . off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what . . . no, wait. You raised up your phone. You had been using the flashlight app to look in shadowy places like under furniture. You ran the light across the cat’s face, watching closely. Once, then twice to make sure you were really seeing what you were seeing. But you were. His eyes weren’t reacting to the light.

You raised one finger, then moved it back and forth in front of Trouble’s face. He wasn’t tracking the motion through his whiskers tilted forward, his little nose twitching. He was paying attention, his ears were up and pointed toward you. But his eyes . . .

“Are you blind, Trouble?” you asked, reaching back up to pet the cat. It was impossible to resist that sinfully soft fur.

He gave a soft meow as if answering your question.

Well, Trouble being blind didn’t change your plans. You were still going to adopt him if he didn’t already have a home. You made a mental note to have the vet check your theory about his vision when you took him in to make sure he was healthy as he looked. You were tempted to get Trouble down from his perch. You were pretty sure that he could back down without hurting himself. Without making a mess by accidentally pulling something down with him . . . that was another kettle of fish. And while most of what on the shelf was soft, some wasn’t and that stuff could hurt Trouble if it got knocked off while he tried to get down.

On the other hand, getting a cat out of a hiding spot could be tricky. Trouble hadn’t been aggressive with his claws even once but he might make an exception for getting grabbed and pulled out of somewhere he was hiding. Normally you’d purrito him but that high shelf wasn’t the easiest location to purrito a cat . . . the beep of the coffee maker interrupted your train of thought.

You decided to have some coffee, then consider how to get Trouble down from there. But halfway through that first mug, you heard a thump. One that wasn’t, thankfully, followed by any crashing noises. Just Trouble strolling into the kitchen, very casual. He stopped a few feet away from you, head turned you – ears alert, upright tail curled into a question mark.

“Yes, Trouble?” you said. Then thought about it for a minute. “You hungry? Breakfast?”

Another answering meow. But then you had another problem. You didn’t have any cat food. You had given the last of Oreo’s special food to a friend whose cat had the same dietary restrictions. But you did have some baked chicken. That should work. Cats usually liked chicken. Fingers-crossed that it wouldn’t upset his tummy. Or make him very sick because he needed a special diet.

You cup up the chicken and put some of it into a small bowl. You sat it down in front of the cat along with a second dish with water. After giving both bowls a very thorough inspection with his nose, the cat seemed to accept the offering and started eating the chicken. You put the rest away and made a mental note to set up the litter box. You might not always have cat food on hand but you had encountered enough unexpected cat acquisition to keep cat litter in the house. Muddling through a night without cat food was one thing. Without cat litter was something else and not an experience that bears repeating.

You drank your coffee and considered your own breakfast. You didn’t really feel like making anything complicated right now. Maybe scrambled eggs? With toast? That would be quick and easy. You nodded and made yourself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast didn’t take long and soon you were seated at your little kitchen table, listening to one of your regular podcasts while you ate and made plans.

First, your shower. Get yourself clean and put on some clean clothes. Something comfortable since you weren’t going anywhere and there wasn’t anyone to impress. At the very least, fresh underwear since your current pair was uncomfortably damp. Along with your thighs. You were alone but the thought still made your face feel warm. Maybe, while you were in the there, you should take care of the still almost-painful ache between your legs . . .

Tidy up your apartment. Pull your emergency kit from under your bed. The Daredevil suit and all its mysteries . . . your fork scrapped the plate. The sound this produced made Trouble flinch.

“Sorry Trouble,” you said. You had been so in your head, you hadn’t realized that you already eaten all of your eggs. You moved the plate to the sink, left your mug by the coffee pot – you’d drink more when you were done with your shower – and headed toward your bedroom.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Matt might actually be in hell.

He thought it was bad earlier, when you started dreaming and his nose was filled your heavenly aroma. And when he heard you moan out his name, begging him for something. Something he couldn’t give. Not while he was like this. He had scurried out of the comforter and hidden himself before he did something . . . rash.

But this? Listening to you touching yourself? It was worse. Far worse. When there was nowhere in your small apartment where he couldn’t hear the beautiful sounds you were making. Couldn’t smell the mouth-watering scent of your arousal. Couldn’t escape the knowledge that it was always his name being moaned out.

It was torture. Pure torture.

He wanted so badly to be himself again and in that shower. Holding your naked body against his own, fingers pumping into your cunt and toying with your clit until you begged him for release. After you shattered under his hands, would he fuck you against the shower wall? Or would you turn the tables on him? Push him against the tile and start working his cock with your hands until he was the one begging?

Would that be enough to satisfy you both? Or just the beginning?

He buried himself further into the pile of blanket and comforter in a futile attempt to muffle your gasping recitation of his name as you chased your release . . .

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

You walked out the bathroom feeling refreshed.

Your eyes searched for Trouble. You didn’t worry when you didn’t immediately find him. There were a lot of places in your apartment for a cat to hide. And when you went to collect last-night’s tea mug, you found him.

Or rather you found his tail. He had apparently attempt to hide himself in the pile of blankets but his tail was sticking out. You giggled as you reached out and tickled his tail. He meowed, squirmed around in the blanket until the tail disappeared into the depths.

“Not planning to come out of there, Trouble?”

The responding meow was loud, like a very firm no. which only made you giggle harder. But you left him in his blanket cocoon. He wasn’t harming anyone. If he wanted to hide for a while, you’d let him. At least he wasn’t trying to ‘help.’

TO BE CONTINUED . . . in Part 2

NOTES

The kick combination that Matt uses against the magic user is from capoeira, which is an Afro-Brazilian cultural practice that is both a martial arts and a dance. The movements require great bodily dexterity. It’s very cool.

Purrito means wrapping a cat in a towel, small blanket, or similar like they were burrito. It’s way of holding the cat without getting scratched since the paws are all inside in the burrito. Some cats find it calming as they like the gentle pressure all around them like a hug. But some don’t.

Havana brown is a cat breed developed from mixing the Siamese with brown domestic short-haired cats. They are brown to reddish-brown – right down to their whiskers – with green eyes. Very pretty cats.

Jacobson is Luke Jacobson, the fashion designer from She-Hulk. In this story, Matt saved him one night when he was in New York. He was appealed by Matt’s homemade supersuit. He demanded to make him a better one as a thank you for saving his life. And wouldn’t take no for answer.

Melvin Potter, his old suit guy, Matt has been representing as a way of apology for the trouble Melvin experienced during Season 3. Matt might introduce Melvin to Jacobson who is curious about his other red suit.

#fan fiction #fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #part 1 of 2 #cat man do #a03 link

[the-broken-truth]

A Father's Son [Part 4] - Miguel O'Hara w/ Teenage Spider Son Reader

Summary: It has been a year since I welcomed this world's version of Gabriella into my life, and everything has been running smoothly. However, one day I was on my way to pick her up from soccer practice when I noticed an unwelcome face talking to her.

Taglist: @christinesdemoness1958

[Earth-121 / The Soccer Field]

Placing my hand over my mouth, I yawned as I walked down the sidewalk with one hand in my pocket before I returned the other hand to the green and black jacket I was wearing - which happened to be Sleeper taking the form of a coat to protect us from the cold. Sleeper and I had just returned from dealing with our Afternoon Patrol - about 3 bank robbers were trapped in our webs and their bodies were devoured before we returned the money back to the bank; I had to pick brain pieces out of our teeth but it was necessary, Sleeper needed some power and I needed to make sure my partner and friend was well taken care of. We were on the way to pick up Gabriella from soccer practice.

It's been one year since I was allowed t come into this world and take the place of the Non-Existent Spider-Man & adopted Gabriella as her elder brother; as her legal guardian, I was able to put her into school while I got a job working at the newby construction site - it's a commission job until I found something more permanent but everything was going good with Gabriella and me. She was doing well in school and asked me if she was able to join the soccer team, I allowed it on the promise that she not speak to any strangers and even got her a pocket phone to call me just in case someone tried to speak with her. I turned the corner and the soccer field was in my sights, my eyes scanned the grounds when I finally caught sight of Gabriella and...

Wait...

Who is that talking to my sister?

There was a tall male, wearing a long grey shirt with a high collar, long pale pants, and brown shoes with...short brown hair and dark skin.

No.

He can't be here.

His notes said that there was nothing with this world's Gabriella that he was going to come here! I ran to the field and bolted into the gate before I called out to Gabriella, she looked around the man and locked eyes with me - she was crying - and she pushed past the man and ran into my arms as I pulled her behind me as the man turned to face me and I narrowed my brown eyes when hey locked with his red ones.

"What are you doing with my sister?" I growled at him, and he raised his eyebrow at me before opening his mouth to speak.

"What are you talking about? She's my daughter and I don't have a son." The nerve of this bastard.

"Are you certain about that, Miguel O'Hara? Or should I call you, Spider-Man 2099? Leader of the Spider-Society? How are Peter and Maday doing? Has Jessica Drew had her baby? Is Lyla still cracking jokes?" I asked with a raised eyebrow but with each question I asked, his eyes widened in shock and fear.

"The Computer said this world didn't have a Spider-Man, who do you know all of this information? Who are you?" Miguel asked and I just rolled my eyes.

"I'm Your SON, [Name] O'Hara! The one that you abandoned to raise another version of her but it caused a universe to collapse and she was taken away from you. I am the son whose mother you divorced because she couldn't give you any more children. I'm the son who left you and the Spider-Society to make a life of my own and you come here, trying to take my sister." I growled at him with a smirk, I wanted to eat his head; soon, the look of realization hit his face and he glared at me as well.

"You! You Foolish Boy! You come to another world that isn't your own and make a life here?! Do you realize that you can cause a universal collapse?!" Miguel barked as he pointed at me.

"I am not going to cause a Universal Collapse because there is no version of me here. I didn't alter anything and I found my sister here living alone after her father died and her mother left her alone. I've been here for a year and I have been able to protect this world as it's Spider-Man. Now, you will never get your hands on Gabriella so you can fuck right off." I waved him off before looking at Gabriella, "Let's go home, Gabby."

"Okay, big brother." She said as held onto my sleeve - Sleeper - with her little hands, I glared at Miguel before I grabbed Gabriella's Hand and started walking to the gate, we were halfway there when something connected to the back of Sleeper and yanked me back with a powerful force; pulling me away from my sister and sending me crashing to a tree. I heard Gabriella scream and opened my eyes to see O'Hara picking up my sister and swinging away. I quickly rose to y feet and webbed after them. There's no way in hell I'm going to let him get away with my sister and ruin my life again! This world is mine! Gabriella is my sister!! I am this world's protector! I shall protect it with everthing I have.

#spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spider!reader #son reader #male reader #sleeper symbiote #gabriella o’hara

[roachesbf]

Hey if possible could I get a Bunny Rudy x Jessica rabbit male reader? Where the male reader visit the base cause he misses his hunny bunny very very much while Rudy is thumping really happily seeing the male reader run up to him kissing his face all over like Jessica did in the movie ‘who framed Rodger rabbit’

I do hope this makes sense lol And do please take your time there is no rush at all so please take your time :)

Bunny Rudy X Jessica Rabbit!MaleReader

When you first enter the base it catches almost everyone off guard!! One you dress very differently, and two you hold a different type of confidence to yourself. All the other men whispered amongst themselves on who you were here for and they’d never imagined it’d be sergeant major Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra!! Your hunny bunny missed you as much as you missed him!! The entire time he was impatiently thumping his foot against the ground, his tail wagging around as others tried holding a conversation with him. All Rudy wanted was to be with you yet here he was!! Not with you!! He would complain to Alejandro about how badly he missed you so maaybbee Alejandro pulled a few strings and got you to visit base, anything for his 4lyfer. He’s grunting the entire time, he is not enjoying a single second. His ears are all tense due to his annoyed behavior, until he hears something that clearly doesn’t belong on base…clacking?? Rudy's ears strike up as alert when he recognizes that sound anywhere.

This literally jumps for joy when he sees you, running into your arms as you spin him around!! Rudys immediately scenting you while you smear your red lipstick all over his cute face. It catches almost everyone on guard because one, where did the Rudy from five minutes ago, go. And two, how the hell did he bag you. You’re giggling as he asks you questions between each kiss, did you eat? How have you been sleeping? Is everything okay back home? He gives you a quick little kiss on your nose before being put down. You got him sitting in your lap all the while he’s making jokes that crack you up. Everyones looking at the two of you like they’re hallucinating, asking Alejandro if they know anything about this.

Rudy introduces you to everyone rather quickly, he’s always been excited to talk about you and show you off. You jokingly will slap his arm and then squish his cheeks before giving him another kiss, saying how he’s always flattering you when it comes to other people. He insists it's nothing but the truth and here you are all over again flaunting your amazing love life in front of everyone. He even has you show off your great self defense skills against some of the soldiers on base!! Of course early on in the relationship one of his favorite things to do was showing you how to defend yourself.

You make sure you’re always attached to his hip during your visit. It’s only when he’s gone because he’s forced to do work where you seem to stop acting so lovesick. Without Rudy you seem cold and distant, complete contrast to who you were 10 seconds ago. Everyone tries to talk to you but if it’s not about Rudy then you have no reason to talk to any of the other men at base. When they asked what attracted you to him, the simple answer of “he makes me laugh” confused them even more. When he comes back, he flops onto your lap, your lipstick still stained on his face.

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #male reader #x male reader #cod x male reader #call of duty x male reader #male!reader #x reader #cod headcanons #rudy headcanons #request :) #im so sorry if this is balls.... #im using my slow old computer bc #my personal laptop isnt allowedon the wifi lmaooo #i love oyu and htis is the cutest idea I want youto know that

[over--and-out]

I AM, LEGALLY MARRIED TO TEDDY WITHOUT HIS KNOWLEDGE, GET READY FOR A NEW MOMMY FOLKS

I--- Jessica WHAT

#teddyposting #teddy speaks #jessie asks #put the crack down jessica

[waratah-moon]

Cheerleader x eddie but the hellfire guys didn't know that Eddie and the cheer are Dating until she comes walking to the room asking Eddie if she can come over tonight 😁

Y'all know Eddie x cheerleader is my kryptonite, but add in oblivious Hellfire... omg guys you're spoiling me! reminder that a full length Henderson!reader is also on my WIP and she's a cheerleader too

masterlist / send me a request

"Suddenly, the boulder rolls across the cave entrance, trapping you inside in pitch black darkness!"

Everyone at the table groaned. "Seriously? So now we have to waste a spell opening the door?"

"Or you could venture further into the cave, up to you." Eddie tilted his head, waiting for the party's next move.

"He wouldn't trap us inside for no reason. I say we venture forth," Gareth said, tossing his dice on table. "Who's with me?"

A murmur of agreement made its way around the table. Dustin piped up, "are we going to go down the left tunnel or the right tunnel?"

Before anyone could answer, the door to the drama room cracked open and you stuck your head inside. When you spotted Eddie, you swung the door open.

"Eds?" Eddie lit up at the sound of your voice, the rest of the table looked at you in confusion. "Can I stay over tonight?"

"'course you can baby girl." He noticed the flatness in your voice. "You okay?"

"Yeah, Dad's being a dick and I don't want to deal with him," you took out your cheer mandated ponytail, letting you hair fall loose over your shoulders and pushing the scrunchie up your wrist. "Jessica picked me up so I don't have my car."

"Okay, we're almost done here, so we can head off soon. Come sit down," he pushed his chair back and you made your way over to him, ignoring the stares emanating from the other boys at the table.

You sat down on his thigh, adjusting your cheer skirt so you weren't flashing the table. Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist to steady you, his touch instantly putting you at ease.

Eddie cleared his throat, returning to his dungeon master persona. "So are you venturing down the right or left tunnel?" Eddie asked the party who were all staring at him with wide eyes.

"Um," Gareth started, not sure how to ask his friend what the fuck was going on.

Dustin didn't seem to care about the optics, though. "What the fuck, Eddie?"

"Excuse me?" Eddie narrowed his eyes at Dustin.

"Since when are you two dating?" The table broke out in chatter. They all knew who you were, of course. Everyone at Hawkins High did. You were the homecoming queen, cheer co-captain, and on track for an Ivy league college. You were insanely popular. Eddie was not.

"Oh," Eddie smirked, resting his head on your shoulder. "A few months." The chatter died down.

"A few months?" Dustin squeaked. "How did you two even meet?"

"We've known each other since middle school, Henderson. I just finally won her over with my charm and quick wit." You rolled you eyes, picking at your nails. It was semi-true. He'd actually asked you a question about an assignment in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, and you'd offered to help him with it. One thing led to another and here you were.

"So you finally made your move, huh?" Jeff asked through a small smile. "Only took you four years."

"I sure did," Eddie grinned, kissing your cheek.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie x cheerleader #cheerleader!reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #maggie writes #maggie replies

[unluckiestmember]

yk now im curious on what would happen if Miguel saw his “daughter” in [Name]. Like she would just pop in with miles ( they’ve been friends since the first movie basically) and she is like a carbon copy of the daughter from the world he was like im when taking the place of himself. I would personally see it as a head cannon type of thing but ur choice! (bonus if platonic yandere) and if u do write this tysm for taking time out of ur day to do so❤️❤️

Coming right up!

Miguel O'Hara X "Daughter"! Reader

Characters: Miguel O'Hara, Miles Morales, Hobie Brown, Pavitr Prabhaker, Gwen Stacy, Peter B. Parker and Jessica Drew

Tags: Found family trope?, yandere!Miguel, Miguel being Miguel, overprotective father figure, problematic friend group, intervention, fluff and hurt/comfort.

Warning: None. SFW.

A/N: Sorry this is not my best, you got me working on four hours of sleep and immediately after an eight hour shift. But I still hope you enjoy this! XD

Let’s get one thing straight; Whether he admits it or not, Miguel loved you since the first time he laid eyes on you.

You reminded him so much of Gabriella in the way you looked, the way you acted, etc.

Literally had to do a double take a few times before he realized you weren’t her.

But even then, that didn’t make him hate you.

Actually, it fueled him to get closer to you and create a bond with you.

Call it the father in him if you must.

He indulges in familial activities like sight seeing and even eating some sweet treats with you.

Spider-Society swears you are the only person to make this big guy crack a smile.

And for that, you are considered a wizard.

Jokes aside, Miguel cared about you so much as if you were his own daughter.

But maybe he cared about you too much?

When you arrived with Miles and he chose to challenge his canon event, Miguel wasted no time giving him a hard time.

Especially knowing that you two were thick as thieves.

If he was sprouting things on you about changing canon and destroying the multiverse, what else could he be putting in your head?

And don’t even get him started on the fact that the multiverse would be destroyed because of him.

You would be taken from him Everything would be taken from everyone.

Even if you have friends like Miles, Hobie, Pavitr and Gwen, don’t expect your father figure to let them in with open arms.

He becomes a literal cat hissing at your inner circle because they’re “bad influences”.

It gets to the point where Jessica, Peter B and even yourself have to remind him you are your own person.

That you are not Gabriella.

And that hurts him because he knows. But that won’t change that you’re his kid.

Just because you didn’t carry the same flesh and blood didn’t mean you meant the world to him.

Was he extreme? Yes.

Was he kind of idiotic? Absolutely.

But he would do anything for you.

He lost one daughter. He’s not going to lose another.

And if he needs to put his foot down a bit, so be it.

Spider-Verse Requests are open!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay hydrated and have a good day! <3

#miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x fem reader #miguel x y/n #spider man 2099 x you #spider man 2099 x reader #spider man x reader #spider verse x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man imagines #spider man headcanons #miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #jessica drew #spider woman #spider man #peter b parker #miles morales #hobie brown #gwen stacy #pavitr prabhakar #spider punk #spider gwen #spider man india #fluff headcanons #x reader #x you #x y/n #fluff x reader #x female reader

[sillyunknownkitkat]

Type of writing : headcanons and 2 small drabbles.

Plot: Phillip and his s/o preparing and celebrating Christmas.

Tw: kinda fem-ish reader but still gn, tooth rotting fluff, Phillip being bullied by kids, a bit of angst but full comfort here dw, reader has parents. uncanny fake death situation of Phillip, reader cries.

Definitely loves cuddles on the couch and watching a movie with the fire cracking in the background.

This man loves Christmas. It's not so much all of the traditions and stuff, just you being really happy about this and the cosy ambience that it brings.

Also, he forces the shadows to wear Santa's hats.

I think he has a pretty sweet tooth, so it's one of his favorite seasons because you make him hot chocolate with little marshmallows when he gets back from work.

If you want to see his eyes lit up, then bring him a Christmas market/festival. Phillip's eyes WILL light up like kids' ones.

Now let me tell you something. This blondie can't skate at all. It's really funny to see.

And that being said, he gets bullied by the kids on the ice rink.

Still would go again if it means that you're happy.

Now, I don't want to baby him because he is a grown man, but please throw a snowball at him. I promise you that it's going to be the best snowball fight ever.

If you have played until down, you know what I'm talking about, but if don't here is a video of the said scene

So I think he'd be more Mike-like, but tbh he could also be Jessica (I hope this makes sense). Also, you don't have to be a girl or anything for this exact interaction. He's just a bit cringe.

But that's okay, it's not a crime 😊

THIS.MAN.ALSO.LOVES.TO.DECORATE.YOUR.HOUSE !!!

I hcs he probably didn't really do anything for Christmas as a child.

It's supposed that he lived in South America, so it didn't really snow or anything. His parents didn't see the point in celebrating it.

Well no matter the reason that caused him to be "Christmas-starved", he still is.

I don't think he would go all out like you can see in some Christmas light contests, but he still puts quite the effort.

Inside the house, he would keep it pretty simple but with a good amount of things. Like fairy lights pretty much all around the house, whatever these are called in a banner like display, little Santa's, snowmans, ...

Now, to my favourite part, the drabbles ^^

1. Decorating your first Christmas tree together 🎄:

You moved him with him pretty early in the relationship. He justified it by saying something amongst the lines of "I work a lot, sweetheart. As sad as it is, I won't be here often. If things go south one day, I won't ever kick you out, don't worry. See it as you helping me around the house when I'm not there, and as a payment, you get a free roof over your head, yeah?"

When he just said it, you were kinda offended, but thinking back, he's not wrong. Plus, he doesn't force you to move faster in the relationship. It's just a win-win situation. Of course, he mostly proposed this because he loves you so damn much.

He never felt like that with another person. He swears (in his head) that you have to be his soulmate. How else could you guys fit so well together?

When December came close, he asked you if you would want to make a Christmas tree with him. You said yes, obviously.

You both went to get dressed in warmer clothes before going to the local Christmas market.

Hand in hand, walking and stopping every 30 seconds because one of you saw something that catched your eyes. You both probably went a little overboard with the stuff you got, but you wouldn't wish to go back in time to do otherwise. He was so freaking happy. It made you melt every time you looked at him and his big smile.

After a while, he asks you to go get a Christmas tree (pine?) before all of the good ones are gone. I don't think you would go in a "chop the one you want" type of thing, but in a more store like type of thing. He insisted you guys should get a real one instead of the plastic ones because even tho it makes a huge mess, it's more cosy to have a real one. Don't ask me how, but you got the most beautiful tree ever. It's a nice fresh green colour, not too tall but very large and fluffy.

Once both of you are happy with what you have, you go back to your shared house to actually decorate the said tree.

It starts with unloading the car, then putting everything in the living room and finally doing what you both waited for. Decorating.

You set the tree in the corner of the living room, not too far away from the chimney. He chose to start with the fluffy garland before the light ones and finally the little balls and bauble you got.

Finally, it's time to set the star on top of the tree, and you insist he does it. After all, it's his idea.

"Don't be silly, love. C'mere, I'll help you, " He says before making a come here motion with his hand. You do. He lifts you up by the waist, and you place it perfectly.

Once he puts you back down, you both walk a few steps back to admire your work. He gives you a side hug, and you could swear he's almost crying.

You take a picture of your tree and a selfie of the both of you as a souvenir of this amazing day you guys spent.

2. Spending Christmas together but discreetly.

After his fake death, he had to lay very low to avoid any suspicion. Which also means that this year, it would only be the both of you on Christmas.

You never spent Christmas without your parents, so this was really hard for you. Not only did you have to lie to everyone, saying things like what you were too sad to celebrate this year, that you weren't able to attend, ... but you also had to make they sad and worried.

Phillip knew that it was really upsetting you but didn't know what to do apart for apologizing for making you do all of that.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, you woke up quite early and sat on the couch in front of the tree. When you looked at him once more, you started crying. The worst thing is that you felt terrible to cry. Everything was doing better than it could've. Your lover was alive and well. You had anything you could possibly need.

And yet you still felt like garbage. Even more now that you were felling guilty from feeling this way.

Phillip woke up in an empty bed. Your side was still a bit warm, so he knew that you left the bed not too long ago. Usually, he would've woken up at you getting up, but he was exhausted. He stretched before lazily sliding in his slippers and going look after you.

When he got down the stairs, he saw you curled up with your knees to your chest on the couch. It broke his heart when he heard you quietly sob.

He instantly goes up to you and sits down on the couch before rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

"Hey... what's going on lovely?" He asks in a worried tone.

After taking a couple of deep breaths in and out, you explain the reason why you were crying. He carefully listens, holds your hand, and squeezes it from time to time to prove that he is listening to you.

Once you're done, he drags you in his harm to hold you and pet your hair.

"Oh, baby... I'm so sorry that we have to go through this. That I have to make you go through this. I promise you that everything will be okay, though. I love you so so so much. You can't even imagine. That's why I'm still very happy. I get to spend the holidays with you. The love of my life. I'm going to make sure that you spend an amazing Christmas 'kay? Do you trust me?"

You just nod against him, your voice being stuck in your throat from such sweet words.

"I love you too, Phil's, and of course I trust you," you say after a little while of being in this comfortable hold.

Sorry if this is really cheesy, I just am a sucker for lovey dovey stuff 😅

While Graves is not my favorite COD character at all, I can't lie and say that writing this didn't make me love him a bit more.

Also, I'm very sorry if he's ooc, I tried my best 🥹

I wish you a very merry Christmas and lovely holidays! 🍾☃️🎄

I hope you have a good day/night and that you're safe <3

I love you everyone!

#cod #call of duty #call of duty x reader #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves x reader #cod graves #cod philip graves #phillip graves #philip graves #phillip graves headcanons #philip graves headcanons #christmas writing #merry christmas #I thought this would be too short but it's quite long actually :/ #hope thats okay

[cpurubyheart]

A Knight and a Lantern’s goodbye

With defeat of Kil%re behind them and nothing much to do while they wait for Bruce to finish inputting the code that will allow them all to return to their own worlds.

The other members of the Justice League and the group of RWBYJNR simply chatting with one another within the “Command Center” as Weiss had dubbed it.

Though, two individuals seemed to be absent from the room which didn’t go unnoticed by one Ruby Rose.

“Has anyone seen Jaune or Jessica?” The Red Reaper asked in a tone that hinted at her being a bit concerned by their absence. With Kil%re gone they should all be safe but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry.

Seemingly everyone else took a moment from their own conversations to take a quick glance around the room only to find that the Knight and Green Lantern were nowhere to be seen.

Clark was about to suggest that they search for the duo when he was stopped by Vixen.

“They’re just in the room down the hall.” The orange clad hero began, getting everyone’s attention. “Those two just wanted to talk in private. They’ll be back soon, no worries.”

This seemed to put the others at ease as they returned to their conversations.

Vixen let out a small sigh of relief. Jess and Jaune needed this privacy to say their proper goodbyes.

~~

He understood her.

She was scared.

In a room just down the hall from the Command Center…

He supported her.

She just needed a little support.

White chest plate Armor and matching spaulders lay resting on the floor…

He comforts her when she needs it.

She was dragged into this whole mess.

Jaune sat in a wooden chair with the rabbit design of his Pumpkin Pete’s hoodie now exposed…

He elected to help her when no one else would.

She didn’t need to go off on her own.

Jessica sat across his lap, her head resting against his chest and her arms wrapping around his middle while his arms were wrapped around her in a warm and comforting embrace.

His very touch puts her at ease.

He wants her to feel safe.

Jessica wanted to simply speak privately with Jaune. So, the two found themselves in this room just down the hall from the others.

Though they’ve been here for roughly fifteen minutes and have barely uttered a word to each other. Instead finding themselves in their current embrace.

There was so much they wanted to say but were just having difficulties getting the words out.

How they wanted to thank the other for sticking by them.

How the other was just so strong and brave.

How they each thought the other was just an incredible person.

How much they realize they will miss each other.

How they didn’t want the other to leave.

How they wanted to invite the other back to their world… and how selfish that would be… they were both needed on their respective worlds.

They’ve only known each other for maybe a day but that was certainly enough time to form a bond.

With a sad sigh Jessica was about to speak when she felt a small drop of water land on her forehead. Looking up she saw that Jaune has tears in his eyes he was trying to hold back.

“Sorry.” He apologized. His voice cracking slightly. “I’m. I’m not good with goodbyes.” Another tear fell.

Her own tears started to well up. “It’s okay.” She spoke in a quiet voice as a couple of teardrops ran down her cheeks. “N-Neither am I.”

After so long of just sitting there in silence the Knight and the Green Lantern finally spoke. Spoke the words they had such difficulty getting out earlier.

“Thank you. Thank you for being here with me through this whole mess.” Jessica said. Freeing one of her hands as to wipe away one of Jaune’s tears that had run down his cheek.

A little sniffle escaped Jaune before he spoke with a small smile. “You have so much strength in you, Jess. To keep moving forward like you do.” He too wiped away some of Jess’ on tears. “I wish I had half the strength that you do.” His smile vanished.

“Hey…” Jessica had gently place her hands on either side of Jaune’s face, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Please, don’t think you’re not strong.” She begged.

“You’re stronger and braver than you think.” She gently caressed his cheeks with her thumbs. “I know you are.”

For a moment Jaune could only stare in silence into this sweet girl’s emerald eyes. She has so much confidence in him and cares so much. It was enough to open the dam holding back the majority of his tears.

“Jess…”

Jessica wiped away some more of his tears before wrapping her arms around his neck in a firm hug.

“It’s okay.” She said as her own dam broke.

Jaune wrapped his arms around her small frame and held her tight. Not wanting to let go.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He said as his tears stained her shoulder.

“I’ll miss you too.” She said as her tears stained his shoulder.

They stayed like this for a few minutes. Letting it all out of their system.

~~

“Are you two ready?” Diana asked as she stood with her arms crossed just outside the Control Room’s entrance.

Jess and Jaune had an approached hand in hand down the hall. The two looked to each other with small smiles and nodded.

“Yeah, we’re ready.” Jess answered.

Diana looked between the two before nodding herself, turning to enter the Command Center.

Jaune took a deep breath in then out. This was really going to be goodbye.

He made to take a step forward but was halted by Jessica.

Looking down he saw that she was looking up at him, her cheeks tinged slightly pink.

“Jess?” He asked. A bit concerned.

She then did something rather unexpected. Using her powers to create a small stepping stool and using said stool get herself closer to Jaune’s own height…

“!”

Jessica placed a quick kiss onto Jaune’s cheek.

“I-I hope we can meet again.” She said stepping off of the stool before it disappeared.

She then made to take a step only to be quickly wrapped in a tight hug from a red faced Jaune.

“I hope we do too.” Jaune said before placing his own quick kiss onto Jessica’s fore head.

He only held her for a few seconds more before releasing a now equally red faced Jessica.

The Knight and The Green Lantern smiled to each other before entering the Command Center still hand in hand where instead of “goodbye” maybe it will be “see you later”.

#rwby #jaune arc #dc #jessica cruz #green lantern #Jaune x Jessica #knightlight #green knight #fanfiction #I haven’t flexed my writing muscles in literal years so apologies